Chapter 94: Commands
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
The countdown began on the first day. After night fell again, Coraci and Instructor Jere received notice: they were to go to Aefida Airport to meet with several very important figures.
The meeting wasn’t held in a room, but aboard a blue-and-white Boeing 747. No one else had been invited, leaving the rest to wait outside.
“Who are they meeting?” asked John. Inside the airport, he and his colleagues mingled with the waiting passengers.
“A lot of people,” Arthur replied. He was temporarily staying in West Bay City to act with the Association. “For instance, your Association’s chief director, several bloodkin council leaders, heads of Asian spellcaster families, the khan of the Eurasian werewolves, and the leader of the American werewolves…what should we call him, a chief?”
Liz, seated beside them, added, “And a few political leaders. I can’t say exactly who. Ordinary political leaders’ travel itineraries are often more secretive than those of supernatural beings. We don’t have clearance to know for sure.”
John shifted restlessly in his seat, staring toward the glass windows.
“Don’t worry,” Liz told him. “Coraci will be fine.”
“He doesn’t even know exactly what they’ll be discussing,” John muttered. “That plane is full of people who doubt him. They all fear his devil soul…”
“That doesn’t mean anything will happen,” Liz countered. “They’re not there to fight. Don’t forget, there are ordinary humans aboard too — most likely some politicians.”
“You make it sound like Air Force One…”
Arthur deliberately cleared his throat and pressed a finger to his lips. “And how do you know it isn’t?”
“What?!” John and Liz cried at the same time, leaping to their feet in alarm.
John’s worry turned out to be unnecessary. The talks ended quickly. They left the airport by car, not back to Hilton’s home, but to a temporary base near the Blackmoon family’s land.
That area looked like a wartime camp or a survey outpost: supply tents arranged like a small village, people working in shifts, moving hurriedly in and out.
Building a sandbox space in fewer than seventeen days was an extremely difficult task. With the Engrity company as precedent, even if they used compounds to replace rare ancient magical materials, constructing a complete and stable sandbox space required at least one to three months. The larger the area, the longer the time.
Beyond design details, the strength of the primary spellcaster was crucial. He was responsible for awakening the cultivation pool and sustaining the sandbox space. Usually, only the primary spellcaster could dissolve the space. In Engrity’s past project, the project leader himself had been the primary spellcaster. When he went to prison for breaking the law, Mark and Alette had been forced to find another way to end the spell — leading them to cross paths with John and Coraci.
Human spellcasters had their limits. Compressing a one-to-three-month ritual into under seventeen days meant stripping away the caster’s health, even risking his life.
“So I’ll have to serve as the primary spellcaster,” Coraci told his colleagues. “I’m afraid none of you here have stronger soul power than I do. Only by letting me do it can we guarantee the space is complete in seventeen days. But I have to admit, I’ve never actually tried the ritual to awaken a sandbox space before. I’ll need someone to help guide me through it as much as possible.”
He wasn’t lacking in assistants. The camp had gathered exorcists and researchers from everywhere, some even brought their own translators. The tent resembled a tactical command room, the tables piled with Engrity documents and photocopies of ancient magic manuscripts. John couldn’t find an opening to speak, so he simply leaned against a storage rack and watched Coraci.
Farther out from the tented area, around the Blackmoon family’s land, mortal-born demons, bloodkin, and Rangers began drawing the foundation lines according to the blueprints. The foundation lines marked the boundaries of the cultivation pool.
From the air, the foundation lines would resemble crop circles, except they were centered around the ruins of a house and appeared in grasslands and forests. The entire region was under lockdown. For secrecy, helicopters couldn’t be used to take aerial photos. Instead, the spellcasters turned to Smith: “Change into something that can fly. Carry Liz and the others up there so they can inspect the patterns from the air.”
Smith had just twisted his red hair into a rose bun and deliberately dressed in a stylish leather jacket and short skirt. Now, however, he had to transform into a Quetzalcóatl or some sort of dragon.
Drooping his head, he asked dejectedly, “Fine…what do you want me to turn into?”
“Anything you like. Just don’t drop me,” Liz said.
Carolyn shoved her way over, clapping both hands firmly on Smith’s shoulders. “How about an Apache helicopter?”
“I’m a shapeshifter, not a Transformer, okay?”
