Ch: 363-370
363. Nine-headed snake with tears in its eyes
Well, well, well.
That expression... there's a story there.
Amidst the heart-wrenching screams outside, Locke, seated on the sofa, watched the rich expressions on Martin Louis's face and raised an eyebrow.
Ten years old!
A boy!
Personal assistant!
"Hiss!"
Locke suddenly thought of something, his expression a bit strange as he looked at Martin Louis, recalling some popular stories among certain groups in the Federation, and directly gasped, muttering to himself, "They really know how to play!"
Martin Louis's face was filled with humiliation.
His fists clenched!
After Locke gasped, he roughly understood what had happened between Martin Louis and his boss, the 36th Dolan, and directly changed the subject: "So, what happened with the car accident on Highway 74 this afternoon?"
He wasn't that curious.
To be honest, if it were a story between two women, Locke would be quite curious.
But man and man?
Forget it.
Besides, Locke wasn't here to listen to such disgusting and nauseating stories, especially not a story of Martin Louis's decade-long humiliation; there was no need to poke at his pain.
At most, knowing this story further solidified one thing for him.
He was born righteous!
The Dolan Church deserved to fail.
"Highway 74?"
"Yes!"
Locke crossed his legs, automatically filtering out the increasingly close wailing sounds and the screams from outside, tilting his head as he looked at Martin Louis: "You don't know about that either?"
Martin Louis snapped back to reality, shook his head, calming the surge of submission within him, swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and nodded: "I know."
Outside the Dolan Church.
Carrie was unleashing her power!
The entire Hudson riverfront, at this moment, seemed to have been awakened.
Boom!
The flames of fury surged, and the heart-wrenching screams, accompanied by the rising flames, grew louder and louder. Above the Dolan Church, more than fifty Dolan followers hung suspended in mid-air.
At the forefront was the so-called 36th Dolan!
Carrie, whose body was also burning with the furious Witchfire, floated expressionlessly towards the 36th Dolan, who was currently in a posture as if bound to a cross.
Carrie's gaze fell on the executioners, who were being furiously devoured by countless witch spirits pulled up from the dimension of hell, and then she looked at the 36th Dolan: "Do you like the feast I've prepared for you?"
As she spoke.
Carrie moved her right hand.
Whoosh!
The 36th Dolan, who was in a posture as if bound to a cross, directly turned around, staring intently at the witch spirits before him—those they had sent to hell with fiery judgment over the years, who were now back for revenge.
The screams and wails of his subordinates, along with the constant biting and venomous curses of the vengeful witch spirits, surged into the 36th Dolan's ears like waves, one after another.
The next second.
The 36th Dolan couldn't help but close his eyes.
But... "Ah!"
"Open them!"
Carrie's magic surged, and accompanied by the 36th Dolan's heartfelt scream, his eyelids instantly vanished. Blood began to stream from Dolan's pupils, but he could no longer close his eyes.
"Don't you all love fiery judgment?"
"What's wrong?"
Carrie said in a hushed tone, "Or do you only like watching witches burn to death in front of you, but when it's your turn, you can't accept it?"
"Witch..."
The 36th Dolan stared, almost spitting out the words through gritted teeth: "The Lord will deal with you."
Carrie looked at Dolan, her expression a little surprised: "Are you talking about God?"
The 36th Dolan's eyes were bloodshot, glaring at Carrie, clearly indicating that he was referring to God.
Carrie's expression was strange, as if she was trying hard to hold something back.
The next second.
Carrie burst out laughing.
Demons are evil.
All evil things need to be judged.
God is merciful.
God is forgiving.
Carrie had probably heard these words since she was a child, but if there were a vote for the character Carrie disliked the most, God would undoubtedly be at the top of the list.
"God?"
Carrie laughed heartily, recalling her childhood, where she would be grounded by her mother at the slightest disagreement, praying for God's forgiveness in a dimly lit small room. The horrific persecution of witches by the Dolan Church, combined with God's persecution of her in her childhood, fueled the flames of her anger even higher. She stared at Dolan expressionlessly: "Don't worry, it'll be your turn soon. In a moment, you and I will find out if your so-called God dares to save you!"
God?
Heh.
Carrie suddenly remembered something Locke had once said, the corners of her mouth turning up, her tone icy: "God? How many divisions does he have???"
The 36th Dolan trembled, listening to such blatant heretical remarks: "Witch, my allies will be here soon, don't get ahead of yourself!"
Yes.
He thought of the phone call he had just made.
The 36th Dolan was well aware of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s capabilities. Once his friend's friend arrived, would a mere witch be able to withstand bombardment from planes and artillery?
Uh... the 36th Dolan's hopes were probably going to be dashed.
In fact.
Alexander Pierce's people had already arrived!
Originally, a team of HYDRA agents in New York City, acting on Crossbones' orders, was rushing to the Dolan Church to eliminate the informant who had called S.H.I.E.L.D.'s biggest mole to tell him there was a mole in the agency. However, upon arriving, they saw the scene of someone directly breaking through the roof and then hanging countless Dolan followers to begin their judgment.
Gulp.
A HYDRA agent held up his phone, filmed the scene, and then transmitted it to Crossbones, asking if they should intervene in this situation, as it seemed someone had already come to cause trouble for the Dolan Church.
What if the powerful witch took them for allies of the Dolan Church?
Especially when the 36th Dolan was shouting about his allies arriving, cold sweat streamed down his back, and he quickly signaled the team members behind him to retreat further.
Anyway, the scene unfolding at the Dolan Church at this moment, let alone retreating a kilometer, could probably be seen even from Brooklyn, if one chose a tall building.
At the Washington D.C. banquet.
Crossbones watched the video sent by his subordinate, also momentarily dazed. Then, he steeled himself and found Alexander Pierce in the restroom. Just as Pierce was about to get angry, Crossbones handed him the phone.
"What the hell?"
Alexander Pierce frowned, looking at the grave-faced Crossbones, took the phone, and focused on the screen. Seeing the video of people hanging like stars in the sky, he couldn't help but feel a hint of shock: "What is this?"
Crossbones quickly informed Alexander Pierce about what was happening in New York City.
In summary, it was one sentence.
Their target seemed to have been preempted.
And the preempting party seemed to be someone they couldn't afford to provoke—no, not couldn't afford to provoke, but someone who, if provoked, could potentially expose them!
Alexander Pierce looked at the Dark Witch in the video, and then at the New York police cars wailing in the distance, handing the phone back to Crossbones: "Retreat."
This was an unexpected surprise.
From a certain perspective, the Dark Witch could be considered their HYDRA ally this time, after all, the enemy of their enemy was their friend.
Alexander Pierce was a little dazed, and at the same time, he felt an urge to burst into tears. He knew that in the past, it was always HYDRA's enemies who said that phrase.
During World War II, his enemies had said that very phrase, and then swarmed in, unethically destroying HYDRA's cause, which had been on a great trajectory.
From then on, HYDRA learned a lesson!
One must be low-key as a person, and an organization must also be low-key. Therefore, when faced with a hard-won developing cause, the leaders of HYDRA were as low-key as possible.
The tallest tree in the forest is the first to be felled by the wind!
This saying from the East had become one of HYDRA's core tenets.
After Alexander Pierce finished speaking, he saw Crossbones still preparing to leave, frowned, and called out to Crossbones: "Figure out a way to contact this Dark Fuhrer."
It was still the same saying.
The enemy of an enemy is a friend.
Perhaps, a little contact, what if they could cooperate?
Alexander Pierce thought to himself, and there was a certain basis for this. The Peerless Assassin knew of their existence. At first, they were worried, fearing the Peerless Assassin would expose everything. However, two years passed, and the Peerless Assassin seemed to have kept his promise, and all remained peaceful.
What did this signify?
It didn't signify anything definitively, but at least it indicated one thing: the Peerless Assassin and they did not wish to be enemies.
That was enough.
Alexander Pierce recalled the powerful Dark Fuhrer in the video and couldn't help but begin to imagine that if a witch could join their ranks, it would mean that all witches would fall into HYDRA's camp. Therefore, a tentative contact was not a bad idea.
"Oh, and!"
Alexander finally pointed his finger at Crossbones: "Have the people in New York pay attention and try to control public opinion. Consider it our goodwill gesture."
Crossbones nodded.
After Alexander Pierce finished speaking this time, he had no further additions. He waved his hand, signaling Crossbones to leave, then closed the cubicle door and continued his current work.
