Chapter Thirty-Three: The Merits and Drawbacks of Weapons

I looked around. The brilliance of the flames made all shadows vanish, yet our silhouettes remained, endlessly swaying.

Shadows, too, possessed degrees of strength; an insufficiently powerful shadow could not transport a group of people.

"How about this?" I suggested. "The two duchesses charge straight through, and we have Yugene come fetch us for our escape."

Typhon replied, "I have no desire to be burned, nor do I wish to ruin this gown of mine."

I hurried to persuade her, "As long as we keep our lives, what does losing a few clothes matter? Perhaps you might take it off first, and I shall hold onto it for you..."

Typhon's gaze was piercing, as though she intended to throw me into the fire to roast. Suddenly, the flames underwent a violent transformation, rising higher and growing fiercer, as if preparing for another explosion. The spot where we stood felt like an isolated island on the verge of being swallowed at any second.

Lamia was coughing continuously. Though she had undergone numerous modifications, she remained a mortal at her core; this dense smoke was fatal to a mortal, and the Mutilated Bell was severely burned and needed to be evacuated immediately.

I approached the flames, recalling the water within a fishbowl, and the black fish inside it. The fish radiated darkness, dyeing the water black, tinting the entire ocean and the entire world black.

Helsing had taught me that shadows could be manufactured.

I searched my mind for every fragment of thought, released the dark clouds, and cast them into the fire. Darkness and light battled for a moment before the darkness finally overwhelmed the light, presenting a black passage before us.

Exerting all my strength, I could no longer speak, and could only wave at them. Chris hoisted the Mutilated Bell and Wen Ling onto her back, while Typhon supported Lamia, and they followed me into the dark clouds. Slipping through the shadows into a different space, I sensed the Sealing Stone along the way and grasped it in my hand. Then, I continued tirelessly producing shadows, pressing onward into the distance until my strength finally failed me.

The dark clouds vanished. The sea of fire was now far behind us; we had reached a nearby mountain.

Lamia and I embraced and kissed, both of us realizing that the other's survival was what mattered most.

Typhon remarked, "To borrow an expression from the Archon, Splendide! Longinus, you have saved us all."

I bent over and coughed up blood, yet the blood was black. Lamia took my hand and asked, "Are you gravely wounded?"

Chris said, "He saved my life. I can use my blood to heal his injuries, but there might be risks involved."

I realized my vision had malfunctioned; I was seeing red as black, while black remained black, and every other color had warped accordingly. The world felt as though it had sunk to the bottom of an endless, dark ocean, and I could hear only the deafening roar of water.

I tossed the Sealing Stone onto the ground. After half a minute, my vision and hearing returned to normal. I was too weak now to touch the stone again.

Typhon gazed at the Sealing Stone and said, "We have finally secured this piece, but the Pale Bride possesses ways to manipulate it. We must exercise double the caution this time."

Chris shouted, "Mr. Norris! It is time you devised a solution as well."

With Wen Ling's back turned to us, Norris began to chant. Black liquid oozed from the tumor, coating the Sealing Stone in a thick layer. He said, "This ought to work, unless that Pale Lady has some other tricks up her sleeve."

Someone on the mountain was walking toward us—a group of men clad in black suits, red ties, fedoras, and wielding machine guns. Standing at the crest of the slope was a robust, bald man chewing on a cigar. He laughed and said, "Christina, Typhon, old friends, do you still recognize me?"

Typhon shook her head. "I do not."

The smile froze on the man's face. He removed the cigar, exhaled a plume of smoke, and his expression turned gloomy. "My name is Simoco, though they all call me Capo Simoco. Does that jog any memories?"

Typhon sighed. "Ever since I awoke from the apocalypse, I have forgotten many things of the past, little kindred."

Simoco said, "That is terribly inconvenient. Should you happen to forget those bombs just now, with your grudge-bearing nature, wouldn't you suffocate yourself to death from sheer frustration?"

Were those bombs his handiwork?

Even though these men held the high ground and aimed their firearms at us, Typhon remained entirely composed. "Are you someone in Ambrosia's service?"

Simoco shook his head. "Never heard of any Ambrosia. What woke me from my lair was a white witch. She scared the daylights out of us, though fortunately she is not quite as deaf to reason as her appearance suggests."

Typhon said, "The Pale Lady?"

Simoco replied, "That's the one. She calls herself that as well."

Chris said, "You have an Italian accent. Are you a member of the Giovanni clan?"

Simoco stated, "Indeed. I am the great-grandson of Stonebelly Giovanni. Before the end of the world arrived, we concealed ourselves in a basement in Sacramento. But a short while ago, when we opened our eyes, our great-grandfather was gone, and only that old witch was hovering above our heads. It was bloody terrifying."

Typhon turned to Wen Ling and asked, "Norris, if I recall correctly, this Stonebelly is your brother. Because he refused to submit to me, I had him hunted down for quite some time."

Norris answered, "It is indeed him, the most worthless elder among us Giovanni. Coincidentally, he is also Malacheni's husband—or rather, her fiancé."

Typhon nodded. "That explains it. The floral wreath he retained ultimately resurrected the Pale Lady, though he himself could not escape death."

Catching sight of Norris, Simoco's expression contorted with rage, and he barked, "Traitor! You've been reduced to a mere tumor now? What fitting retribution!"