In the end, he transformed into a Quetzalcóatl. Its movements were agile, it had no spines, and its mane made it easier for humans to hold onto. Its smaller build also made it harder to spot from a distance.
They flew high, the warm hues of dawn behind them. Another morning had arrived.
Coraci paused after completing one stage of work and walked to two tents coated with UV-protective material — temporary housing for bloodkin staff. Beyond these tents, the camp’s perimeter included a lavish tent with a pointed roof, multicolored canvas, and gilded edges. Those with poor eyesight might have mistaken it for a circus from afar. This was where Arthur and several other bloodkin nobles stayed; they would never sleep in drab military tents.
John poked his head out of one of the coated tents. “Coraci, are you looking for me?”
“It’s almost daylight. You haven’t rested yet?” Coraci asked.
“They’re chatting, posting on Twitter… Is no one asking us to keep what’s happening confidential? Unbelievable.”
Coraci smiled. “No need for secrecy. Everyone can leak to any media outlet. Tell them a devil is about to resurrect — do you think anyone will believe it?”
John followed him out. “I want to ask — does being the ‘primary spellcaster’ affect you?”
“Affect me? You mean, like making everyone think I’m a good person so they’ll be more accepting of me?”
“No, I mean health and stuff like that…”
“That won’t be an issue,” Coraci said. “I don’t really have ‘health’, so how could it be affected? My nails don’t even grow anymore. Besides, the sandbox space is human ancient magic; it’s considered safe for ordinary humans.”
“So what did they mean about ‘ordinary humans might not be able to handle it’?”
“Oh, that,” Coraci paused to think and then found a fitting analogy. “Think of it this way: ordinary humans are office workers, and I’m a CEO of a major industry. When buying a house downtown, they might have to pay in installments — or can’t even afford that — while I could pay it all at once in a short period.”
John wanted to compliment the vivid comparison. But when he looked into Coraci’s eyes, he was slightly taken aback. Those jet-black, pupil-less eyes were like a puppet ’s — lifeless, unfocused.
“What are you worrying about?” Coraci asked.
John forced a smile. Coraci added, “Like Hilton said — your thoughts are always written on your face. So, what are you worried about?” He stepped closer to John. “Awakening the sandbox is a spell any human spellcaster can perform. I’m doing it just to speed things up, so we finish before the devil resurrects. I haven’t deceived you — there’s no need. If you’re worried I might lose control in battle… that’s unnecessary too. If I sense something is wrong, I’ll immediately warn those around me to withdraw. Everything will then happen inside the sandbox. I won’t harm anyone in the real world. You just take care of other tasks and wait until we emerge.”
John held his shoulders. “What did you just say?”
“I mean…we won’t be able to come out quickly. Like the Double Hunt when various races fought against the devils back then, this may also take some time…”
“No, I mean,” John said, staring into his dark eyes, “you intend to go in alone?”
“Not alone. There are many others like werewolf sorcerers, the Witch Blood Descendant army, bloodkin elder spellcasters, a good number of older mortal-born demons — far stronger than Lathander… There are too many on the list for me to memorize.”
“But you didn’t include me?”
Coraci nodded without hesitation. “Of course not. What could you do? The bloodkin participating are all at Arthur’s or Burton’s level — you probably won’t be of much help.”
“But I can influence you, to some degree,” John said. “I can help you maintain your sense of self.”
“We’re about to face the most dangerous threat in centuries. If necessary, I could give up ‘maintaining my sense of self.’”
“Why?”
“I’m already a completely separated fragment… like a cell used for a cloning experiment. Dolly the sheep has already been born. Don’t worry — I won’t be assimilated. At most, I’ll become another fully degraded devil. Even if it comes to that, I’ll still remember who my true enemy is.”
John felt helpless.
Coraci’s answer was not what he had wanted to hear.
Since Coraci’s memories, powers, and old personality had been restored, his character seemed largely unchanged, but his thought patterns were different. The old Coraci would have understood what John cared about. Now, his mind first went to killing enemies and achieving victory.
“Coraci,” John said, holding his face so their eyes met, “you must not leave me.”
With Coraci fully awake, the bond’s command effect took hold immediately.
“I…” Coraci stared at John, stunned. He seemed about to argue, but swallowed his words. After a long pause, he said, “Oh my…you’re giving me a command?”
“What else could I do?”