Damn it, that snail must have been expired.
Eating it just sent him here...
364. The Destruction of the Doran Church
Waa-woo! Waa-woo! Waa-waa-waa!!!!!
The urgent and piercing police sirens flashed in a blur. By the time the NYPD police cars were still a block away, the overlapping siren sounds seemed to have been reduced to just 'waa-waa-waa' wails.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
The police cars quickly pulled over. Then, the outermost Police Officers, already highly skilled through practice, smoothly took out the caution tape and began driving away the crowds who had run out late at night to watch the excitement.
Soon!
The caution tape was secured.
"shit!"
George got out of the car and looked at the Doran Church members hanging like Baby's Breath flowers all over the Doran Church building. He couldn't help but curse: "Damn it, I knew it!"
Damn it, the search warrant he had prepared for the Doran Church had actually already been submitted to the court. However, because the judge had gone off duty and the judge he knew was on vacation, the warrant couldn't be issued in time.
As a result... someone had beaten him to it!
Beckett next to him repeatedly glanced at George.
What... did he mean by that?
George stared up at the sky, where the 'Baby's Breath' figures—who looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, being gnawed and torn by countless transparent Witch souls, constantly wailing, their sounds gradually diminishing—took a deep breath. He then beckoned to a Police Officer nearby holding a megaphone.
The Police Officer quickly handed the megaphone to George.
"Tzzt!"
George immediately turned on the megaphone, adjusted it, raised it high, and spoke to the Dark Sovereign in the air, who was Carrie: "Syndra, here..."
Carrie turned her head to look.
Bang!
George immediately dropped the megaphone from his right hand.
For no other reason.
The megaphone had instantly exploded into a flower-like mess.
Carrie watched George, who had lowered his head and dropped the megaphone. Her right hand moved slightly, and magic began to pull on the Witch Curse left on The 36th Generation Dolan standing before her.
The passage connecting the Witch Curse to Hell slowly opened.
The next second.
Endless wails transmitted out from the opened passage to Hell. Emotions filled with rage, deep resentment, and even unwillingness instantly materialized and blasted out from within.
Carrie looked at George: "You want me to stop?"
George looked at the ruined megaphone, stopped Detective Beckett who was signaling the others to speak, took a deep breath, and looked up at Carrie in the sky: "He should be punished by law! What you are doing is not justice, it's vigilantism."
Carrie smiled slightly: "Captain Stacy, your friend Detective Kaup once said the same thing. I answered him then, and I can answer you now!"
George frowned slightly!
Carrie raised her right hand, and then.
Swung it down!
Instantly!
The passage to Hell roared open, directly blown apart by Carrie's boundless magic. The next second, scenes resembling a mirage floated into the sky.
The scenes were all fixed.
They all showed a Cross, then raging Fire, and the same man, though at different points in time.
The only difference was the woman tied to the Cross.
From girl, to woman, and then to elder!
The age span of the women on these Crosses perfectly displayed a woman's lifetime, and they were all judged by the same man using raging Fire.
For what reason?
Simply because they were deemed 'Witches'!
"Oh, shit!"
"Jesus Christ!"
"God!"
"Oh my goodness!"
"Beast!"
The Police Officers were instantly stunned. Even the citizens who had been driven outside the caution tape couldn't help but cover their mouths in shock upon seeing such scenes, their faces full of disbelief accompanied by gasps!
"Back then..."
Carrie watched The 36th Generation Dolan, who couldn't even let out a scream before being instantly submerged by the endless Witch souls. The mockery on her face deepened as she slowly descended in front of George: "Detective Kaup also said that vigilantism is not justice. I asked, what if the souls who died tragically at his hands came out of Hell to seek revenge themselves? Is the revenge of the dead justice?"
George remained silent.
Carrie scoffed and looked at George: "Detective Kaup didn't tell me. Perhaps, Captain Stacy, you can tell me: is the self-judgment carried out by the victims against their murderer vigilantism? Is it justice?"
George looked up at Carrie.
In mid-air, the number of Witch souls arriving due to the curse through the opened passage to Hell was still increasing. In a short time, nearly a hundred Witch souls had roared in anger and joined the ranks of vengeance.
George looked at The 36th Generation Dolan, who was submerged by Witch souls, his eyes flickering.
Just as Kaup couldn't answer Carrie's question.
Similarly!
George also had no way to answer this question. At the very least, he didn't have the qualifications, because he was who he was, and from a certain perspective, their duty was to speak for the dead. Now that the dead had chosen to speak for themselves, how could he intervene?
There was no way to intervene.
Seeing George's expression and Detective Beckett's action of lowering the weapon in her hand, Carrieclearly knew the answer.
She smiled.
Carrie turned her head toward the Hudson River Valley: "Perhaps I should treat the Hudson River the same way I treated Lake Lyre."
Treat the Hudson River the same way as Lake Lyre?
George quickly snapped back and looked at Carrie.
But... Carrie changed the subject, lowered her head, laughed to herself, and shook her head: "Forget it. Justice may be late, but it will surely come. That saying is ridiculous. Delayed justice is never justice. So, Captain Stacy, if similar incidents targeting Witches occur in the future, I hope those people understand that not all Witches lack someone who can uphold justice. If you do something wrong, you must pay the price. Since he dared to do it, he should understand the price he must bear!"
As she spoke.
In mid-air, the countless Witch souls began to disperse, flying toward Carrie, expressing their gratitude using different voices and different languages, but conveying the same meaning.
Thanking Carrie for everything she had done for them!
Tender, pleasant, hoarse, deep.
Amidst the countless words, all were filled with gratitude, and a tiny bit of regret. After they finished speaking, they transformed into specks of starlight surrounding Carrie, as if a beautiful meteor shower had begun.
Carrie turned and left directly!
Ascending into the sky!
The next second!
The starlight slowly integrated into Carrie's body—or rather, into Carrie's boundless magic.
The people on the ground watched Carrie depart, seemingly trailing a meteor shower. Their eyes were slightly dazed, as if they had witnessed a Goddess ascending into the heavens!
Immediately afterward... accompanied by boundless magic, they arrived at the Land of Light Dimension Domain, which had already merged with Salem and completed its sublimation. Then, a shared joy arose among them. After entering the Land of Light Dimension, they seemed to have returned home, lining up like stars, flickering and flashing as they rushed toward the newborn Salem Nation, which had been reignited with vitality due to Locke Broughton's endless energy, seemingly reaching a state where all things compete to flourish!
New Orleans!
Witch Academy!
In the third-floor lounge.
Zoe, Madison, Misty, Cordelia, and Myrtle stared blankly at the TV screen showing the scene of Carrieleaving with endless starlight after the judgment concluded.
Just then.
Cordelia paused slightly. Her consciousness ascended, directly reaching the Salem Nation, where she had long since integrated her soul, becoming one with it.
The moment Cordelia's consciousness settled in the Salem Nation, boundless magic enveloped her consciousness, serving as the body with which Cordelia walked the dimension.
Looking up!
The meteor shower, falling across the sky of the Salem Dimension and nearly filling the entire expanse, was the first thing that entered Cordelia's line of sight!
"We're home!"
"We're finally home!"
"Salem!"
"It's Salem, we're finally home!"
"This is wonderful, I don't hurt anymore."
"Me too!"
"..."
Cordelia, who was Salem and Salem was her, closed her eyes, listening to the voices falling across the Salem Dimension and entering the Salem Nation in soul form. Her lips moved: "Everyone... has returned!"
Outside!
Zoe seemed to catch something out of the corner of her eye. She noticed Cordelia sitting on the sofa, eyes closed, with two lines of clear tears flowing down her face. She carefully nudged Madison next to her.
Madison came back to her senses, glanced at Zoe, and then looked in the direction Zoe was pointing, immediately noticing Cordelia.
Myrtle followed Zoe and Madison's gaze and looked at Cordelia, whom she regarded as her own daughter.
Just then.
Cordelia seemed to sense the gazes of the four outside, and she opened her eyes, which were brimming with tears!
Zoe asked carefully.
"Cordelia, are you alright?"
"I'm fine!"
Cordelia lowered her head, wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and showed a truly brilliant, heartfelt smile. She took a deep breath and said: "I am simply happy that the demon that has plagued us like a nightmare for hundreds of years has finally been destroyed!"
