The Witch’s Wrath

"Sometimes we have to admit that the wisdom of the elderly can be useful." Salomon sidestepped a monster’s claw, then lashed out and kicked the vampire creature hard in the knee. With a faint crack, the creature’s leg twisted out of shape, and it could no longer cling to the aircraft’s deck. Just as it was about to fall off the plane, the Arcanist quickly pinned its twisted leg with his other foot and drove his longsword into its chest, letting the blade drink its blood and soul.

The Arcanist’s loudly delivered quip received no praise. The Artificial Human simply did not understand humor—perhaps she did, but she never told jokes—while Captain Rogers was the target of the quip. Stark had said that sort of thing to him more times than he could count since he woke up, and Salomon was nowhere near enough to rattle his nerves. Besides, he was busy smashing in a monster’s head with the edge of his shield and had no time to comment. Salomon wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction. Only after the vampire creature beneath his blade had completely withered did he release his foot and let the gale blow the corpse off the deck.

The clouds around the Airbus grew denser and denser. The transport aircraft churned the air currents, making the clouds grind against one another and leaving peals of thunder in the wake of its jet engines. The thunder drew closer and closer. The layered pale-gray clouds slowly darkened into deep gray, then turned into a heavy leaden gray. Dim flashes, accompanied by rumbling thunder, pursued them from behind until the entire aircraft was swallowed by thunderclouds. Even after Agent Melinda May adjusted the flight path, the Airbus burst through the thick clouds like a sperm whale leaping from a glittering sea. The enormous full moon spilled its pearly light over the ocean of clouds, bathing the transport aircraft in moonlight as it emerged.

The earlier adjustment in flight attitude had shaken some vampire creatures off the deck, giving Salomon and Captain Rogers a moment of relief. But the moonlight that followed made the Arcanist’s barely stabilized mood even worse. The full moon, yin power, vampire creatures—every clue pointed to the mastermind behind this pursuit. Apart from the Hell Lords, the only one capable of commanding these vampire creatures that had hidden in the deep mountains and nearly gone extinct was the god of Vampires.

A figure appeared on the deck amid lingering black mist. As the black fog dispersed, the figure was revealed—he looked no different from an ordinary person, but ordinary people did not suddenly appear on the deck of a transport aircraft ten thousand meters in the air. The moment he appeared, the monsters ceased their assault on the Airbus. They followed him silently, waiting for his command.

"I am Xenos Vanchot." The man was tall, his skin excessively pale under the moonlight. He wore a pure black suit, and his short dark-brown hair, combed back, remained perfectly in place despite the howling wind. Not even the moonlight could pass his cheekbones to shine into his eyes. A cross-scepter tie pin adorned his chest, marking his identity. The moment Salomon saw that symbol, he completely confirmed the mastermind behind this attack—Lilith and Cain’s bloodlines, the infamous Vampire clans, vampire creatures entirely different from the Dracula Bloodline. The magical power of these Vampire clans was far weaker than that of the Dracula Bloodline, but that was not all.

If the vampire before him belonged to the Vanchot Clan, the leaders of the Secret Party, then those hideous vampire creatures from before might have been from the Nosferatu Clan. And the necromancer they had encountered earlier was likely from the Rimmer Clan, where Blood Magic was prevalent. This clan was not made up entirely of Vampires; there were also outsider Black Warlocks awaiting transformation into Vampires.

These members of the Secret Party, also known as Kamalila, were absolute isolationists. Although their clans’ history was far older than Kamar-Taj’s, the excessively indulgent blood clans had long since been purged under the pressure of the Sorcerer Supreme. Salomon had participated in several such purges himself. There had been those of the Dracula Bloodline and those of the Cain Bloodline. The Arcanist knew the emblems of these clans by heart, and the man before him should have been the current head of the Vanchot family. Now that these Vampire clans, which had barely survived in Kamar-Taj’s shadow, had raised their heads again, Salomon could not let him leave.

"I am here to convey the divine decree of the supreme goddess Lilith!" the vampire shouted. "Salomon Damonet, if you are willing to honor the agreement made a thousand years ago and return to the embrace of Goddess Lilith—"

"Though I do like married women, I already have a fiancée." Salomon cut off the vampire’s next words. Orange-red sparks danced ceaselessly in his palm. "Please decline this invitation on my behalf," he said. "And the age gap is simply too great. I can’t accept an age difference of more than a thousand years. Within a thousand years might be negotiable. Sorry."

Captain Rogers shot Salomon a surprised look. To this day, he still could not understand the Arcanist’s thought process.

