356-360

Chapter 356: Baron Saturday 

"Papa Legba..." 

Countless souls of the perished surged into the church, scrambling to enter. The flames flickering in the brazier before the altar seemed to be drawn by an invisible force, forming a spectral blue gateway. 

Papa Legba appeared once again. 

However, this time, the figure of the Voodoo deity was no longer visible only to the high priest but manifested more clearly within the church. 

Dressed in tattered clothing and leaning on a cane, Papa Legba grinned at the Voodoo priest before him, revealing his pitch-black teeth. He extended a grime-covered finger and gave the eerie blue doorway a slight twist. 

In the next moment, the previously sealed door creaked open. A gaunt figure emerged from within—a Black man dressed in a black tailcoat and top hat, with cotton stuffed in his nostrils, a monocle perched over one eye, and a cane in hand. He resembled an undertaker preparing a body for burial. 

Papa Legba, beyond being the deity of crossroads, also held dominion over gateways. As the gatekeeper among the Loa spirits, he possessed the keys to the boundary between worlds and controlled the passage to the spiritual realm. 

And the one who stepped out from beyond the door was none other than Baron Samedi, the deity of death referenced in the earlier prayers. 

As the Voodoo god of death, Baron Samedi—also known as Baron Saturday—was far from a benevolent deity. Capricious and unpredictable, he not only presided over death but was also called the Lord of the Reanimated Dead. In Haitian customs, people would plug the nostrils of the deceased with cotton during burial to prevent Baron Samedi from claiming their souls. 

Should an offering fail to satisfy him, he would spread death without mercy, an unstoppable force of destruction. 

However, this time, Baron Samedi was evidently pleased with the Voodoo priests' sacrificial tribute. 

Gripping his skull-topped cane, he opened his mouth wide. 

Immediately, Baron Samedi’s human face began to shift. His dark features faded away, revealing a grinning skull. Opening his skeletal maw, he swallowed the countless blue soul lights within the church in a single gulp. As his jaw shut, the deathly pale skull face gradually returned to his original form. 

"I am pleased with this offering." 

From his breast pocket, Baron Samedi retrieved a handkerchief and dabbed the corners of his mouth before speaking in a nasal, heavy-accented voice. 

Then, he reached into his coat and pulled out a gold coin, tossing it toward the high priest. 

Clink— 

The coin landed on the ground with a crisp sound. 

"Now, I have returned Laveau’s soul to you." 

Feeling the increasingly strong pull from the gate behind him, Baron Samedi adjusted his top hat and gave a slight nod to Papa Legba before turning and stepping back through the spectral blue doorway. 

The material world is inhospitable to divine beings—the more powerful the deity, the greater the repulsion they face. 

As a deity of a localized religion, Baron Samedi already faced considerable rejection from reality. For deities of major faiths like Christianity, this rejection would be even more severe. 

Unless, of course, they followed the path of Saigon, a god-demon who used Solomon’s contract as a conduit and found a vessel in the real world. 

Yet, gods and demons were inherently different entities. Especially when it came to contracts, a baron like Samedi was far less adept than a true god-demon. 

Ultimately, however, this was all due to the scriptwriter’s design—Allen’s creation. 

As Baron Samedi returned to the spiritual realm, Papa Legba raised his arm, preparing to close the open gate. 

Suddenly, the church began to distort and twist unnaturally. The orderly rows of stone pillars warped, intertwining as if pulled by some unseen force, resembling a surreal nightmare. Amidst this grotesque scenery, a tall, thin figure—standing over six and a half feet—appeared. He wore a black suit and hat, revealing only his razor-sharp teeth. In his hands, he held a twisted umbrella. His movements were erratic and unsettling as he staggered into the church. 

"The Twisted Man!" 

Papa Legba’s voice was hoarse and shrill as he called out to the warped figure standing in the Voodoo church. 

"You do not belong here. This is the domain of the Loa. The Grotesque Club has no claim to this place!" 

"Unless... you intend to wage war against the Loa!" 

The Twisted Man responded to the threat by tilting his head at an unnatural angle, opening his grotesquely large mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. 

"The Club does not seek conflict with the Loa." 

A crisp voice spoke from behind the Twisted Man. 

Hearing this, Papa Legba finally noticed the presence of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl standing behind the monstrous figure. 

