"I knew it," Dr. 077's synthesized voice dripped with disdain, as if confirming an unwelcome truth.
"Resurrecting the dead is never that easy. If the ritual recorded in the Book of Shadows could truly and perfectly resurrect the dead, it should be called The Gospel of God."
He paused, his tone shifting to mock his superiors.
"But those rotting old fossils in the Council just won't give up. Even if there's only a sliver of impossible hope, they chase it like dogs chasing a bone, clamping down and refusing to let go."
Vic listened with relish from the side and immediately fanned the flames:
"Tsk, sounds suffocating just listening to it. If I were you, I'd find a chance to off those old wrinkled oranges above you and take over yourself!"
Dr. 077's mechanical head turned toward Vic, optical sensors focusing coldly on him.
"A very tempting suggestion. But such crude provocation... C–136, do you take me for an idiot?"
"Trying doesn't cost anything." Vic spread his hands, his smile brilliant and harmless.
"What if it worked? A gamble can turn a bicycle into a motorcycle!"
THUD!
The dull sound of a staff striking the ground heavily interrupted this "mutinous" brainstorming session.
Crackstone turned his face, dark enough to drip ink, toward these two juniors who completely disregarded him. His shriveled chest heaved violently.
"Are the younger generations... truly this rude now?!"
To be so bluntly despised and ignored by these two made Crackstone feel his blood pressure—dormant for centuries—skyrocket. It was more unbearable than being sealed in a coffin.
Vic decisively raised a middle finger covered in black symbiote toward him.
"Old man, times have changed. If you know what's good for you, crawl back underground and rot obediently. Don't come out here and embarrass yourself. Can't you see I'm busy fighting a hard battle here?"
He pointed to the battlefield where gunfire was still being exchanged around them.
Dr. 077 also waved his hand dismissively, his tone bordering on impatient.
"My observation and data collection tasks are complete. Do whatever you want, just don't bother me. I have 'important matters'."
The disdain in their words was almost tangible, like two buckets of ice water poured over Crackstone's already cold body.
"You... YOU! This is intolerable!"
Crackstone was so angry his staff trembled. He jerked it upward, dark light flashing in his cloudy eyes, attempting to gather some dark magic—
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Four deafening gunshots rang out almost simultaneously!
Four slugs slammed precisely into Crackstone's thin chest and staff. The immense impact sent him staggering back several steps, scattering the faint light he had just gathered.
Wednesday Addams stood holding a Benelli M4 shotgun, smoke curling from the barrel.
Vic had acquired this gun for her after the Poe Cup. According to him, since Enid had a pink Desert Eagle, he couldn't play favorites.
Tsk. He really keeps things balanced.
She took a step forward, positioning herself between Crackstone and Vic. Her eyes were pitch-black abysses, staring coldly at the ancient Inferius before her.
"Your opponent—"
Her voice was more biting than a Siberian wind.
"—is me."
"Goody Addams!"
Crackstone steadied himself, staring daggers at Wednesday. That familiar cold gaze and the nearly identical face instantly awakened the bone-deep hatred that had settled over four hundred years.
It was the owner of this face who had not only pierced his heart with a sword but also sealed him with a vicious curse, denying him reincarnation!
"What?"
A cold, mocking voice came from his side.
"Just crawled out and already your eyes aren't working? Can't even recognize your enemy?"
Crackstone whipped his head around. He saw another spirit wearing a holy white dress, identical in appearance to Wednesday—
Goody Addams herself, arms crossed, floating there leisurely.
"Two of you?!"
Crackstone's pupils constricted, then realization dawned, fueling his rage further.
"I see! A direct descendant! God must be blind! A vicious woman like you deserves descendants?!"
Goody's spirit didn't get angry. Instead, a very faint, yet lethal curve appeared on her pale lips.
"Joseph, you should thank me. If not for my curse back then, preserving your soul core and some activity in your corpse, could you be standing here breathing and speaking today?"
"By that logic, wouldn't I be the... hmm... 'person' who gave you a second life?"
She paused deliberately, then added in an almost motherly tone: "Shouldn't you call me 'Mommy'?"
"Oh, right—"
Goody tapped her chin with a fingertip as if just remembering something, her tone as light as discussing the weather.
"I almost forgot. Now you are an outcast too. And the most despised kind at that. An Inferius... the kind even the lowest ghoul would spit on and call 'bad luck' if they saw you."
Even Vic, watching the drama from the sidelines, couldn't help but look sideways. He nudged Wednesday gently with his elbow, whispering in awe:
"Whoa... honey, compared to your ancestor, your sharp tongue is as gentle as a kindergarten teacher! Even I feel a little bad for him just listening..."
Wednesday slapped his hand away expressionlessly, but deep in her dark eyes, a nearly imperceptible trace of... approval and learning flashed by.
Crackstone was dizzy from this barrage of psychological attacks. His dried-corpse body trembled violently, his throat emitting raspy, broken-bellows-like roars of rage, unable to squeeze out even a complete curse word.
The pitiful amount of energy he had accumulated after resurrection seemed to evaporate in his extreme anger.
Losing his mind, Crackstone rudely poured his gathered energy into the twisted staff in his hand, firing a frantic barrage of sickly green energy bolts at Wednesday!
Pew! Pew! Pew!
The energy bolts trailed ominous tails, screaming toward Wednesday's position. They exploded on the ground and remaining sculptures, leaving corrosive pits and sizzling green flames.
However, Wednesday's figure moved like a ghost, weaving through the barrage.
She didn't even quicken her pace. With movements bordering on a dance, precise to the centimeter, she elegantly dodged every attack.
Even more suffocating was that, during this process, she was leisurely reloading her Benelli M4 shotgun.
Her movements were so fluid it looked like she was performing a daily etiquette exercise.
"Is your function—"
Wednesday finished reloading, jacked a shell into the chamber with a clack, and asked the floating Goody spirit, her cool voice cutting through the noise of explosions.
"—merely to taunt Crackstone so he concentrates his fire on me?"
Goody's spirit spread her hands, a look of helpless inevitability on her pale face.
"It cannot be helped. Who told me to end up as just a spirit body? Physical intervention is truly not my forte. However, the feud between the Addams and Crackstone families has lasted four hundred years... I hope it ends completely today."
"Just as I intended."
Before her words even landed, Wednesday raised her gun.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Four deafening shots merged into almost a single sound!
The slugs slammed precisely into Crackstone's torso. The massive impact knocked his shriveled body backward violently. The most lethal shot cleanly blew off half his head!
Shattered skull fragments and dried brain matter sprayed out—a gruesome sight.
However, the ancient Inferius merely swayed... and remained standing!
From the cross-section of his neck where half his head was missing, there was no blood. Only a pitch-black void and tendrils of writhing dark energy.
"You have to hit the heart,"
Goody reminded her immediately, urgency in her voice.
"My curse from back then remains there. Hitting the heart is the only way to detonate the curse and disintegrate him completely!"
Wednesday's keen eyes had already caught the anomaly.
"It appears he has placed special protection around his heart. One of the bullets was deflected by an invisible force just before impact."
She frowned slightly, analyzing calmly.
"I need stronger penetration, or... to find a weakness in the defense."
Just then, a sudden change occurred!