She believed that when the Sun rose tomorrow, a new era would dawn!
For the Witches.
Starting tomorrow, any person or organization harboring evil intentions toward Witches will have to consider whether they can withstand the wrath of the Salem Witches, who have rebuilt from the ruins, and the wrath of the Salem Witches' Guardian, the Dark Sovereign Syndra, who guards the light for them in the darkness.
Cordelia stood up and clapped her hands: "Everyone, let's get to work. The first Witch from New Yorkwill arrive tomorrow."
365. How to Become Dolan
In fact, starting from this morning, about ten minutes after Cordelia finished her interview and announced the Witch Academy's email address, the first email from New York arrived in her inbox.
Within a single day, the phone and email almost exploded.
Although some were nuisance calls from busybodies and the curious, by the afternoon, among the hundreds of resumes they had sorted through, with the full support of the Salem Nation, which possessed endless energy, it was easy to distinguish who was just playing around and who were true witches.
And in a few more hours, when tomorrow's sun rises,
Cordelia, Zoe, and the others believed that the history of the Salem Witches, which had been filled with blood and tears since the Middle Ages, would completely become a thing of the past, and the Salem Witches would usher in a new era.
It's just a bit of a pity!
As Cordelia, Zoe, and the others were preparing to continue working, printing resumes from the inbox and sifting out the true Salem Witches, she suddenly thought of something.
She had originally invited Locke, who had brought them all this new life, to stay and witness Salem entering a new era, but Locke declined her invitation, stating he had many things to attend to in New York.
Cordelia also knew that Locke didn't want his identity exposed, so while she sighed, she seemed to understand.
After all... Locke was a dimensional god, and Cordelia, having merged with Salem, naturally received some of Salem's memories. For example, on Earth, there was a formidable woman who was famous for helping them, directly slapping God away.
Cordelia didn't want Locke to be slapped away by this powerful woman.
Locke was a good person.
No.
A good god.
No doubt about it!
Unfortunately, Cordelia didn't know that the powerful woman in her memory had actually already noticed Locke, but was just contemplating when to ask Locke to borrow some power.
The kind that didn't need to be returned!
"Achoo!"
"God bless you."
"..."
In a certain place in New Jersey, next to New York City, Locke rubbed his nose, looking at Martin Louis, who, despite looking at him with fear, still blessed him after he sneezed. Locke smiled, "Alright, this is it. Let's go."
Martin Louis looked at Locke, somewhat dazed.
Locke's right hand flickered, he pointed at an item he had taken out of his hand, and directly tossed it to Martin Louis.
Martin Louis hastily caught it, then, looking at the corner of a Franklin peeking out of the pocket in his hand, he blinked. This quantity, this weight?
"Mr. Cain..."
Martin Louis paused slightly, looking at Locke, wanting to speak but hesitating. He had actually prepared himself to be silenced after accompanying Locke here; he was ready to accept his fate.
But... Locke chuckled, "There's not much money in here, half a million, but it should be enough for you to go out, find a small town, and settle down peacefully."
Listening to Locke's words, Martin Louis seemed to be thinking for Locke, "Mr. Cain, are you really going to let me go?"
Locke chuckled lightly, "I keep my word. Originally, I only intended to spare your life and leave you with basic self-care abilities, but... you are also a victim."
Martin Louis opened his mouth.
Locke put his hands in his pockets, "Go, find a small town, live the life you want. Leaving New York City, you can start your new life. Take care, and may we meet again!"
With that,
Locke turned around and, with a whoosh, instantly disappeared from the spot.
Martin Louis, standing rooted, watched Locke disappear as if he was truly letting him go, and remained stunned for several minutes.
After a while,
Martin Louis looked down at the thick half a million Franklins in his arms, then looked up in the direction Locke had just left, and sincerely whispered a thank you. Then, he also walked along the road not far away, preparing to go to the town nearby to catch a long-distance bus, following Locke's advice to leave here far away, go to a completely unfamiliar place, and start his life anew.
Actually, he had originally intended, as he had just said, to let this first guide go, but would reduce Martin Louis's intelligence to a basic level of self-care.
After all, one sample was enough. When a second, third, or other guide appeared in the future, it would certainly be impossible to have close contact with the sample.
But... Locke had a soft heart.
After learning about Martin Louis's experiences from age ten to twenty, Locke sighed and still changed his mind.
The weak wielding a knife will only act like the weak.
But the strong wielding a knife will strike at the even stronger.
Locke's blade could chop off the heads of guilty individuals without any psychological pressure, and he could even kill while chatting and laughing.
But he would not kill an innocent person, let alone a victim.
Therefore!
Locke temporarily changed his mind. Anyway, Martin Louis only saw Cain, so sparing his life was not a big problem, and in the future, he could also serve as a better demonstration sample for guides.
The guide is not to be killed.
As for the half a million?
Locke shrugged.
If asked, he would say he had too much money and nowhere to spend it. Besides, this money was dirty, and if Locke used it, he would need to launder it. So he might as well give it to this poor man, after all, he was basically raised in captivity by the thirty-sixth generation Dolan. Without money, Locke estimated that if he brought a second guide to see this sample in the future, he would probably only be able to visit a graveyard.
Back home.
Locke emerged from his Cain state, adjusted his cuffs, and walked into the living room, where he saw Carrie curled up on the sofa, holding a drink.
He looked at the bar.
Locke raised an eyebrow.
His last bottle of hundred-thousand-dollar Thunder Bourbon was depleted.
Locke smiled, walked over, put the stopper back into the bottle on the bar, then walked over to Carrie on the sofa, "How are you feeling, much better?"
Carrie looked up, then shook her head, "I thought I'd feel lighter, but I don't."
Locke smiled, "That's normal. Don't they always say that the way to let go of hatred is to forget hatred?"
Carrie frowned, "I thought you didn't believe that."
Locke chuckled, "I don't believe it, but apparently, you do."
He stood up.
Locke walked over to Carrie, extending his right hand to her as she was curled on the sofa, "I told you, you need to get used to a normal life, but don't get lost in it. You're not normal, you're my sister, and the Dark Regent of the Dimension of Light. Didn't you and George have a good conversation? Anyone doing anything needs to bear the consequences of that action."
Carrie stared at Locke's outstretched right hand.
She felt a little dazed.
It seemed... back in Augusta, when she was lost, Locke had also extended his right hand.
Carrie looked at the faint smile on Locke's face, pursed her lips, and placed her right hand in Locke's.
"I'll tell you a simple and effective method, more useful than drinking!"
Locke led Carrie towards the lounge upstairs, then turned on the bathroom light, started running water, and turned to Carrie, "Girls, when you're feeling down, there's nothing more effective than a bubble bath. If one isn't enough, take two."
As he spoke,
Locke seemed to remember something, made a 'wait a moment' gesture to Carrie, went downstairs, grabbed a bottle of red wine and a wine glass, and brought them into the bathroom. He looked at Carrie, then handed her his tablet, "A bubble bath with red wine while watching music videos will have an even better effect."
After he finished speaking,
Locke smiled, kissed Carrie's forehead—a brotherly kiss—then said goodnight and walked into his own room.
He said he regarded Carrie as his sister.
Leaving aside Locke's lack of desire for a harem, even if he did, it wouldn't be Carrie. After all, if that were the case, how would he be any different from a beast?
Back in the bedroom.
Locke leaned against the bay window, gazing at the Manhattan nightscape outside, a Continental gold coin constantly flicking in his right hand.
Thirty-sixth generation Dolan?
Thirty-seventh generation Dolan?
Interesting!
While Carrie was outside the Dolan Church, carrying out witch trials against the people of the Dolan Church, and George and the others were distracted by Carrie, Locke was inside having a friendly conversation with that poor guide, Martin Louis.
Martin Louis didn't hide anything; he answered every question.
He even anticipated questions!
From Martin Louis's mouth, Locke learned too many secrets about the Dolan Church.
And... secrets related to Dolan!
Each Dolan's selection followed a fixed template.
First, the Dolan's mother or grandmother, or similar, had to be a Salem Witch.
Then... this Dolan had to, at a very young age, after learning about witches, be filled with such disgust for them that he would personally kill his witch-blooded mother and his father who married a witch, successfully turning himself into an orphan!
And then.
He had to remain unidentifiable, meaning, he couldn't be discovered by others as the one who made himself an orphan. He also had to be adopted by an unrelated family and grow up in that family.