"In fact," the girl—Vivian, the Little Wolf Girl—continued, "the Club's goals do not conflict with those of the Voodoo faith. You have opened a spiritual realm gateway to summon the soul of Voodoo Queen Laveau, and we only wish for the door to remain open a little longer." 

Papa Legba frowned at her words. "Your target is the spiritual realm gateway in my hands." 

Among the Loa, Papa Legba was not the most powerful deity, but his authority over passageways made him indispensable in Voodoo rituals. It was this role that allowed him greater freedom to traverse between the spiritual realm and the material world. 

Yet now, it seemed the Grotesque Club had set their sights on his key. 

Papa Legba turned his finger, attempting to close the gate. 

However, a tremendous force of distortion resisted him, preventing the motion. 

As the standoff intensified, one of the kneeling Voodoo priests in the church couldn’t resist glancing up at the Twisted Man. 

"Ah—!" 

A piercing scream followed. 

In the priest’s horrified gaze, he saw his own fingers begin to bend unnaturally, wrenched and twisted by an unseen force. His bones cracked and shifted as his hand was contorted into an impossible shape. 

Crack, crack, crack! 

A series of sickening snaps echoed through the church as his head was twisted violently backward. His eyes bulged from his skull, his body grotesquely deformed beyond recognition. Thick, dark blood gushed from his distorted flesh, revealing shattered, ghostly white bones beneath. 

Within seconds, his screams were silenced. 

The other Voodoo priests—covered in his splattered blood, including the high priest—instinctively pressed their heads even lower to the ground, not daring to move. 

Chapter 357: Exorcism Bullet  

The death of the Voodoo priest did not cause the slightest change in Papa Legba's expression.  

As a Loa god who thrived on fear, it was clear he was not a benevolent deity.  

Retracting his gaze from the priest’s twisted corpse, Papa Legba looked at the young wolf girl before him—or more accurately, at the twisted figure behind her. He could sense the distortion radiating from the figure, and even as a god, he felt its unsettling effects.  

"......"  

As a deity of a local religion with no combat authority, Papa Legba’s power in some ways was perhaps even weaker than that of the twisted figure.  

"If the [Spirit World] gate remains open for too long, the key will collapse, and I will lose my role as the [Gatekeeper]."  

His words signified compromise.  

He had no choice. At this very moment, the Voodoo cult’s plan was only one step away from success—a crucial step that would determine the rise of the Loa gods.  

"Good. In fact, the Loa gods' plan does not conflict with the Club's goals. As darkness rises, all that slumbers shall awaken..."  

Hearing Papa Legba’s words, Vivian, standing before the twisted figure, gave a sweet smile and was just about to respond—  

Boom!  

A deafening gunshot echoed through the space.  

The young wolf girl’s body was struck with immense force, sending her flying as she howled in pain.  

"Fancy seeing you again, little wolf!"  

A faint glow from a cigar flickered in the dim light of the Voodoo church.  

Geralt stepped forward, gripping his demon-hunting gun. He bared his teeth in a grin as he spoke to Vivian.  

"......"  

Inside the church, the sudden attack by the demon hunter turned the situation on its head.  

Vivian looked down at her own scorched body, blackened as if seared by fire. The hunter's shot had blasted her away.  

The twisted figure behind her craned its distorted neck toward Geralt. It opened its massive, fanged maw and let out a piercing, distorted screech—sharp like a bayonet cutting through the air.  

Boom!  

Expressionless, Geralt raised his Demon-Hunting Gun and closed his eyes.  

With another deafening shot, a silver-white bullet shot forth from the barrel, flames propelling it forward. The runes inscribed on its surface gleamed with a golden light as it struck the screeching twisted figure.  

The moment the silver bullet made contact, the twisted figure’s body convulsed violently.  

Distorted images flickered chaotically across its form—one moment it was roaring, the next it was bending forward, then stepping forward, yet no matter how it struggled, it remained bound to the same spot, unable to break free.  

"You really thought, after our last encounter, I’d come after you without being prepared?"  

Geralt slowly opened his eyes, his voice hoarse as he looked at the struggling figure, its body flickering with countless ghostly images.  

The Exorcism Bullet—even one of the Seventy-Two Demon Gods, Saigon, feared its existence. Though it couldn’t completely kill a demon god, it could harm its tether to the physical world. If that tether was destroyed, even a demon god would be banished from reality.  

