Round 26: Divine Blessing

What is this mecha? I clearly destroyed it just now—so where did the energy come from to cause such changes? Or is this the wonder of its core? O’Sullivan stared at 47, who had transformed into a werewolf.

He said nothing and fired his gun—yet 47 leaped up in an instant, making it nearly impossible for him to catch up. He even dodged the magic bullets that could adjust their trajectory. Now, 47’s speed was on par with his own.

47 seemed somewhat excited. He had never moved at such high speeds before. Everyone around him appeared stationary or as if moving in slow motion. Now, even if Ale and O’Sullivan attacked Moriel together, he was confident he could handle it effortlessly.

He even let out a mechanical howl into the air—its mimicry was almost perfect.

O’Sullivan found himself in a tough fight. The two high-speed fighters kept moving around, fighting each other. He could no longer strike 47 effectively. 47’s speed ensured this, and O’Sullivan himself felt tired from running at high speed for so long. But whether 47 would get tired was unknown.

In a moment of carelessness, a corner of his black robe was torn off by 47’s claws, and the slight disturbance disrupted his balance, causing him to stop.

“Now it’s my turn to try this tactic,” 47 thought, focusing on Ale as his target. Ale had originally been trained as a ruthless war machine, and now that instinct was fully activated.

Moreover, he also disliked that bald guy who kept attacking Moriel.

Ale roared, unleashing a wall of blazing flames around him, ready to hurl a fireball to teach this metal monster a lesson—but then he collapsed in pain due to a flash of silver light.

“You dare try to block the Light of the Dark Day!” Jason, no longer in human form, had revived. His face had turned into a swirling mass of mercury, and his limbs were semi-liquid. Without the silver needles, he now had a thin sword—its blade so thin it seemed almost invisible, constantly trembling. At times it appeared solid, at other times liquid, and sometimes even like gas. With a swing of his sword, the wall of flames that rushed forward like a crashing wave was neatly split in two, rendering even the following lava fireballs useless.

“The elect of Xeric—” Mishima, who had been watching, also took action. He seemed to have endless powders of various colors and unknown materials. Muttering to himself, he snapped his hands, and two giant dog-like creatures, seemingly made entirely of shadow, leaped out of the powder and rushed at Jason.

Ale was severely injured, but his strong physique allowed him to quickly respond to his wounds. Instead of continuing his flame attacks, he first used fire to scorch his wounds to stop the bleeding. Then, one after another, spells appeared along with his gestures—burning, disappearing.

“Why are there always these endless troublemakers today?” O’Sullivan was utterly fed up. He swung his twin guns, the cyan arcs resembling entangled snakes.

The fierce battle continued, but against Jason’s indiscriminate attacks, they were all at a disadvantage. The Phantom Dog couldn’t hold out long before being pierced by Jason’s slender sword and disappearing with a mournful cry. Around Aley, it had become a hell of storms and flames; a blazing fire shield surrounded him, while dense hail of fire rained down like bullets, pursued by Jason, whose movements were as insidious as flowing water.

Jason now no longer resembled a human at all—his only distinct feature was the blade in his hand. Dark green magic arrows were thrown by Mishima, but he dodged them with agile movements, like a fish. With a swift swing, his sword lashed toward Mishima’s neck. If not for O’Sullivan’s sudden, ghostly appearance, firing several shots at him from the side and creating seven or eight holes, Mishima would have been finished.

Forty-Seven also had to join the fight against Jason. That demonic slender sword had no clear target—meaning everyone was a target. Seizing an opportunity, he pierced Jason from behind with his claw. His terrifying speed even caused steam to rise from the claw resting on Jason’s chest. Yet in an instant, Jason slipped away from Forty-Seven’s claws like flowing water and even counterattacked with a sword strike. The deep gashes showed that his attacks were far more deadly than O’Sullivan’s knife—this was what was truly terrifying. Jason’s body made him immune to any attack, whether it was O’Sullivan’s bullets, Forty-Seven’s steel claws, or Aley’s flaming projectiles.

The rest of them could only take hits, waiting for Jason to exhaust himself.

The temple began to collapse, possibly due to the tornado-like battle or the activation of the magic circle—or maybe both. Debris started falling, hitting the ground or water with heavy thuds, signaling the temple’s further downfall.

At some point, the mist began to disperse again, unknowingly enveloping the frenzied Jason. Suddenly, Jason wore a strange expression—its meaning unclear—then let out a shriek as his body instantly turned into a wisp of smoke. A red mist drifted in, mixing with the lingering smoke and rolling toward the statue of the Goddess of Mist. The mist gradually gathered, revealing two figures. Billy was covered in blood, his body stiff, yet his face showed a madly joyful expression: “It was right to let you in… I never thought… I could even confront the divine seed of Xeric… What an unexpected gain…”

Jason, held under Billy’s arm, seemed to have lost all ability to resist.

“Great Goddess of Mist, your faithful servant offers you a sacrifice—the power stolen from you by the despicable Dark Days. Now, I devoutly return it to you. Please awaken from your endless slumber!” With that, Billy placed his bloodstained hand on the statue and began reciting unknown spells.

“Damn it!” Mishima shouted. “We have to stop him! If the Goddess of Mist absorbs the divine power Xeric gave to the chosen ones, we’ll be trapped in this hell forever!”

Before Mishima and Ale could take action, Jason launched a fierce counterattack. No one knew the steps of Billy’s ritual to revive the Goddess of Mist, but with Jason, as the sacrifice, expressing dissent, it was obvious that completing the ritual smoothly would be extremely difficult. Both Billy and Jason were severely injured and had exhausted their magic. Thus, the two chosen messengers ended up fighting like scoundrels in front of the Goddess of Mist’s statue.

O’Sullivan’s interest clearly wasn’t in the Goddess of Mist. He was furious as his prey slipped away, yet he was helpless watching Forty-Seven head toward Moriel—the blue electric flames on his dual guns had disappeared.

“Forty-Seven?” Moriel looked extremely weak, as if she might faint at any moment.

“I’m here!” Forty-Seven replied while protecting Moriel from falling debris.

“Be careful of those three—they’re here for you!” Moriel warned, seemingly not fully aware of her own condition.

“We need to focus on more important things. This place is about to collapse,” Forty-Seven observed the situation: Billy and Jason were still locked in a struggle within the mist, O’Sullivan glared at him fiercely, while Mishima and Ale kept glancing between Jason and O’Sullivan, seemingly waiting for his orders.

“We should retreat!” O’Sullivan finally declared decisively.

Mishima stood there, confused, while Ale showed a fierce expression—“I can’t let that woman go!” He even added an exclamation mark, showing how urgent his emotions were.

O’Sullivan waved his hand, thinking, “In just a short while, you haven’t even decided whether to let her go yet.” He also knew that under the current circumstances, he couldn’t subdue Forty-Seven and get what he wanted. So, he stepped forward. “There’s time enough later.”

“By then, your weird guns will be part of my collection,” Forty-Seven said, his wolf-like face expressionless. Though O’Sullivan had thought he was smiling not long ago, it was likely just his own imagination.

“Maybe I’ll put them beside you after you’re separated. The story after we leave will be interesting.”

“Then you’d better try harder,” Forty-Seven said as he picked up Moriel.