Finally!
To become the new generation Dolan, he had to complete one last challenge!
With the help of the previous Dolan, he had to once again kill his adoptive family, an entire family, and they had to be all together.
When Locke heard this secret about Dolan, he was immediately somewhat dazed.
Now?
Locke looked at the adolescent file of a person he found in the law enforcement system on the laptop screen, seeing the tragic case of a family being burned to death when the person was five years old, and seemed to understand.
The next second!
"System, use the tracking card!"
"Ding!"
"Tracking location..."
Locke looked at the name on the laptop screen, his tone flat, "Philip Campbell!"
"Ding!"
"Tracking location in progress!"
366. Carrie, Who Gained Half the Votes
Yes.
Philip Campbell.
After Locke heard Martin Louis's secrets about Dolan and thought about the events on Route 74, the missing Philip Campbell immediately sprang to mind.
Philip Campbell had been adopted by Jessica's family.
Jessica had mentioned this last year when Philip enrolled; after all, Philip and Jessica shared no similarities whatsoever, from any perspective.
Furthermore... the information Locke found regarding Philip Campbell clearly recorded how this fellow became an orphan.
An orphan.
Adoption!
The Campbell family was nearly wiped out?
Most importantly, this guy had gone missing. No matter how one looked at it, he seemed exactly like the so-called Dolan candidate Martin Louis had mentioned.
"Tsk tsk."
The next morning.
Locke opened his eyes and answered a call from Gwen. After a brief chat, he looked at a message sent to his phone, clicked his tongue twice, got out of bed, and headed for the bathroom.
Half an hour later.
Locke put on his suit jacket, adjusted his cuffs, and walked downstairs from the second floor, watching Carrie busy herself at the bar counter.
"Morning!"
Carrie looked up at Locke as he came down, seemingly fully recovered. "Coffee will be ready soon."
Locke walked over, pulled out a bar stool, and sat down. "Recovered?"
Carrie smiled. "Your suggestion was very helpful. However, I'm curious—why is your fridge empty? Aside from eggs, there's only bread."
Locke shrugged. "Last year, I basically had all my meals at Gwen's place."
It was true.
For a while, Locke and Gwen were basically responsible for the household grocery shopping. In a way, George was the outsider because the food George ate was bought with Locke's money.
Unfortunately, George wasn't self-aware about it at all.
Carrie nodded.
Ding.
Carrie turned around to check the brewed coffee. A moment later, she placed the coffee, fried eggs, and toasted bread in front of Locke.
Locke leaned down, took a sniff, looked at Carrie, and praised, "Smells great."
Carrie also brought her own breakfast to the bar. "Actually, I didn't know how either; I learned it from Agatha."
Locke hummed in response, then as if remembering something, he took out his phone, opened it, and handed it to Carrie. "Go to this place later to pick up the goods."
Carrie took the phone and noted the text message from an unknown number.
"Goods are ready. Please pay the remaining balance promptly. After delivery to the designated location, the safety of the goods is guaranteed for twenty-four hours. After that, you are responsible for their safety!"
Carrie nodded, then blinking after hearing Locke's words, she asked, "Pick up 'the goods'?"
Doesn't it say 'goods' on here?
Locke took back his phone and laughed. "Philip Campbell."
Carrie's eyes widened slightly. "You found him?"
Locke hummed, sipped his coffee, and laughed, calling it unbelievable. Then, he explained the selection criteria for the Dolan candidates and Philip Campbell's original background.
After listening, Carrie's shock was boundless. She pursed her lips, a hint of anger on behalf of Jessicarising to her brow. "Jessica was so good to him, yet he dared to do this?"
As mentioned before, after Philip entered Midtown High School, his talent for causing trouble was top-tier. If not for Jessica—or rather, if not for Jessica's classmates and friends being Locke and Gwen—the teachers would have likely suspended Philip and sent him home many times already.
Because of this, Jessica had thanked Locke and Gwen many times.
And now?
"Bastard!"
"A Beast."
"No, even Beasts know gratitude."
Carrie looked up at Locke. "Do you need me to kill him? I promise I'll avenge Jessica."
"But you aren't Jessica, are you?"
"Eh?"
Locke smiled. "Originally, I wanted you to pick him up and take him directly to the warehouse in New Jersey. I was going to wait for Jessica to wake up and let her decide how to handle him."
Carrie frowned. "'Originally'?"
Locke hummed, drained the coffee in his cup, stood up, and walked toward the door. "Then I thought about it. A Dolan candidate is still a Dolan. Throw him into the river to feed the Ogres—alive!"
Carrie understood.
Go downstairs.
Ignite!
When Locke placed the order under the name of Wushuang last night, that was indeed his plan. Just as Carrie said, this fellow was worse than a Beast. If he died silently like that, wouldn't his evil deeds go unknown?
That would be letting him off too easy.
However... Locke changed his mind after waking up this morning.
He indeed couldn't let this sub-human scum off easily, but Jessica had just suffered the loss of her parents. If she found out about this, she would likely have a mental breakdown.
Jessica was his friend, and as everyone knew, Locke was always someone who looked out for his friends.
Besides... who knew when Jessica would be out of the hospital? Why bother keeping that scum alive? Wouldn't it be better to just throw him in the river to feed an Ogre?
Therefore.
Trouble, be destroyed.
It was already seven o'clock when he arrived at Gwen's building.
Just as Locke's car came to a stop, the apartment door opened. Gwen, wearing a small wool hat and looking even cuter than yesterday, walked over, pulled open the car door, and got in. "Let's go. We'll head to the breakfast shop first to get something for Sam."
As she spoke...
Gwen's nose twitched, and she looked at Locke. "Why do you have perfume on you?"
And it was the scent of women's perfume.
Locke started the car and laughed at Gwen's words. "It must be Carrie's. Carrie slept at Starlight Towerlast night."
Gwen gave an "oh."
If it was Carrie's perfume, then it was fine.
"By the way."
Locke thought of Gwen's words. "Sam is at the hospital, but what about Madam Cort?"
Gwen said, "Madam Cort's home is near the Dolan Church."
Locke understood.
Madam Cort had two children who were still young. With such a huge commotion at the Dolan Church last night, Madam Cort definitely had to rush back.
"What about George?"
"Still at the Dolan Church."
Gwen sighed. "The Dark Sovereign is something else too—killing without burying. She left without cleaning up, leaving Dad and his colleagues there to deal with the aftermath."
After all, last night could be described as a Carnage.
Although it was a righteous judgment, the scene in front of the Dolan Church—with bodies looking as if they had been gnawed on by some Beast, leaving only severed limbs—was still terrifying.
And then there was the inside of the church.
The Dark Sovereign hadn't cleaned any of it up, but it certainly couldn't be left like that. Garbage collectors definitely wouldn't come to clean it, so the task of wiping the slate clean fell to George and his NYPD.
Locke laughed heartily and suggested to Gwen, "Then next time George sees the Dark Sovereign, he can give her a piece of his mind."
Gwen's eyes lit up, and she nodded. "I think that's a very good idea too."
Even though what happened at the Dolan Church last night was terrifying!
But... last night was a judgment of justice.
At the very least, when those who followed the events at the Dolan Church saw how the witches appearing in mid-air were subjected to the trial by fire by Dolan, the scales in the hearts of every woman in New York who was paying attention had already tilted sharply toward the Dark Sovereign.
Regardless of profession, it was purely about gender!
"We should ask this Dark Sovereign to be our representative!"
"We should make her our spokesperson in Congress!"
"This is the kind of spokesperson we women want."
On the way to New Amsterdam Hospital, they stopped by a breakfast shop. While waiting for the staff to pack their food, Locke and Gwen looked up at the news, which was already broadcasting a morning live stream chasing the hot topic.
A well-known New York commentator who had been invited for a live interview commented on the events at the Dolan Church last night, bluntly stating that the Dark Sovereign was the one women should support. She even called for the Dark Sovereign to run for office, stating that if she did, all the women in New York City would cast their votes for her.
Other channels?
Newspapers?
"The Dolan Church's Oppression of Witches is a Different Kind of Oppression of Women by Men!"
As Locke and Gwen left the restaurant with breakfast, they passed a roadside newsstand. Locke bought a paper and, after returning to the car, looked at the massive, bolded headline.
Public opinion was almost entirely one-sided.
When passing the NYPD...