And right now, the twisted figure was experiencing exactly that.  

What a shame. After the Great Purge, the number of Exorcism Bullets in a demon hunter's arsenal had dwindled. Otherwise, Geralt wouldn’t have even spoken to Saigon at the bar—he would’ve just shot it straight back to hell.  

With the twisted figure temporarily trapped, Geralt turned to Vivian. He pressed his boot down on her frail body and aimed his demon-hunting gun at her head.  

"Little wolf, long time no see. Did you miss me?"  

His deep voice carried a hint of mockery.  

"Because I’ve been thinking about you all the time..."  

"...Thinking about blowing your brains out."  

"Awooo~"  

Under Geralt’s boot, the young wolf girl raised a thin arm, clawing at his boot in vain.  

It was just like that night in the Devil’s Forest, over a year ago.  

Back then, she had also been cornered by the demon hunter.  

If the twisted figure hadn’t appeared and taken her to the Grotesque Club, she would have died under his gun that night.  

Unfortunately, now, the very entity that had once saved her seemed to be in no better condition.  

Shifting her gaze from the twisted figure, Vivian bared her teeth and let out a snarl at Geralt.  

In the next instant, black fur sprouted from her face. The scorched skin on her body rapidly healed. Her limbs grew longer, her legs bent backward at unnatural angles—her once-cute appearance instantly transforming into something monstrous and grotesque.  

During her time with the Grotesque Club, she had learned to master her abilities.  

Boom!  

However, before Vivian could complete her transformation into a werewolf—  

Geralt pulled the trigger without hesitation.  

The mysterious runes on the demon-hunting gun blazed with intense light, and in the next moment, a bullet pierced straight through her skull.  

One shot. One kill.  

Vivian’s howl was abruptly cut short.  

Her half-transformed body collapsed, reverting to that of a young girl. A crimson bullet hole was clearly visible on her forehead.  

"Say hello to your mother for me, little wolf."  

Geralt muttered under his breath, gazing down at Vivian’s lifeless face—her wide, unblinking eyes still filled with unwillingness and rage.  

He then turned his attention back to the twisted figure.  

Sensing Vivian’s death, the distorted images across its body flickered more violently. Cracks spread across the surface of the warped umbrella in its hand.  

"No need to be angry—because soon, I’ll send you to reunite with her."  

Geralt retrieved another silver-white bullet from his pocket and loaded it into the demon-hunting gun.  

The twisted figure struggled furiously.  

But before Geralt could pull the trigger, a sudden rush of footsteps echoed from outside the church.  

A moment later, several figures burst into the room, their faces obscured by scarves.  

"Who are they?"  

Outside the church, the members of the BSI squad reacted the moment they heard gunfire.  

Amidst the shocked cries of the kneeling Voodoo worshippers, they stormed inside—only to be confronted with a scene far beyond their imagination.  

Seeing the intruders, Geralt instinctively shifted his gun’s aim toward them.  

"Wait!"  

One of them, Amanda, quickly spoke up, pulling down her scarf to reveal her face and prove her identity.  

"We’re not your enemies."  

Hearing Amanda’s voice and seeing her somewhat familiar face, Geralt’s eyes narrowed. His wariness lessened slightly—but he did not lower his gun.  

As a demon hunter, he never let down his guard.  

That was a lesson earned through countless battles and rivers of blood.  

"Tell me—what is your purpose?"  

Chapter 358: The Empress Descends  

"We received a prophecy from the diviner, warning of an impending catastrophe, which is why we came to Haiti."  

Faced with the witch hunter's questioning, the people inside the church exchanged glances.  

After a brief moment of silence, Amanda stepped forward and replied to the hunter.  

"A prophecy?!"  

Hearing Amanda mention a prophecy, the witch hunter did not show any skepticism. Instead, his expression grew noticeably more serious.  

Clearly, he was not unfamiliar with prophecies.  

However, just as Geralt was momentarily distracted by Amanda and the others in the church, a change occurred.  

Standing silently before the Spirit Realm's gate, Old Father Legba finally reacted. He twisted his fingers, turning the key that had previously been unable to move due to a distortion spell, and then tapped his staff on the ground. He glanced toward the high priest, who was kneeling before him.  

Sensing the signal from Old Father Legba, the high priest, who had been bowing his head motionlessly, mustered the courage to lift his gaze. He met the old man's eyes, then shifted his focus downward at Legba’s silent command, landing on the Soul Coin left behind by Baron Samedi. A look of realization crossed the high priest's withered face.  