Norris chuckled, "Ignorant child. This tumor is merely a spell of mine; my true body is in a mansion hundreds of kilometers away."

Simoco roared, "Useless old fool! Necromancy is an antiquated parlor trick, how can it compare to advanced modern weaponry? The armaments we purchased are sufficient to blow your mansion down to the last speck of dust! We of the Stonebelly lineage are the pillars of the Giovanni clan; the rest of you old fogies are good-for-nothing spendthrifts who only know how to spend money rather than make it!"

Smiling as though looking at a jester, Typhon said, "Is that so? Your thermite bombs certainly gave us quite a fright."

Simoco declared, "Our firearms are equally formidable! Open fire, kill them!"

They raised their machine guns and sprayed us with bullets. Typhon sneered and stepped forward, enveloped in an armor of blood-rose hue that deflected the bullets effortlessly. With a flick of her hand, she commanded the gunmen to instantly cease firing, and the rocket-launchers who had already primed their weapons lowered their gear.

Simoco's face, already pale, now resembled a melting snowball. He stammered, "How can this be? They are all kindred."

Typhon remarked, "Your blood is far too weak, and these progeny of yours are even more pathetic. With their feeble willpower, it takes no effort to make them my weapons, my subordinates."

Simoco fired his gun repeatedly; the chamber was loaded with ether rounds. Typhon spun her longsword with blinding speed, deflecting the bullets. Terrified, Simoco groped in his coat for a thermite grenade, but Typhon closed the distance with a light leap. A touch of her finger to Simoco's forehead shattered the kindred's willpower, causing him to break down and wail miserably before her.

Typhon took the dropped thermite grenade and shoved it back into Simoco's hands. "Now tell me, where is the Pale Lady?"

Simoco quivered, "She has to rest where corpses are buried. We... we do not know her hiding place, I swear..."

Typhon said, "I completely believe you, because your meager cultivation prevents you from lying to me."

Typhon offered her hand to Simoco, allowing him to kiss the back of it. To be honest, I felt a twinge of envy. If being her enemy came with such perks, I might as well have mutinied on the spot—though I remained somewhat afraid of being run through by her sword.

Chris approached them and asked, "What are your thoughts?"

Typhon replied, "Having an extra servant like this is not a bad thing. What he said carries some truth; the might of thermal weapons may already surpass the sorceries of our kindred. We are in need of experts in heavy weaponry."

She slit her own wrist and, radiating the majesty of a conqueror, extended it toward Simoco.

Simoco stared at the blood-stained jade hand of the exquisite grand duchess, yet his expression was one of terror, as though he were gazing upon the Grim Reaper's scythe. He shook as if stricken with epilepsy, desperately thrashing his head side to side by the smallest margin, yet under her control, he was unable to retreat.

What was he waiting for? In my place, I would have pounced instantly, tongue as lithe as a snake—even with a wife present and staring right at me, I doubt I could have resisted welcoming her with a polite first taste...

Typhon commanded, "Open your mouth. Just a couple of sips."

Simoco opened his mouth and bit down upon her wound. Typhon closed her eyes, looking quite pleased, while Simoco finally shed his cowardice, drinking deeply of Typhon's blood, weeping tears the entire time.

He resembled a shattered toy.

Lamia inquired, "Be careful! Will he be alright drinking like that?"

I said, "Indeed, watch out you don't overdo it. There's an old saying that swordsmen always possess a Luck of E..."

Chris shook her head. "This is a different kind of pact. Feeding him an appropriate amount of blood will not endanger Typhon's soul; instead, it will bind Simoco forever as Typhon's subject, unable to resist, unable to betray. It is the harshest punishment among the kindred."

Typhon pushed Simoco away and delivered a heavy kick to him. Simoco shrieked in agony, yet a satisfied smile broke across his face. Some dormant trait of his seemed to have awakened; that kick had made him utterly blissful.

Had Norris ever drunk Typhon's blood as well? As a fellow duke of the Black Coffin, he was altogether too deferential toward her.

Typhon said, "Now, answer me honestly: do you know where Ambrosia is?" She had asked Simoco once before, but this time he had no possible way to lie.

Simoco stammered, "I have never laid eyes on Ambrosia. I have never even heard of such a person."

Typhon asked, "You have never seen a blond-haired, big-nosed man seeking out the Pale Lady? Is she not someone being manipulated?"

Simoco answered, "Master, it is the Pale Lady who has constantly oppressed and tormented us, leaving us zero room for rebellion. She is fully lucid, and I believe she would never take orders from anyone else."

Typhon sighed, "Go retrieve all your weaponry now and load it onto Yugene's vehicle. If you encounter Malacheni along the way, the moment I give the word to fire, roast her into a rack of lamb for me. Understood?"

Simoco shouted, "Everything I am belongs to you, my master! I shall do as you command, but I beg of you to grant me a small reward."

Typhon smiled gently. "Very well."

With a single kick, she sent Simoco tumbling across the ground. At that moment, Simoco's life seemed entirely fulfilled as he joyfully summoned all his subordinates and sprinted toward his weapons cache.

I sighed, berating myself for never having witnessed a man so utterly debased and eager for a beating.

Yet why was Lamia looking at me with a smiling gaze?

I glanced down at her feet, and inexplicably, I found myself imagining the scene of her stepping mercilessly upon me, picturing both the agony and the ecstasy of it.

This fallen world had driven even someone as inherently holy as myself to such depravity.