"Let's go," Pascal said, his voice tense as he signaled to Wayland.
The two of them, along with the nine other field agents, remained concealed within the shadows of the abandoned Zapata gas station. Only Bazett stood out in the open, her solitary figure a stark contrast against the long, empty stretch of highway.
Wayland peered from behind one of the massive fuel tanks, his head tilted just far enough to see Bazett pulling on a pair of sleek black gloves.
The peaceful silence didn't last long.
Fifteen figures emerged from the shimmering heat haze of the road, all of them dressed in the high-collared black vestments unique to the Holy Church's Executors.
Leading the group was a middle-aged man with long, blonde hair and a serene, almost detached expression. Between the fingers of each hand, he held three Black Keys.
Black Keys were the primary armament of the Holy Church,sacramental throwing daggers. Only the hilts were physically carried; the blades themselves were manifested from pure magical energy. While their physical cutting power was relatively low, they were devastatingly effective against vampires and spiritual entities. When combined with specific sacraments, their power could be amplified a hundredfold.
The man looked at Bazett, then spared a brief, dismissive glance at the gas station behind her. "Bazett Fraga McRemitz. Is this the place you've chosen for your grave?"
"Momchil. This place was prepared for you."
Bazett's voice was as flat and cold as the highway stone. A series of blue arcs began to dance across the surface of her black gloves,the telltale sign of Rune activation.
Without waiting for Momchil to respond, she blurred into motion. She tore through the air like a localized storm, her fist aimed straight for his head.
Momchil leaped into the air, his right arm flicking in a practiced motion. Three of his Black Keys erupted in a violent, orange flame.
BOOM!
Bazett's fist slammed directly into the center of the fire. The sheer, overwhelming force of her strike shattered both the flames and the manifested blades. Only the specially-crafted hilts survived, ricocheting away into the distance with a high-pitched whistle.
Bazett didn't break her stride. She leaped again, her right fist once more descending toward Momchil.
Three more Black Keys appeared in the man's hands.
A surging wave of pale yellow elemental energy erupted between them.
Bazett's brow furrowed slightly as a layer of grey stone began to crawl across the surface of her black gloves. Petrification.
She clenched her left fist, the air around it crackling with a dense discharge of lightning. She slammed it down onto the Black Keys an instant later.
Momchil didn't hesitate. He retreated, his feet finding purchase on the asphalt as six more hilts flew from beneath his vestments, the blades lengthening in a fraction of a second.
"This is bad. We underestimated the Church's information network."
Pascal watched the other fourteen Executors approaching, his expression grim. Even a probationary Executor was a lethal combatant, and they were facing fourteen of them.
"What's the matter?" Wayland asked.
"Bazett told us there would only be five. To have fifteen show up means they must have gotten word of our reinforcements. They likely spent the time at the hotel gathering their forces instead of attacking. Calling in ten extra Executors on such short notice... that's no small feat."
Wayland watched Bazett as she continued to pressure Momchil, her strikes relentless. "All we have to do is hold them off until Bazett finishes the leader," he said calmly.
"Yeah. That's our only option now."
Pascal took a deep, steadying breath. "A full-scale magical array would take far too long to construct. Given the circumstances, I've opted for a high-speed Illusion Array. It'll trigger the moment the fighting starts. They won't be expecting it; even a second of disorientation will be enough to turn the tide.
"Your task is to handle the only Nun among them. Her rank is the lowest, but given that she's an Executor,and a woman,she's bound to have some kind of specialized lethal capability. You're the most versatile combatant we have, Wayland. Between your basic spells and your spearmanship, you're our best bet for dealing with her."
Wayland looked toward the group.
The girl was impossible to miss.
She had long, silvery hair and golden eyes, her petite frame encased in a form-fitting Nun's uniform.
'Something's off.'
Wayland's eyes narrowed as he studied her.
After a few moments, he identified the source of the dissonance.
In his memory, a Nun's habit was a modest, flowing dress. But this girl's uniform was practically a miniskirt, showing off a pair of black thigh-high stockings with absolutely no regard for modesty.
"Fine."
Wayland gave a sharp nod. The girl felt dangerous in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on.
He managed a cold, focused smile. "In that case, Pascal... give me a hand. I want to send them a little 'welcome gift'."
"A gift?"
Pascal looked confused, but his expression quickly shifted to one of shock. He followed the direction of Wayland's finger and saw a series of symbols etched into the ground,a perfect row of twenty Runes.
"When did you do this?" he whispered.
"While we were waiting. I carved them into the asphalt before we hit the shadows. You know how Runes work,you can pre-record the symbols and then trigger them with a sudden burst of Prana. I'm going to need to borrow yours."
"Wayland, those symbols won't be able to handle the output of a 'Fes' rank magus."
"I know. That's the point. We're going to overload them. If we guide the feedback and trigger a chain reaction, it'll be the equivalent of a high-speed 'Fes' rank Fireburst spell."
"That's not how you're supposed to use magecraft! If a Clock Tower lecturer saw this, they'd have an aneurysm! But... it's a brilliant idea, in a psychotic kind of way."
"It's not brilliant. It's just practical. You lot are just too used to the traditional methods."
As he spoke, Wayland channeled his own Prana into the first symbol. The row of Runes ignited with a brilliant light, and a series of crystalline ice-lines erupted across the ground before him.
He stepped out from behind the fuel tank, exposing himself to the Executors.
"A 'Count' rank?" one of the men scoffed. "Where are the others? Are you Association lot so desperate that you're sending a child out to die? Has the Clock Tower finally run out of real Magi?"
Five meters.
Wayland focused on the ice-lines, the pale blue energy beginning to coalesce into a massive, jagged pillar of frost.
Two meters.
The Executors began to move.
One of them raised a Black Key, his expression predatory.
"Pascal! Now!" Wayland bellowed.
The Prana in the air suddenly went critical.
A torrent of brilliant blue flame erupted without warning, spreading across the highway like a tidal wave. The Runes detonated in a synchronized chain reaction that looked like a deluge of falling stars, the ghostly blue light reflecting in the startled eyes of the Executors.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]