"Witches are innocent!"
"You should investigate the Dolan Church!"
"Oppose atrocities!"
"We should expel all churches from New York City!"
"..."
Countless women of different skin tones and backgrounds had gathered at the entrance of the NYPDbuilding, once again holding up modified signs and making various appeals to the police department.
Well then.
It wasn't just almost one-sided; it was definitively one-sided. The Dolan Church was being thoroughly judged, sentenced to death by the women who hold up half the sky. Even the innocent Vatican church was caught in the crossfire.
A church next to New Amsterdam Hospital was proof.
Angry women gathered at the church entrance, while the priest and several ministers hid inside, trembling in fear.
Damn it.
The Dolan Church isn't even part of the Vatican; we've never recognized this Dolan Church.
The priest and ministers were practically in tears. Facing this undeserved disaster, they wanted to go out and explain, but they were afraid that the nearly hundred 'tigresses' outside would rush in and tear them to pieces the moment they saw them...
367. Stephanie Malik
"Apologize!"
"Get out of New York City!"
"Yes, get out of New York City!"
"Get out, you bastard!"
Angry women blocked the road, roaring at the church behind the few police officers who were holding them back. Among them were many female worshippers who would come to this church for services on weekends.
But... last night's incident directly shattered the faith of these God-fearing women.
After all, she was a believer, but she was also a woman. Asking her to agree with Dolan, who judged witches, she identified more with the woman who was sent to the cross in despair!
Such incidents were happening in almost every church in New York City.
The New York police officers, who had been busy all night, didn't even get a moment's rest before rushing to various churches to prevent bloodshed. If it were men, they would have just arrested them and been done with it. But, facing this group of angry women, there was little they could do.
At most, they could maintain order to prevent these women from rushing into the church.
But... most of the police officers were also married, so some churches in New York City had already completely fallen.
Locke and Gwen glanced at the church that was also about to fall, but they didn't stop. After leaving the protest area, they sped up and drove into New Amsterdam Hospital.
"Ding!"
Locke and Gwen stepped out of the elevator and found Sam, who was still sleeping on a lounge chair in the hallway. After waking Sam, Locke handed him the breakfast they had brought: "Have some."
Gwen walked to the window, looking inside. Jessica was hooked up to various machines, and all the data showed normal, but she was still wrapped up like a mummy and remained in a coma. "Hasn't she woken up yet?"
Sam, who had just gotten up and looked a bit haggard, stretched a bit and shook his head: "No, but the doctor said that Jessica's will to live is very strong. If she can make it through today, she'll be out of critical danger."
The doctor had said this yesterday too, but the tone of voice yesterday was clearly different from the tone he used during the check-up this morning.
Yesterday, when the doctor said this, he only had fifty percent confidence.
This morning, when he said it, his confidence had clearly risen.
Gwen pursed her lips, letting out a sigh of relief. She turned and looked at Sam, who was already wolfing down his food, and said, "Sam, why don't you go back and rest? Locke and I can watch over her?"
Sam shook his head, not speaking, but his meaning was clear: he refused.
Gwen looked at Locke, signaling him to say something.
Locke smiled and waved his hand.
To be honest, Locke initially thought that Sam might have foreseen that Jessica would become a female knight in the future, which was why he started dating Jessica, getting a head start.
But that idea was quickly dismissed.
This was true love.
A while later, Cindy and Kahn also arrived.
Cindy saw Sam, who was nearing the end of his meal, and quickly placed the breakfast she had brought in front of him.
Sam looked up at Cindy.
Cindy smiled and said, "Here, breakfast specially for a good man. I haven't even prepared Kahn's breakfast like this."
Kahn, standing nearby with a serious expression, nodded: "Yes, I can vouch for that."
Sam opened his mouth, looking at the breakfast in front of him, which was even more substantial than the one he had just finished. After thinking for a moment, he still didn't refuse Cindy's kindness. He could only put aside the napkin he was about to use to wipe his lips and took the fork Cindy handed him: "Thank you!"
"You're welcome."
Cindy smiled, then hugged Gwen and asked the same question Gwen had just asked: "How is Jessica? Has the doctor said anything?"
Gwen relayed what Sam had just told her.
Kahn, meanwhile, sat next to Locke: "Locke, last night, did you watch it?"
Locke looked at Kahn.
"The Dolan Church."
"Oh, I watched it. What about it?"
"It suddenly occurred to me that my grandmother was also a witch. Do you think there's a possibility I'm a witch too?"
"..."
Locke raised an eyebrow, his gaze moving down Kahn's body, then his expression grew strange: "You want to be a witch?"
What was he thinking?
"And..."
Locke thought to himself, looking at Kahn: "Although I don't know if men can be witches, I can guarantee that your grandmother is definitely not a witch."
Kahn's eyes widened: "Why not?"
Locke's expression was strange as he looked at Gwen: "Gwen, last time we went to Kahn's house, didn't we hear Kahn's mom say that his grandmother was a patient at St. Elizabeth's Hospital?"
Gwen turned back: "Hmm, what about it?"
Locke said it was nothing, then looked at Kahn and spread his hands.
St. Elizabeth's Hospital, full name, St. Elizabeth's Psychiatric Hospital, was one of the oldest and most famous psychiatric hospitals in the Federation to this day.
So.
He didn't know if Kahn's grandmother was a witch, but he was certain that Kahn's grandmother was mentally ill.
After all, Cindy had complained to Gwen at the time, wondering if this mental illness was hereditary and what would happen if Kahn unfortunately inherited it.
So Locke didn't need to consult his memory palace; he remembered this matter exceptionally clearly.
Kahn looked at the expression on Locke's face and gave an embarrassed smile.
Just then.
"Ding!"
The elevator not far away opened again. Locke and the others turned to look, initially thinking it might be Betty or Mrs. Cord, but it wasn't. It was a woman who, by her attire, was clearly wealthy or distinguished.
"Who is that?"
"Sis?"
Just as Gwen and Cindy were curiously looking at the identity of the woman who, after stepping out of the elevator, looked around and then walked towards them, they heard a surprised voice from their side.
Following the sound.
Sam put down his breakfast, wiped his lips, and seemed to look at the woman walking towards them with some doubt: "Sis, why are you in New York?"
Sister?
Gwen and Cindy exchanged glances, then looked at each other, as if they had never heard Sam mention that he had a sister?
Cousin?
The person who arrived was Sam's biological sister.
Stephanie Malik!
She was also the daughter in the Malik family who knew about Hydra.
When Locke heard Sam call her "Sis," Stephanie Malik's information from the original plot, as well as her ultimate fate, immediately came to mind.
Stephanie looked at Sam: "I told you I'd be in New York these few days. Why didn't you bring your phone?"
Sam felt his pockets: "It must have been left in the car."
After he came up yesterday, let alone going downstairs, he hadn't even left this floor.
"What's wrong?"
Stephanie said, then her gaze fell on Jessica, who was wrapped up like a mummy in the room. Then, her gaze lingered on Gwen and Cindy for a moment, and then she looked at Sam: "Is that your girlfriend inside?"
Sam was slightly stunned.
Stephanie looked at the expression on Sam's face, "What, is it that hard to guess?"
Sam was her biological younger brother. Stephanie knew Sam's personality perfectly. Like her, Sam also had a slight obsession with cleanliness. Basically, he would never come to a hospital without reason, let alone stay in a hospital all night.
Then, associating that with Jessica on the hospital bed in the room, and then comparing her brother's state with Gwen's and the others' states, there was no doubt that her brother had a closer relationship with the patient on the bed than anyone else.
So... girlfriend.
The relationship between Sam and the patient on the bed was not a closed-book exam, but an open-book exam; the answer was obvious.
It's just that.
After Stephanie finished speaking, she frowned inadvertently: "When did this happen?"
Sam opened his mouth and didn't hide it, saying directly: "Around Christmas."
Stephanie nodded: "So, you didn't go back this time because of your girlfriend?"
"...I was practicing basketball."
"Ha."
"..."
Gwen and Cindy exchanged glances. Stephanie's aura was quite strong, and their conversation gave them the impression that Stephanie seemed displeased with Sam's relationship?
Why!
Jessica was still lying in there. Was it appropriate for you to say that?
Besides, Sam's relationship is none of your business.
Cindy raised her eyebrows, immediately wanting to stand up for Jessica, who was lying inside.
