Give It More Gas, Knight

As the Hell Gate gradually expanded, Salomon and the Artificial Human leaped out from behind Cassilius. The Arcanist did not even have time to stop them. Master and servant, their minds linked as one, moved in perfect sync, raising their weapons and slashing at Mephisto’s true form. Mephisto could not leave, because the moment he did, the Hellish monsters he had brought would become prey for Kamar-Taj. The portal would lose all meaning—this gate had only been opened through the collective Blood Sacrifice of hundreds of mercenaries, arms dealers’ private forces, and Eastern European cults. With Mephisto’s penny-pinching nature, he would never waste such hard-won sacrifices.

Salomon had guessed correctly. This was a targeted ritual, and Mephisto did not need to split these souls with the other Hell Lords. Although there were somewhat fewer souls than the number of United States soldiers killed after the United States launched wars in the Middle East, Mephisto had not experienced the joy of keeping everything for himself in a long time. He had even wanted to give a speech titled "The Enormous Profits of Monopoly Channels and the Pleasure of Profit," but Salomon gave him no such opportunity. Under other circumstances, he would not have minded listening to Mephisto lecture, but not now. He was in a hurry.

Yet Mephisto was smarter than everyone here. Especially in the arts of conspiracy and magic, Mephisto could hang every Arcanist here—including Salomon—with one hand and beat them to a pulp, literally, without even losing his breath. Unless the Witch summoned those hotheaded female demons again, drove back the King of Devils through brute force, and then allowed Kamar-Taj to slowly dismantle and destroy this Hell Gate, no one here would escape unscathed. Magic was no toy. It was not magic just because an eleven-year-old middle schooler waved a little stick around and sprayed sparks everywhere. If a high-level spell like a portal went wrong, the danger it brought was no less severe for the caster than for its target.

Salomon had foreseen this as well, which was why his and the Artificial Human’s slashes were merely feints. He wanted to seize victory in the simplest and most brutal way possible while Mephisto was busy expanding the Hell Gate and unable to spare a hand to deal with them. His attack would be neither melee combat nor magic, but a trick he had learned at the age of twelve, one that was still not outdated even now.

"By the name of the Vishanti." As he lunged over Cassilius’s shoulder, he continued murmuring under his breath. The Artificial Human covered the small movement of his fingers perfectly—he held up three fingers, a gesture symbolizing the Vishanti Trinity. Cassilius caught a glimpse of it and more or less guessed what Salomon intended to do.

"By the name of Oshtur, Goddess of White Magic, I command you to leave this realm!" Salomon nearly shouted the final words. This was the part he hated most. It could hardly be called magic at all; it was nothing but an uncontrolled eruption of magical power. Even forming an enormous, utterly unsophisticated Magic Missile would have made him happier than crudely flinging magic around here.

The Artificial Human nimbly dodged the attack from behind, but her black lace-trimmed bodycon dress was still inevitably scorched by the rapidly expanding, high-temperature magic. The exquisite lace curled slightly as it burned. At the same time, the Witches’ bullets arrived after the fact but overtook everything else, rushing ahead of Salomon and the Artificial Human and striking their target before the magic did.

It all happened in an instant. In the time it took to say a few words, the Witches had already raised their guns and fired. They did not know what Salomon was planning, but they supported their cohabitant’s idea with action all the same. The barrage they instinctively laid down truly did draw Mephisto’s attention.

In that single instant, scorching Positive Energy surged from Salomon’s palm like a bursting riverbank. Before anyone could blink, Mephisto was swallowed soundlessly by a wave of Positive Energy. An excessive, blazing torrent of Positive Energy erupted from Salomon’s palm, instantly raising a platinum-white tidal wave through the forest, blotting out the sky as it crashed head-on toward the Hell Gate. Every blade of grass and tree beneath it was burned to ash, while Salomon’s palm, the source of it all, had already been charred black.

This was the second time he had experienced the feeling of being scorched by Vishanti magic. Last time, he had been severely carbonized, practically dead. He dropped the longsword in his other hand and instead grabbed his ringed right hand, forcing himself to maintain contact with the Vishanti and channel Oshtur’s immense magical power.

"Enough!" On the third breath, Cassilius hurriedly seized Salomon’s palm, which had begun to blacken, cutting off his connection with the Vishanti. Cassilius glanced at the three gemstone rings, still brilliant despite their uneven scorching, and understood why Salomon could serve as a channel for the Vishanti and accomplish what other Arcanists could not. That magic had not passed through Salomon’s body at all. It had flowed directly from the rings. The Sorcerer Supreme had not allowed Salomon’s body to receive the Vishanti’s power. No wonder only Master Wong and Salomon at Kamar-Taj could not stomach the headquarters’ plain cabbage and water. The former simply ate too much, while the latter lacked external magic to sustain his body’s physiological functions. Their appetites were also the largest.

Although Cassilius had no intention of exposing the truth, he still recalled what the Sorcerer Supreme had said before Salomon was born. Even now, he only vaguely understood a small part of The Venerable One’s intentions, but it was not yet clear enough. At present, it seemed the Sorcerer Supreme had always used something extremely dangerous as Salomon’s toy—for example, the powerful Holy Shroud, which had become a swaddling cloth constantly washed in a washing machine.

Perhaps one day, Salomon’s own magic would be enough to sustain his physiological functions, just like Bayonetta, who had relied on a magical cycle to remain in suspended deathlike sleep for five hundred years. But he could not do that yet. He was still too young.

No matter how one looked at it, he was still too young. Cassilius thought, Young and reckless, just like those young Sanctum stewards who came here with me. Damn it, I never thought I would say something like that. Usually, it is Mordo saying it to me.

Mephisto voiced the same sentiment as Cassilius. "Youth means impulsiveness, recklessness, and fearlessness. Though you normally act with restraint, you still cannot rid yourself of that childishness." As the tide of Positive Energy gradually receded, the Hell Gate remained standing, seemingly unaffected in the slightest. Mephisto leaned against one of its pillars with a disgusted expression, repeatedly dusting off his little cape with his crimson hands, their long black nails sharp and slender. He looked as though he might vomit at any moment.

No matter how cruel or nauseating an image might be, to a devil it was merely post-meal entertainment. But Positive Energy alone was the devil’s bane. In Mephisto’s eyes, every Arcanist at Kamar-Taj besides the Sorcerer Supreme was a filthy child squatting in the mud, playing with dirt and excrement. That overwhelming wave of Positive Energy pressing down upon Mephisto was no different from dumping a full septic tank over an ordinary person’s head.

Seeing Salomon’s expression grow anxious, Cassilius placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don’t worry," Cassilius said gently, uttering words he usually hated most. "The Venerable One has already made preparations. We only need to let things take their course."

"What preparations?"

"I do not know either. My math and physics grades were not very good," Cassilius said. "It seems to have something to do with the negative energy levels of certain particles. The Venerable One explained it before, but I could not understand it. Besides, Kamar-Taj is not carrying out this mission. Someone else is."

Who? Salomon was somewhat startled. His slightly blackened hand was now held by the Witch; otherwise, he surely would have slapped his forehead. How could The Venerable One entrust something so important to someone else? Unless…

Cassilius answered, "The Merlin School."

"Then I am ready." Salomon glanced at the monsters about to rush out of the Hell Gate. "I need to try harder too."

Sorry for the late update. I am incredibly sleepy right now.

Also, why does no one ever catch my Gundam references? Is it because I am old?