Observing this reaction, Old Father Legba’s filthy lips curled into a slight smirk.  

"Hoo~"  

Still kneeling, the high priest took a deep breath.  

Even with his years of experience, the weight of Legba’s gaze pressed heavily upon him.  

He knew well that this was a divine command, and failing to fulfill Legba's will would mean facing the wrath and punishment of the Loa gods.  

The gods of Vodou were not ones to turn the other cheek.  

On the contrary, any slight dissatisfaction would result in endless suffering—punishment that even death could not escape.  

Recalling the terrifying doctrines of the Loa, the hesitation on the high priest’s face disappeared in an instant.  

Taking advantage of the ritualists blocking the view, he subtly shifted his body closer to the Soul Coin.  

The next moment, before the witch hunter could react, the high priest stretched out his skeletal arm, seized the coin, and sprinted toward the altar without hesitation.  

Geralt, seeing the high priest's sudden movement, instinctively turned his gun and prepared to fire.  

However, at the very moment he was about to pull the trigger—  

He remembered the exorcism bullets he had loaded into his witch hunter’s gun.  

That brief hesitation was all it took.  

The high priest had already reached Narcis’ body on the altar and shoved the Soul Coin into the gaping mouth of his severed head.  

Boom!  

Only after the act was completed did Geralt finally squeeze the trigger.  

The silver bullet tore through the high priest’s frail body, leaving behind a bloody wound. Designed to exterminate supernatural beings, these bullets were just as deadly to humans.  

"Cough… cough…"  

The high priest spat out a mouthful of blood, his body trembling from the fatal wound.  

Yet, instead of despair, his withered face stretched into a gruesome, bloodstained smile.  

He had fulfilled Legba’s command.  

The Vodou Empress was about to descend.  

Thud!  

After that last, eerie smile, the high priest's lifeless body collapsed onto the altar.  

At that moment, in the center of the altar—  

The closed eyes of Narcis' severed head snapped open, revealing two pitch-black voids without whites. His mouth twisted into a shrill, inhuman scream.  

The piercing wail echoed throughout the Vodou church.  

As the scream rang out, the severed head at Narcis' chest began to rise, and its hair started growing at an unnatural rate. In mere seconds, it completely enveloped Narcis’ corpse.  

But it didn’t stop there.  

As if possessing a mind of its own, the ever-growing mass of hair stretched outward, creeping toward the high priest’s corpse. Then, as though sensing something more, it surged toward Vivian's lifeless body.  

Boom!  

Watching this grotesque, hair-like entity expanding as if searching for prey, Geralt’s expression hardened.  

He pulled the trigger.  

The mystic runes on the surface of his gun glowed as the enchanted brass bullet shot toward the floating head.  

But before it could strike—  

The writhing hair lashed out, intercepting the bullet in midair.  

Sizzle!  

Upon impact, the strands of hair ignited in flames, releasing a foul, burnt stench into the air.  

Yet, in an instant, new hair grew to replace the scorched strands.  

Simultaneously, as Geralt fired his shot, the tendrils of hair had already coiled around Vivian's corpse.  

With both the high priest and Vivian’s bodies engulfed, the writhing strands finally ceased their movements. They wrapped tightly around the three corpses, merging them together.  

In doing so, they also encased the floating head, forming a massive black cocoon.  

Thump… Thump…  

A deep, rhythmic sound—akin to a heartbeat—resonated from within the cocoon, echoing hauntingly through the church.  

"Now… return, Empress of Vodou—*Laveau."*  

Gazing at the enormous black cocoon, Old Father Legba bared his pitch-black teeth in a wicked grin.  

As his voice fell, the strands of hair that had tightly wrapped around the cocoon began to retract.  

From within, a woman emerged.  

She wore a flowing black gown, her sun-kissed skin adorned with white tribal markings.  

Her long, ink-black hair cascaded behind her, writhing unnaturally—alive.  

"Vodou… your Empress has returned."  

As Laveau emerged, the hair behind her morphed into black steps, forming a staircase beneath her feet.  

With elegant poise, she descended from the steps, setting foot onto the church floor.  

Her obsidian eyes swept over the gathered crowd.  

She opened her arms, inhaling deeply, relishing the air of the mortal world.  