Gwen quickly held her back. This wasn't the time to speak up. This was the intensive care unit. What if they started arguing and the nurses came and kicked them out?
That's right.
Where were the nurses?
Gwen blinked, only then realizing that it seemed, this time when they came, she hadn't seen many nurses?
The next second.
Gwen suddenly remembered that on the way here, when they passed that church, it seemed that among the protesting women, there were dozens of them dressed in nurse uniforms.
Uh... those nurses, surely they hadn't all gone to protest, had they?
Gwen thought to herself.
Sam, on the other hand, was like a student with bad grades meeting a strict teacher. Basically, Stephanie asked, and he answered. Through their question and answer, Stephanie pretty much figured out what had happened.
"Alright."
Stephanie glanced at Jessica in the hospital room, nodded, and looked at Sam: "I'll be in New York for about five days. When you're free, call me, and we'll have dinner together."
Sam nodded: "Okay."
Stephanie didn't say anything more. She politely smiled and nodded at Gwen and at Cindy, who was glaring at her, as a greeting. Then, she turned and walked back towards the elevator.
Soon.
Stephanie's figure disappeared down the hallway.
Gwen and Cindy withdrew their gazes and looked curiously at Sam.
Locke also withdrew his gaze, focusing on the text message he had just received on his phone, which had just rung.
It was from Carrie.
"The package is lost!"
368. The Witch Living with the 10-Character Army
"The package is lost?"
"What does that mean?"
Locke looked at the text message Carrie sent and was momentarily stunned.
"Wait a minute?"
"Philip Campbell ran away?"
"Hiss!"
"I ordered from a professional gang that claims to be NO.1 in the kidnapping industry in the criminal world."
"They could still escape?"
"Are you kidding me?"
New York, Queens, somewhere!
In a seemingly dilapidated, ancient, abandoned warehouse, which was indeed just as dilapidated inside, a thud echoed.
Carrie, appearing as the Dark Sovereign, slowly landed on the warehouse floor with the tip of her right foot. Her gaze swept around, sensing the strong smell of blood in the warehouse, and her eyes fell on the dozen or so corpses on the ground.
What she saw.
The bodies, lying haphazardly on the floor, were all different, but their expressions were surprisingly uniform.
The expressions, frozen in their last moments before death, seemed to be filled with confusion and various forms of disbelief.
Moreover… the fatal wounds on these bodies were not from gunshots.
It seemed they had died from a sharp object piercing their hearts.
Carrie crouched beside one of the bodies, observing the fatal wound in its heart. In her mind, she recalled Chester's lessons on identifying the causes of various wounds. After a moment of thought, a weapon that perfectly matched the wound before her appeared in her mind.
"A knight's sword?"
Carrie murmured thoughtfully, gazing at the wound in the corpse's heart.
Just then.
"Ring, ring, ring!"
"Hello, Locke."
Locke, who had found an excuse to go to the restroom and then called Carrie, turned on the faucet in front of him. As he washed his hands, he asked, "Is the package lost?"
Carrie hummed in affirmation. "When I arrived, something felt off. There were only corpses in the warehouse. The package we wanted isn't here."
She paused.
Carrie suddenly froze slightly, looking at the fatal wound in the heart of the corpse before her. A hint of suspicion flashed in her eyes as she called out, "Wait a minute." Then, she placed a hand near the wound in the corpse's heart.
The next second.
A transparent, smoke-like substance was pulled out of the wound, as if Carrie had extracted it.
Carrie was stunned.
"Witch?"
"What?"
Carrie snapped back to reality. Then, with a slight movement of her right hand, she looked at the smoke also drifting out of the wounds in the warehouse. She spoke to Locke on the phone again, "Their souls didn't go to hell; they were taken. Judging by the power, a witch did it."
It's just… why would a witch collude with the Dolan Church, and even rescue this beast, who is worse than an animal?
Wait a minute.
Carrie felt this answer was a bit too absurd. She shook her head. How could cats and mice be together, let alone cats and mice with a blood feud?
However, there was another possibility.
"Could it be that another witch came to kill this guy, and then, thinking these people were protecting him, accidentally killed them and then kidnapped this guy?"
"Are you sure it was a witch?"
"Yes!"
Carrie nodded, "Yes, and she's from Salem. However, her power is dark."
Locke stroked his chin.
"A dark witch?"
"Yes."
Any power has both light and darkness, and Salem is no exception. Even now, there are shadows in the land of Salem, and those shadows correspond to darkness.
But it still comes down to the same point.
Weapons don't kill people; only people kill people.
Regardless of the power, just as some use light power for evil, dark power can also be used for good.
Carrie's power attribute is dark, but has Carrie ever done evil?
Isn't it the Dolan Church, this group of people who claim to be light, who, under the guise of light, do all sorts of unspeakable things?
Carrie nodded, "Salem is back now, and the witches of Salem are no longer easily bullied. Maybe a witch in New York discovered this guy last night."
Then… she came here, and due to a lack of communication, a tiny misunderstanding occurred.
"No!"
"Hmm?"
"You're mistaken, it wasn't a witch!"
"What?"
"It wasn't a witch; it was the Last Crusade."
Locke said, as the surveillance footage around the warehouse, which he had hacked into, played rapidly on his phone screen. Then, it froze on a bald man in a tracksuit!
Dominic Toretto… bah!
It was Kaulder.
Carrie looked at the photo Locke sent, at the man in the surveillance footage, and was slightly stunned. "It wasn't a witch, but… these people were clearly killed by a witch."
She couldn't be mistaken. If they had been killed by a descendant of the Dolan Crusaders, then their souls should have gone to hell, but these souls had not gone to hell.
Locke chuckled, "What if a Salem witch, before dying, entrusted her soul to his soul? As long as he doesn't die, then the witch won't die either?"
Carrie blinked.
Is that even possible?
"Vroom!"
In a speeding Porsche sports car.
Kaulder, who had lived for eight hundred years but hadn't fallen behind the times, even dressing fashionably and being an excellent driver, looked at the still-shaken person in the passenger seat, who was originally set to inherit the 37th Dolan next week. He said in a magnetic and recognizable voice, "What exactly happened?"
He had just gotten off a plane a short while ago.
He had originally planned to take the flight attendant he'd taken a fancy to on the plane back to his apartment to relax, but as soon as he got off the plane, he received an urgent rescue call from the 37th Dolan.
Immediately after.
Kaulder found the 37th Dolan, who was still very young at sixteen, tied up in the warehouse. Relying on his usual immortal body, he defeated the professional killers in the warehouse and rescued the 37th Dolan.
The 37th Dolan was still shaken. "They're dead, all dead!"
"What?"
"The evil witch…"
The 37th Dolan looked up at Kaulder. "The evil witch destroyed the Dolan Church, and Teacher, the 36th Dolan, also unfortunately died!"
This was still a somewhat childish face.
And.
Yes.
It was Philip Campbell.
The situation… was actually just as Locke had guessed. Everything was the same. Philip Campbell had killed his biological parents, then was adopted by the Campbell couple and took their surname. Later, because it was time for him to inherit the title of the 37th Dolan next week, Philip Campbell collaborated with the 36th Dolan yesterday, planning to send off his adoptive parents and his stepsister, Jessica.
The story… unfolded as he imagined.
But!
The beginning of the story was as he imagined, but the subsequent development was beyond his expectations.
The Dark Sovereign descended.
Fortunately, if Philip Campbell hadn't gone out for a smoke after his conversation with the 36th Dolan and then seen the Dark Sovereign crash through the roof with a bang, he probably would have been killed there too.
It's just.
Before he could even finish celebrating, he had just run to a completely safe Dolan safe house when, with a bang, several burly men in black suddenly descended from the sky, kicked open his safe door, and then, completely disregarding his fifteen years of age, expressionlessly put a hood over his head. Then, like a little piglet, they threw him into the trunk. When he opened his eyes again, he was already tied up in that warehouse.
No matter what he said, the dozen or so men in black remained expressionless, giving off the impression of a professional team.
Fortunately, just as he was panicking, Kaulder appeared and vividly demonstrated to him what it meant that no matter how good your marksmanship, an enemy who cannot be killed will ultimately win.
"What?"
Kaulder listened to Philip's panicked words, turned to glance at Philip, then looked ahead at the street leading to the Dolan Church, which was already cordoned off, and slammed on the brakes.
What he saw!
