The deep layout of tonight was exceptionally long.
Thud!
Locke landed steadily on the hotel balcony. Pushing open the screen doors, he walked inside, just in time to spot the bespectacled otaku whose hands and feet were bound tightly. His cheeks were completely flushed, swollen to the point of looking exactly like a pig's head.
"Ha."
Locke let out an involuntary chuckle. Looking at Carrie, who was sitting on the sofa with her arms crossed, he asked, "You beat him?"
Carrie was expressionless. "He wasn't telling the truth!"
The bespectacled otaku began to wail loudly.
"I really don't know anything..."
*Smack!*
Carrie flicked her right hand through the air. A palm condensed from magical power directly flew out, slapping the right side of the bespectacled otaku's face once more.
Instantly.
The skin on the otaku's face swelled and bloated even further.
Locke smiled slightly as he walked toward the bar counter, making no move to voice any objection to Carrie's actions.
Carrie was already harboring a stomach full of rage to begin with.
After all...
From a certain perspective, Anila Katz was practically a carbon copy of her former self. In Carrie's view, she was merely fortunate enough to have encountered Locke. If she hadn't crossed paths with him, her ultimate end would likely have been identical to Anila Katz's.
Burned.
Discarded.
And even stripped completely naked to be buried out in the middle of a desolate wilderness.
If it weren't for Locke keeping her company by her side, Carrie wouldn't have exercised any restraint whatsoever. If Carrie had come here entirely on her own, by the time Locke caught up, that entire small town by Lake Pontchartrain would probably have been slaughtered completely clean by her.
Seeing that Locke didn't seem opposed to it as he searched for a fine vintage at the bar counter, Carrie rose from her seat. Grabbing a fruit platter from the tabletop, she smashed it straight over the head of the loudly wailing otaku with a heavy bang.
The bespectacled otaku was instantly dazed by the blow.
"Are you going to speak or not?"
"..."
Damn it, Hank, Rhodes, where the hell are you guys? Why haven't you shown up yet?
The bespectacled otaku only felt a violent buzzing inside his head. Subsequently, feeling a distinct warmth radiating across his forehead, he focused his gaze and realized that blood was pouring down like sweat.
The next second.
The bespectacled otaku opened his mouth to let out another wretched shriek.
But...
Carrie directly stuffed a dark orb straight into his mouth.
Over by the bar counter.
Holding up his glass and sipping the bourbon within, Locke let out a chuckle upon seeing this display. He walked over and sat down directly on the coffee table. Staring at the bespectacled otaku restricted to the chair, he nodded to Carrie at his side.
Carrie opened her right hand. With a sharp whistle, the dark orb that had been stuffed inside the otaku's mouth like a ball gag flew straight out, dissolving into black mist that merged back into the surrounding space.
Locke carried a gentle smile on his face.
"Hello."
"Ah!"
*Squelch.*
"Ahhh!!!"
Locke released his right hand, looking at the fruit knife currently impaled into the otaku's right thigh. He smiled slightly, and with a flick of his left hand, another fruit knife materialized in his grasp.
"Scream again and I'll take the other leg. For the third move, I mince your hands. Do you understand?"
The bespectacled otaku clamped his mouth shut instantly. Across his forehead, blood and cold sweat fused together in a chaotic mess.
However, he stopped screaming.
Locke looked toward Carrie at his side. "This is precisely why we need to study, do you understand? If you don't study, you won't ever know what kind of interrogation methods can make a person compliant."
Staring at the otaku who had shut up entirely after a single sentence, Carrie nodded as if understanding it to a degree.
Locke added, "You can ask Chester later. He knows all about this."
Interrogation was a branch of academic study in its own right.
Locke had studied it systematically under Chester's guidance, and subsequently, while following Clyde Shelton, he had been taught this aspect as well. Speaking of which, the directions that Clyde Shelton and Chester taught were somewhat overlapping and largely similar.
Then again.
Hitmen and secret agents fundamentally utilized the same training methodologies. It was just that their ultimate employment directions differed.
Locke didn't pay too much mind to that detail.
*Squelch.*
"Ah..."
"Mmph!"
Staring at the fruit knife that had once again plunged into his left thigh, the bespectacled otaku had just been preparing to let out a loud, agonized shriek. However, catching sight of Locke drawing out yet another fruit knife, he forcefully gritted his teeth. Cold sweat poured down profusely as his entire body shuddered in terror.
"Why?!"
He had already stopped screaming.
"I felt like it."
"..."
Locke raised the bourbon beside him, taking an expressionless sip before dropping that line. Immediately after, holding his glass, he pinned his gaze onto the otaku. "I'm only going to ask you once. Who killed Anila Katz?"
"I..."
The bespectacled otaku practically squeezed the words out from the gaps between his teeth. He had still intended to struggle a bit longer, waiting for the rescue that he didn't realize was already completely impossible. But looking at Locke, who stood before him smiling while casually dealing him two stabs, he ultimately broke.
"It was Rhodes and the elder Fox."
Locke looked toward Carrie, as if saying, *See?*
With her arms crossed, Carrie seriously recalled Locke's actions from just now, engraving them deep into her mind. After all, one is never too old to learn.
Locke snapped back to the present, pinning an expressionless gaze onto the otaku. "Continue."
His entire body trembling violently, the bespectacled otaku shakily and in a frail tone began to narrate the actual chain of events regarding Anila Katz.
In reality...
It was highly identical to what Locke had previously deduced.