Then, in a husky voice, she declared—  

"The prophecy… has come true."  

Witnessing the return of the Vodou Empress, the diviner, Joy, clutched the trembling Vodou doll in his arms, murmuring in awe.  

Boom!  

But her reign did not last long.  

On the sidelines, Geralt acted without hesitation, pulling the trigger once more.  

The witch hunter’s bullet tore through Laveau's body, leaving a gaping wound in its wake.  

However—  

In mere seconds, hair surged from the wound, intertwining and sealing the injury as if it had never been there.  

Chapter 359: Cursed Long Hair 

"You… deserve to die!" 

Twisting her neck, the Voodoo Queen glared at the witcher standing before her. Her lips parted slightly, revealing a raspy voice as her black-and-white eyes turned completely dark. 

In the next moment, countless strands of hair unfurled from behind her, spreading throughout most of the church and surging toward Geralt. 

Boom! Boom! Boom! 

Facing the oncoming mass of hair, the witcher pulled the trigger. 

The mystical runes engraved on his witcher gun flickered with blinding light, and deafening gunshots echoed throughout the church. 

The strands of hair struck by the bullets fell to the ground, but they did not perish instantly. Instead, they writhed and squirmed desperately, as if struggling to return to the Voodoo Queen. Only after crawling for some time did they finally stop moving. 

Countless strands were shot down, yet the Voodoo Queen seemed utterly unconcerned. 

Her hair continued to grow, weaving into a dense web that surged toward the witcher. Geralt fought back with all his might, but his efforts felt as futile as trying to douse a wildfire with a cup of water. Before long, the cursed strands of hair were already within arm’s reach. 

Scanning the layers of approaching hair, Geralt's expression remained unchanged. 

Reaching into his coat, he retrieved his final Exorcism Bullet and loaded it into his witcher gun. He aimed it at the airborne Voodoo Queen, his eyes filled with cold indifference. 

"Stop him!" 

Seeing the barrel of the witcher gun pointed directly at her, the Voodoo Queen’s once-mocking expression shifted instantly. A chilling sense of imminent danger surged through her as she gave a desperate command. 

Following her order, the surrounding hair writhed like venomous serpents, hissing silently as they lashed toward Geralt with terrifying speed. 

Empowered by the Voodoo Queen’s curse, the strands of hair became razor-sharp, piercing through Geralt’s body like countless needles. 

Yet, despite the lethal assault, Geralt did not dodge. He allowed the cursed hair to puncture his flesh, creating small but numerous wounds. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. 

Boom! 

A tremendous gunshot rang out. The Exorcism Bullet, inscribed with golden runes, streaked through the air like a dazzling beam of light, striking the Voodoo Queen’s forehead. 

Hit by the bullet, the Voodoo Queen let out a spine-chilling scream. 

As her scream echoed through the church, her once-controlled hair spiraled into a frenzy, attacking everything indiscriminately. 

"No, my Queen, we are—" 

"Ahh! Please, spare us, my Queen!" 

The first to fall victim were the Voodoo priests kneeling at the altar. 

Their proximity to the ritual site sealed their fate. The cursed hair coiled around them tightly, ignoring their pleas and prayers. In an instant, they were shredded into gruesome chunks of flesh. 

The priests had never imagined that the summoning ritual they had devoted themselves to would lead to their own demise. 

Splurt! Splurt! 

Taking advantage of the Queen’s frenzied state, Geralt grabbed the cursed hair that had impaled him and, gritting his teeth, yanked it out of his body. 

As he pulled the strands free, tiny wounds dotted his skin, each seeping blood. 

Though small, these injuries were far more severe than they appeared. The hair had pierced him through and through; any ordinary person would have already succumbed. 

Fortunately, Geralt was no ordinary man. Having survived the Trial of the Grasses, his body had long transcended human limits. 

Of course, scholars in the library dismissed the Trial of the Grasses as deeply flawed and inefficient. 

Still, as a crucial alchemical process for creating witchers, it had undeniable value. 

For example, it granted extraordinary resilience. 

Ignoring the wounds that were already beginning to close, Geralt frowned as he looked up at the frenzied Voodoo Queen. 

If possible, he would have preferred to end this battle in a single decisive strike. 

However, the Exorcism Bullet he had just fired was his last. 

Gripping his witcher gun tightly, Geralt’s expression turned grim. 