“But I… I…” The bond made him remember his own perspective while simultaneously preventing him from refusing John’s order. He stammered, struggling before finally saying, “Fine, I won’t leave you. But if I don’t leave you, how can I enter the sandbox…”
John couldn’t help but laugh. He hugged Coraci’s shoulders, ran his fingers through his soft black hair, and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. “Then you’ll just have to take me with you.”
Coraci rested his head against John’s neck. “Alright…that’s the second command of the day.”
“Who made it so I can’t convince you otherwise?”
“Fine…who made it so I could only obey,” Coraci said, stepping back and looking at the rising sun. “Go rest. I still have work to do. We’ll meet at sunset.”
John nodded and couldn’t help but chuckle. When Coraci asked why he was laughing, he replied, “I was remembering old times like in the Bunker, or occasionally in the car… Back then, I usually stayed awake while you slept. Now, I’ll be the one napping during the day, and you’ll be the one waiting for me to wake up.”
He thought for a moment, then reached to lift the door curtain, stopped, and turned back. “Coraci, after all this is over, will you go home?”
“Home?” Coraci gazed thoughtfully into the distance. “That house? Maybe…”
As dawn broke, the bloodkin gradually went into hibernation. Many humans had already awoken, working nonstop with electronic clocks counting down by the second.
Sometimes Coraci performed spells; other times he paused, waiting for others to coordinate. After noon, Smith (in his transformed form) took him high into the air to observe the cultivation pool magic array gradually forming over the Blackmoon estate.
He saw more than just the lines of spells, more than the uniquely angled geometries, more than the dense military tents around the perimeter. He also saw corpses still lingering in the ruins, still trying to kill, but restrained by exorcists’ and mortal-born demon spells.
Most vividly, he saw land violently torn apart by power, collapsed or shattered buildings, courtyards and ruins stained with blood. Whether intruding werewolves, the Blackmoon family, or their servants, sharp blades had shredded every living thing to pieces that day.
He clearly remembered bursting from the dungeon, with absolutely no desire to look into where he was — only wanting to destroy everything around him. The feeling was part rage, part ecstasy. Even when he saw abnormal corpses, the shock mingled with a faint excitement.
Perhaps Charlotte had deliberately arranged it, to make him think the Blackmoon estate was an Arcane Covenant dungeon — but Coraci did not see it that way. As he examined and recalled all of this, he could act like a detached observer, using the human portion of his soul to think, silently recording and analyzing everything about the devil fragment.
I understand myself. I had a chance to calm down, to set anger aside, to look at my surroundings and consider what “humans” would do — but I did not. Because at that time, I did not care. I took pleasure in all of it.
Maybe because there was no shade, and the midday sun was too strong, Coraci’s eyes stung and burned, almost impossible to keep open, let alone lift his head. He couldn’t imagine what would have happened if John and the others hadn’t appeared — if John hadn’t called him, commanded him, risking everything to plunge into the black light…
Undoubtedly, the slaughter would have continued. Charlotte, her werewolves — everything would have been utterly destroyed. And then what? Where would he have gone, how would he have vented that despair next?
Smith, in his Quetzalcóatl form, spiraled down, setting Coraci and another exorcist safely on the ground. The golden eyes of “Quetzalcóatl” fixed on Coraci as Smith began transforming back into the redhead woman.
Coraci handed a stack of documents to someone nearby and hurried away, as if fleeing. He understood the meaning behind Smith’s gaze. Even in another form, the shapeshifter could still read thoughts, and Smith had read his just now.
Thinking this, Coraci stopped, then turned back.
Smith was tidying his hair. Seeing Coraci return, he was surprised — assuming Coraci wanted to discuss something — and tried to appear casual, searching for the right way to start.
“You can’t tell John,” Coraci said first.
Smith froze for a moment. “You mean…uh…”
“You know what I mean,” Coraci said, his expression very dark. Smith was certain he had never seen Coraci like this. “Just now, you sensed what I was thinking.”
“I just read a bit of emotion. I know you feel guilty. Beyond that, nothing specific. Really, look — I was just about to ask you…”
Coraci cut him off. “Stop pretending. There’s no need. Before I was a devil, I was first a spellcaster. You can read minds, but you can’t fool me.” After a few awkward seconds of silence, Coraci continued, “Of course, I’m not threatening you. Smith, believe me — I am asking you.” His speech was very deliberate, each syllable carefully weighed. “You cannot tell John what you read at the moment of landing.”
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