At the Dolan Church, bodies were being expressionlessly carried out by police personnel.
And at the entrance, on the ground, medical personnel wearing masks and protective suits occasionally picked up severed limbs. Not far away, firefighters arrived at the scene, cleaning the ground with high-pressure water cannons.
"Hiss!"
Kaulder looked at the Dolan Church, sensing the lingering witch's aura. This powerful magic made Kaulder somewhat incredulous. "Such powerful dark energy!"
As he spoke.
Kaulder looked at Philip. "Who was it!"
Could it be that the dark witch he had once killed had resurrected again?
Philip swallowed, feeling the pressure emanating from Kaulder. "It's Syndra, the Dark Sovereign, Syndra!"
Kaulder frowned!
During this time, he had been in Europe, helping the Dolan Church there to encircle and suppress exposed witches. Originally, he wasn't supposed to return so soon, but a few days ago, the police in Europe, for some unknown reason, started targeting the Dolan Church as if they were crazy.
Kaulder, who ignored everything else and only wanted to kill witches, simply took a plane back.
So… he wasn't very clear about what had happened on federal land during this period.
Philip then told Kaulder what had happened to their chapter in New Orleans, and also about the Dark Sovereign Syndra's attack on the Dolan headquarters last night.
Of course.
The same story, when told by different people, will become a different story.
In Philip's narrative, there was no doubt that the Dark Sovereign Syndra's attack on the Dolan Church was unprovoked.
It was an atrocity!
It was an attack by darkness on light!
369. The Way to Wake Jessica
As for worrying whether Calder would see through it?
Philip Campbell wasn't worried in the least, because the Doran Church had essentially been created because of Calder. To put it in trendy terms…
Calder was the founder of the Doran Church.
But… the Federation is a capitalist society. Like every player in that game, even though Calder was the founder, he'd long since lost any real power—except in name.
Even… Calder, much like that Nick Fury who'd already checked in to Hell, had no idea what was really inside his own church; he was a marionette.
And the ones pulling those strings were the generations of Dorans!
New Amsterdam Hospital!
When Carrie arrived, the corridor was even more crowded.
George and Beckett had come too.
Purpose?
George and Beckett had already learned the truth about yesterday's crash from the Doran believer planted inside their precinct.
That believer, enraged by a single look from Locke, hadn't lasted half an hour in the interrogation room before spilling everything he knew.
According to him, he'd simply gotten a call from someone the Doran Church called a 'team leader,' ordering him to patrol as close to Route 74 as possible and, if an alarm came from that road, stall for about ten minutes.
That was all.
As for anything more—let's be honest, the guy was just a small-fry.
That team leader… after last night's Witch trial, his soul had been torn apart, let alone his body. A starving mongrel—one that hadn't eaten for ten days—wouldn't even sniff it.
But that raised another question.
Where was Philip?
And…
Gwen opened her mouth, glanced at Carrie stepping off the elevator, nodded a greeting, then turned to George in confusion: "But why? Why would the Doran Church kidnap Philip? And if he isn't there, where is he?"
The NYPD had already surrounded the Doran Church and dug it up; they'd found nothing but bodies of every description.
Let alone Philip.
Detective Beckett looked at Gwen: "That's why George and I are here—maybe Jessica can give us a lead."
At Beckett's words the group turned to the ICU bed where Jessica lay swaddled like a mummy, wired to every machine, still showing no sign of waking.
What did the Doctor say?
Same as before—Jessica's will to live is incredibly strong.
Did he say when she might wake?
No.
Gwen shook her head at George. "The Doctor just checked. Jessica's stable enough to leave the ICU, but waking up… that's up to Jessica."
As she spoke…
Both Gwen and Cindy couldn't help looking at Sam Malik.
The Doctor's words had another layer of meaning.
Waking depended on Jessica herself.
In other words: we'd snatched her back from Mephisto, but when she wakes isn't in our hands—it's in hers.
Put simply…
If Jessica refuses to wake, they'd better brace for the chance she becomes a vegetable.
Sam met Gwen's and Cindy's gazes, pulled his eyes from the bed and forced a tired smile. "I believe in Jessica."
School would start soon; the championship game was coming, and Jessica had promised to be there cheering him on.
Gwen and Cindy exchanged glances.
Carrie walked over to Locke, eyeing him as if to ask: Didn't you refill her life?
Locke caught her look from the corner of his eye and rolled his.
His potion was called a life potion, not a recovery potion, certainly not a wake-up potion.
You can't wake someone who's pretending to sleep.
A life potion can restore vitality, but if the person won't rouse, even overflowing life force won't open her eyes.
After all, waking isn't decided by life—it's decided by the soul.
Why was Jessica like this?
Locke figured it tied to whatever happened in the crash; maybe she'd learned the truth and simply couldn't accept it, so she refused to wake.
Actually… the fix was simple: if her soul wouldn't wake, go find it, rush in and shake her awake.
But…
Jessica was only human.
Although Jessica will one day become a knight or Jewel, right now, as Locke observed, she's an ordinary human—no powers. A normal soul simply can't survive his entry.
It's not a matter of Locke holding back. Before New Orleans, maybe, but since returning, his life essence has undergone a qualitative leap.
To put it in the simplest terms.
Before New Orleans, Locke could still pretend to be an ordinary person and, when necessary, say, 'Fine, I'm done pretending, I'll show my cards.'
But that won't work anymore.
Outwardly he can still pass for normal, but once it involves the soul, an awakened soul can handle it. If he enters an ordinary person's soul—even suppressed—the leaking pressure alone would shatter Jessica's soul.
Carrie's in the same boat.
In a way, Locke is now a Dimensional God, so Carrie already counts as a demon god of his Land of Light Dimension Domain.
So does Cordelia.
Still… there is one way.
Looking at the stunned faces, Locke shook his head and offered his solution: 'Forget it—let's smother Jessica.'
'…What?'
'Are you insane?'
'Are you joking?'
'Locke, that joke isn't funny.'
The moment he finished speaking, the room sat in stunned silence for three seconds before exploding.
Hands in his pockets, Locke said, 'I'm serious. Let Jessica die, then bring her back.'
'Huh?'
'Remember Misty?'
He glanced at Gwen, who had parted her lips slightly, and shook his head. 'Misty's gift is anything but ordinary.'
Gwen blinked at that.
Misty Day!
A member of the New Orleans coven, gifted with resurrection.
But… Gwen was speechless. 'Locke, Jessica isn't dead.'
He nodded. 'True, but her soul refuses to wake up. So we send it to Hell for a quick reality check, then haul it back.'
Exactly.
It's the best solution.
Jessica's soul is asleep; barring natural awakening, no one can rouse it. Just like tossing a sleeper into water shocks them awake, once Jessica dies and her soul starts migrating toward the Hell Dimension, she'll snap to.
Then Misty Day can resurrect her, and Jessica will wake up—no vegetative state required.
Of course.
The plan does carry a tiny risk.
If we fail to pull her back before her soul fully enters Hell, Jessica can't be resurrected—unless we fight Hell head-on and literally snatch her back.
What?
Madison Montgomery was dead for ages and still revived.
Hmph.
Madison's a Salem Witch; Salem Witches' souls belong to Salem. At the time the Salem Dimensionwas dormant, so dead witches' souls temporarily lodged in Hell. In essence, Madison belongs to Salem, not Hell.
Now that Salem has revived, if a Salem Witch dies today, her soul returns to the Salem Dimension, not Hell.
Jessica's an ordinary human, and humans belong to the Hell Dimension.
Clearly not the same.
Still… Gwen wasn't weighing those details. She opened her mouth, glanced through the ICU glass at Jessica, then back at Locke and shook her head. 'Your idea's insane; I say we wait.'
Jessica had been hospitalized less than forty-eight hours, was stabilized, and wasn't dead; adopting Locke's plan would make all the earlier resuscitation efforts pointless.
'No way!'
That was Gwen's verdict, delivered with an elegant eye-roll. 'Your thinking is dangerous—and very "creative".'
Sure enough, Gwen sighed inwardly. She'd watched plenty of CIA films and shows; their Agents were always unhinged and wildly imaginative.
She'd assumed that was just dramatic license.
Now?
She shot Locke a sidelong glance and resolved to keep a closer eye on him. After all, he was only dabbling at the CIA, like a rich kid sampling commoner life.
But Gwen didn't want him getting hooked. Supporting him was one thing, yet she backed him finding a hobby—not actually becoming an Agent.