The vampire’s expression darkened. He stared into the Arcanist’s eyes, then waved his hand. The monsters behind him howled and lunged forward once more. Captain Rogers went to deal with the monsters alone, while Salomon and the Artificial Human strode toward the Vanchot Clan vampire. Salomon hurled an orange-red spear of sparks at the Vanchot vampire with all his strength. Immediately afterward, the Artificial Human leaped into the air, her greatsword cleaving down from above.

But both attacks struck empty air. The spear and the greatsword hit nothing but a layer of mist. Salomon suddenly inhaled, spun to the right, and drove his right elbow backward as his left hand drew a dagger from his waist.

Bang! His elbow collided with the vampire’s arm with a dull thud. The moment his elbow strike was blocked, Salomon leaned back slightly and slashed the dagger in his reverse grip toward the vampire’s neck. The vampire was faster than Salomon. The Vanchot vampire tilted his head aside and avoided the dagger, but what followed was a Sun-Character Straight Punch from Salomon’s right hand, fired straight down the centerline. It struck him squarely in the face. Once Salomon landed a hit, his movements became much faster—he met the attack head-on and pursued it, never leaving all four hands empty. He used his palms to suppress and entangle the opponent’s incoming hand, then, once he gained the advantage, unleashed a chain of palm strikes. It was a direct method of using reach against close range. He understood motion and stillness, presence and absence, advance and retreat. This was the result of ten years of relentless martial arts training. Though the oncoming gale made it difficult for him to keep his eyes open, Salomon could still strike his enemy accurately through the speed of his punches and his memory.

His right fist opened into a palm and dropped swiftly, pinning the vampire’s rising wrist. The Arcanist shifted slightly to the left, and the dagger in his left hand swept from right to left, slashing upward through the vampire’s chest and abdomen all the way to his armpit. Dark black blood immediately gushed from the wound. The precious blood was swept away by the freezing wind in an instant, scattering as tiny droplets that froze and fell into the thunderclouds behind the Arcanist. The Vanchot vampire screamed in pain. Every cut made by that dagger drained his life force, blood, and soul as a vampire. Its greedy sucking inflicted agony far greater than the long, bone-deep wound.

The dagger immediately returned, replacing his right hand in suppressing the enemy. Its blade cut into the Vanchot vampire’s wrist along the gap between bones, locking down his movement. Salomon smashed his right fist into the vampire’s face. On the second blow, an orange-red ring unfolded and flickered around his fist. The orange-red light stood out sharply in the darkness, and each of his punches ignited some of the flesh saturated with Negative Energy.

A continuous sizzling sounded until the Vanchot vampire’s face had been roasted black. Only then did the Arcanist halt his right-handed assault. Next, his right fist opened into a palm and lowered again, repeating the right-hand block. This time, the dagger in his left hand flashed back and forth across the vampire’s chest and abdomen, cutting three times at terrifying speed. The blade moved so swiftly that its motions were almost impossible to see. On the final cut, Salomon released his right hand, raised his left hand high, and slashed diagonally upward with the dagger, opening a wound from the vampire’s chin all the way to his forehead.

He withdrew the dagger with his left hand, stepped forward into a bow stance, and drove a punch squarely into the vampire’s chest.

The Arcanist’s attack took less than seven seconds. By then, the Artificial Human had arrived in time. As the vampire staggered back several steps, she stepped forward and swung her greatsword horizontally, attempting to cut him in two. But without Salomon’s Positive Energy spell suppressing him, the attack missed again. The Vanchot vampire repeated his old trick and turned into a cloud of black mist once more.

Salomon looked around. When he spotted the Vanchot vampire again, he found him standing on the Airbus’s wing, blood still pouring from wounds all over his body. The vampire clutched his injuries and gave the Arcanist a sickening smile with his charred face. Before Salomon could cast a spell to stop him, the vampire crouched down and used his sharp claws to tear up the deck above the engine.

Then the engine exploded violently. Amid flames and a deafening roar, one wing was blasted to pieces. The Airbus bucked violently in midair, trailing black smoke as it tilted, shook, and plunged into the sea of clouds below. Salomon and the Artificial Human could still stand steadily thanks to the Spider-Walk Technique, but Captain Rogers was not so fortunate. The cable around his waist dragged him flat against the deck, leaving him unable to stand again.

Suddenly, a massive crimson door appeared out of thin air beneath the Airbus. A pale arm with sharp red nails reached out from the doorway and grasped at the falling Airbus. But just as Salomon was about to open a portal and call for assistance, a massive white arm adorned with ornate moth decorations reached out from the clouds and caught the falling aircraft with perfect accuracy. Another arm, decorated with purple butterflies, clenched into a fist and viciously struck the arm attempting to seize the Airbus.

"Bitch! He’s not your man!"