That Ian Mullen was merely a scapegoat. According to the otaku's explanation, Ian Mullen had been cursed previously when they were executing a witch who practiced the arts of cursing.
So long as Ian Mullen opened his mouth to speak again, his life force would rapidly deplete to the point where he would vomit out his internal organs and die an agonizing death.
Therefore, when Locke and Carrie's group had come looking for answers, Jim Rhodes immediately thought of pinning the crime onto Ian Mullen to get Locke and Carrie to leave as early as possible.
After all, this year marked the date of the witches' Coven. They already knew exactly where the witches were going to gather, and they were currently rubbing their hands in anticipation to wipe out the New Orleans witches entirely this time around.
As for why Jim Rhodes would suddenly change his mind?
Cold sweat poured down the otaku's forehead, his upper and lower teeth chattering against each other.
"Jim Rhodes possesses a sixth sense that surpasses ordinary people. He can instinctively feel the safety or danger of his future circumstances after making a choice."
Locke raised an eyebrow. "A sixth sense?"
Then again, shouldn't he be the only one possessing this kind of trait?
Gwen seemed to have one too.
But...
Gwen's trait seemed to be specifically targeted toward him alone.
The bespectacled otaku's tone grew increasingly faint. "Because Rhodes' grandmother was a witch."
Hearing this answer, Locke blanked slightly.
The next second.
Locke laughed. "A descendant of a witch becoming your group leader? What were you guys thinking?"
The bespectacled otaku shook his head. "The elder Fox is too. It's just that they are male. Men... men can never awaken the potential of a witch. Consequently, they harbor extreme hatred toward witches. Whether it was Rhodes or the elder Fox, upon discovering this matter during their youth, they personally burned the awakened witches within their own households to death."
"Hiss!"
Hearing this sentence, Locke sucked in a breath of cold air. "Truly a ruthless bastard."
He knew it.
How could a person capable of trading a round with him without falling into a disadvantageous position possibly be some nameless nonentity? As it turned out, he really wasn't. Good grief, he was a savage character.
"Salem will only extend its protection to witches; it will never protect warlocks."
"And men who carry witch bloodlines, if they wish to become warlocks, can only seek out other entities capable of bestowing power upon them."
"However, they carry Salem bloodlines within them."
"Absolutely no dimension will accept them or lend power to them."
"Therefore..."
The bespectacled otaku seemed to have completely opened his floodgates, directly speaking without reserving a single detail.
"Rhodes, the elder Fox, and several other descendants of witches hate the Salem witches far more intensely than we do."
Locke nodded.
He could understand that.
If he were in their shoes, he would feel incredibly indignant as well. After all, on what grounds? On what grounds am I unable to be a witch just because I am a man? It wasn't fair.
...Wait a minute.
I seem to be a warlock myself.
Locke snapped back to reality, blinking his eyes before shaking his head.
After blurting out these things that shouldn't have been said, the otaku stared at Locke with a face filled with a desperate craving for survival.
"Let me go. I'll tell you guys everything. I'll give you the backup copy of that surveillance footage. Didn't you guys want evidence? I'll testify in court."
Nobody was impervious to the fear of death.
Just a moment ago, the otaku had simply believed that Rhodes and Hank would appear to save him.
But...
Rhodes and Hank had disappointed him. Consequently, it was a perfectly normal reaction for him to initiate self-rescue out of a desire to cling to life.
Hearing this sentence, Locke looked toward the bespectacled otaku.
"The backup surveillance copy."
"You have to guarantee that you'll let me go first."
"I guarantee you won't die."
Locke didn't disappoint the otaku, delivering his own promise. "Now, the surveillance backup. If you say you left it over by Lake Pontchartrain, then..."
The otaku hurriedly blurted out, "It's not at Lake Pontchartrain! It's in the city, right inside an apartment I'm renting."
With that.
Driven by his absolute instinct for survival, the otaku immediately disclosed the exact hiding spot of the backup surveillance footage.
Locke smiled slightly. Standing up, he looked toward Carrie. "Dispose of him."
Carrie was expressionless. Within her right hand, a dark orb materialized once more.
The bespectacled otaku felt his entire world collapse. Staring at Locke who was walking toward the balcony, he instantly shrieked,
"You promised me!"
Locke paused in his tracks, turning his head to look at the otaku, the smile on the corners of his mouth remaining unchanged.
"Yes, I promised you. I said I guarantee you won't die. But I never said I would let you live!"
To Locke, death was always the most merciful punishment.
He had plenty of means to make a person wish they were dead.
And under the influence of extraordinary powers, making someone wish they were dead became infinitely easier.
Furthermore...
The bespectacled otaku had witnessed his true appearance. Thinking carefully, it was completely out of the question to let him live.
The number of people who could know Locke's true appearance was incredibly minuscule.
However, a strict standard was always maintained: either it was someone Locke trusted implicitly without any reservations, like Chester; or someone Locke trusted and could strictly constrain, like Carrie; or someone Locke intended to leverage through this detail to force them into serious consideration, like Cordelia who had just learned his appearance.
This bespectacled otaku did not fit into any of those categories.
Locke turned around.
Behind him.
The bespectacled otaku was currently submerged within the dark orb, his brain undergoing a complete unraveling as he let out continuous, shrill, and piercing shrieks of agony.
Strange to say.
The moment Locke stepped onto the balcony, the shrill shrieks echoing from the living room instantly vanished into nothingness.
The air fell into a blanket of absolute silence.
***
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