There's a fundamental difference between the two…
Three Hundred and Seventy, Calder Seeking Death
Locke blinked, looking at Gwen's gaze.
However... he was only offering a suggestion. Besides, even if Gwen agreed to his suggestion, they couldn't make decisions for Jessica.
Mrs. Kord could make the decision.
Jessica's aunt, Mrs. Campbell's sister, who had married and changed her surname to Jones, and had returned from out of town, also couldn't make decisions.
Because Mrs. Kord was Jessica Campbell's third emergency contact. The aunt named Jones was the fourth. From a certain perspective, if Mrs. Kord wanted to pull Jessica Campbell off oxygen, there would be no problem.
Mrs. Kord was confused by the conversation between Locke and Gwen.
George, however, had reacted.
After all, he had also gone to New Orleans.
Then... George suddenly remembered something: when he had returned home excitedly, he was met by Helen, who knew everything. He immediately came back to his senses and looked at Gwen, his 'little padded jacket' who was no longer just leaky but practically running naked.
Gwen, who was briefly introducing who Misty Day was, felt a jolt in her heart and then saw George's gaze directed at her.
Gwen blinked, then, with a whoosh, she ran back behind Locke.
George's brow twitched.
Detective Beckett had already heard George complain about this last night. Seeing the situation, he smoothed things over and said to Mrs. Kord, "We've already issued Philip's missing person report. If Jessica wakes up, please let us know immediately."
Mrs. Kord nodded.
Beckett then looked at George: "George, let's go. Ms. Casey said she'd be at the precinct soon."
George withdrew his gaze from Locke and hummed.
Never mind, this 'naked little padded jacket' was no longer worth dwelling on.
Business was more important.
Soon.
George and Beckett walked towards the elevator.
After George and Beckett left, Cindy immediately darted to Gwen's side, her expression chiding, complaining that Gwen had hidden things from her. After all, she had asked Gwen if she had any adventures in New Orleans.
Betty also started asking Carrie, with whom she was good friends, about stories from New Orleans.
As for Locke?
Locke walked over to Sam's side and, with Sam, watched Jessica Campbell lying in the intensive care unit.
Sam glanced at Locke.
"You mean... Jessica is a witch?"
"Huh?"
Locke blinked, looking at Sam: "Are you asking me?"
He had come over here simply to escape the chirping birds behind him, and incidentally, to figure out when the auspicious time was tonight.
After all, he had a mission.
Mission Name: "The Last Witch Hunter!!!"
Mission Reward: "Achievement Points * 20,000", "Potential Points * 20,000"
The destruction of the Dolan Church was just to vent Carrie's anger. As for letting Carrie chop up Philip Campbell, it was a piece of cake. But Locke's mission was about this witch hunter, the guy who kidnapped Philip Campbell.
Locke had originally thought that the destruction of the Dolan Church would make this last witch hunter, the last crusader, vigilant and cause him to leave. But it turned out well.
The reason?
Locke remembered what the outcome of the 37th Dolan and the Last Witch Hunter was.
Sam frowned and said, "If Jessica isn't a witch, then why would the Dolan Church do this to Jessica's family?"
Although he had been staked out at the hospital last night, that didn't mean he didn't know what was happening outside.
Locke looked at Sam: "I heard that the Dolan Church, if they catch a witch, always judges them by burning them at the stake."
Sam was slightly stunned.
This meant that if Jessica were a witch, then they should have found Jessica on a charred cross, not in a hospital.
Sam understood.
Then he became even more confused.
Since Jessica wasn't a witch, why would the Dolan Church do this?
Just as Sam was racking his brain.
Ding-a-ling!
Sam's phone rang.
"Sorry."
"It's fine."
Sam took out his phone, saw the call from his sister Stephanie Malik, apologized to Locke, and then turned and walked towards the emergency exit stairs nearby.
Not long after.
Locke turned around and looked at Sam, who had finished his call and returned, revealing a slight smile: "Your sister's?"
Sam was slightly stunned and shook his head: "Is it that easy to guess?"
Locke nodded: "Sort of."
He never liked guessing; guessing had a chance of losing, and he liked to win. Although eavesdropping wasn't good, he wasn't intentionally eavesdropping.
Sam tucked his phone back into his pocket and shook his head: "Our family... you know."
Locke hummed.
When running for student council president, Sam had said that there was no conflict of interest between him and Locke, and they could even form a strong alliance.
"If Stephanie were a man, there would be nothing for me."
"I understand."
"Thank you."
Don't let the federal government's openness and liberality deceive you; in reality, those in power are still conservatives. At the very least, the core is like this, and this core also indicates one thing: the one who can reach the top must be a man. Although the man at the very top is a temporary worker, many people still don't like to see a woman standing at the highest position.
So... Locke could guess one or two things about what Stephanie had just called about without even eavesdropping.
However, Sam's refusal was also very straightforward.
Locke was somewhat relieved by this.
After all, he never judged friends by their background, only by their first impression and values. At the very least, Sam's clean and crisp refusal just now was very much in line with Locke's values and first impression.
Sam looked at Locke's smiling and approving expression, also pursing his lips, and didn't say anything more. Friendship between men didn't require too many words.
However... Sam sighed softly, looking at his girlfriend lying in the intensive care unit: "I'm worried that Jessica will have a hard time accepting it when she wakes up."
Locke said, "I heard that love is the best medicine for everything."
Oh, right.
If there was a way other than killing and resurrecting, it seemed there was another way.
Locke recalled dozens of classic cases from his previous life in the East where love awakened comatose patients, and he thought to himself, glancing at Sam beside him.
In the afternoon.
Jessica still showed no signs of waking up. However, Jessica had been transferred out of the intensive care unit. Aside from still being like a mummy, according to the doctor, Jessica was completely out of danger. The rest depended on whether Jessica could wake up, and then Jessica was transferred to a luxurious VIP room.
Sam paid the bill.
By the way, Sam intended to return the tens of thousands of dollars Locke had first paid, after all, he was Jessica's boyfriend.
But.
Locke laughed, looking at Sam: "Jessica is my athletic department liaison. Besides, do I lack that little money?"
Sam shook his head honestly.
To turn lawsuits into a profitable business, Locke couldn't be called the first, but he could definitely be called the one who made the most money, and he was also a ruthless person.
He specialized in robbing the FBI, Homeland Security, and even MI5 and MI6 in London. Looking globally, who else besides Locke is still alive and kicking after robbing these four organizations?
Locke patted Sam's shoulder: "Alright, we're leaving now. We'll come see you tomorrow."
Sam could get a good night's sleep tonight. The high-priced luxury VIP room was even more comfortable than a Hilton five-star suite.
After Jessica was transferred out, Mrs. Kord had just left, and Cindy and Kahn also went to the airport to pick up Mrs. Jones.
Sam nodded, looking at Gwen, Carrie, and Betty standing by the bed, and smiled: "Alright, you guys go back first. If Jessica wakes up, I'll tell you immediately."
Gwen looked up at Sam, then looked at Jessica, who was sleeping in the bed like a sleeping beauty, and couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief: "Sam, after we leave, you can try to kiss your princess awake, like a prince."
Jessica's current condition made everyone breathe a sigh of relief.
Sam chuckled and nodded: "I would have even if you didn't say anything. I'm just afraid that your presence will make my magic ineffective."
Betty smiled: "Then we won't disturb your magic, Your Highness."
The few of them chatted and laughed, then were teased by Sam as he saw them out of the ward.
Soon.
Hospital parking lot.
Locke and Gwen watched Carrie leave in Betty's car, then Locke got in with Gwen, and they drove straight out of the hospital towards Gwen's apartment.
Half an hour later.
"Click!"
Betty pulled up the handbrake, turned off the engine, and got out of the car with Carrie.
After Carrie got out, she glanced at the unlit Chester's house next door, then said to Betty, "I don't seem to have much in my fridge."
Betty smiled: "It's okay, we can order pizza. I just told my mom that I'll be at your place tonight. Perfect, you can tell me stories about the witches of New Orleans."
Carrie opened the door with her fingerprint and led Betty inside: "Actually, you can watch it live."
After all... Madison Montgomery had also revealed her identity after Cordelia announced that witches were coming out of the shadows, and her traffic had surged.
Outside the house.
A red Maserati slowly drove by.
"The scent of a witch!"