Focused solely on the Voodoo Queen, he failed to notice the lurking danger behind him. 

The church had descended into chaos. Fragments of stone and debris rained down as the Queen’s cursed hair flailed wildly. 

Father Regbar, leaning on his cane, watched everything unfold in silence. 

Whether it was the deaths of the Voodoo priests or the Queen’s injury, he remained completely unmoved. 

It wasn’t until the warped image in the distance finally settled that a subtle, knowing smile crept onto his dirt-streaked face. 

A Twisted One twisted its own neck unnaturally and stepped forward in a grotesque, contorted manner. 

Then, like a warped shadow, it suddenly appeared behind Geralt. 

As the Twisted One drew closer, the frenzied cursed hair in the church seemed to react, contorting unnaturally as if disrupted by an unknown force. Even the Voodoo Queen’s body began to exhibit eerie distortions, her form warping under the influence of this strange power. 

Not far away, Amanda, having narrowly avoided falling debris, spotted the Twisted One looming behind Geralt. Instinctively, she gasped in horror. 

Her past experience in Devil’s River Forest had left her with an indelible fear of these twisted beings. 

As Amanda’s voice rang out, the Twisted One, its misshapen arms raised, slightly turned its head. 

A suffocating, maddening sense of distortion instantly enveloped Amanda. 

Caught in the grip of its power, Amanda’s eyes glazed over, and she began twisting her neck unnaturally, her body contorting just like the corpses of the Voodoo priests. 

But just as she was about to lose herself completely, a faint light flickered from the necklace around her neck. 

The glow severed the Twisted One’s influence, snapping Amanda out of her daze. 

Gasping for breath, Amanda’s eyes flickered with terror. 

Even with the protection of her enchanted necklace—at the cost of a piece of her memory—the brief exposure to that mind-twisting madness had shaken her to the core. 

That incomprehensible, utterly twisted world was an abyss of insanity, where even thoughts themselves were warped beyond recognition. 

Under its influence, everything became an unrecognizable nightmare. 

Chapter 360: Total Annihilation  

After leaving behind a twisted will in Amanda, the Twisted One shifted its attention back to the Witcher before it.  

Compared to Amanda, Geralt was its true target.  

Extending its grotesquely deformed arm, it swung at the Witcher.  

Boom!  

However, thanks to Amanda's warning, the Witcher was already aware of the danger behind him.  

Without hesitation, he aimed his gun backward and pulled the trigger.  

With a deafening gunshot, flames burst from the muzzle of the Witcher’s firearm.  

An attack capable of dealing a fatal blow to the young she-wolf Vivian was distorted by the Twisted One’s power before it could even reach its target.  

Seizing the brief moment when the creature manipulated the bullet, the Witcher attempted to dive to the side, trying to create distance and launch a counterattack.  

But under the influence of the Twisted One’s power...  

His movement was also warped. By the time he realized what had happened, he was no longer turning away from the creature—he was now facing it directly.  

Clenching his teeth and tightly shutting his eyes, he struggled to avoid making eye contact with the Twisted One.  

Watching Geralt's desperate struggle, the Twisted One reached out its grotesque fingers, its sharp, warped nails aimed at the Witcher’s forehead.  

In the next instant, his tightly shut eyes were forcibly pried open by the creature’s power.  

"I never expected my end to come this way..."  

Staring at the monstrous figure before him, the Witcher’s expression twisted involuntarily. Straining, he forced out those words.  

Crack! Crack! Crack!  

A series of horrifying bone-breaking sounds echoed.  

His head twisted unnaturally backward, his body collapsing as if all support had been lost.  

Blood seeped into the Witcher’s firearm, causing the runes etched onto its surface to flicker briefly before fading into darkness.  

The Witcher’s death seemed to trigger a chain reaction.  

As he perished, Voodoo Queen Laviu, suspended midair, broke free from the effects of the Exorcist Bullet. The missing portion of her skull, blown away by the bullet, seamlessly regenerated as strands of her long, interwoven hair reassembled it.  

Though her form was restored, the agony inflicted by the Exorcist Bullet had left a lasting impression.  

Glaring venomously at the Witcher’s twisted corpse, she suddenly lashed out.  

Her long, sinister hair wrapped around his remains. The air filled with a gruesome slicing sound as the Witcher’s mangled body was reduced to shredded flesh, scattering across the cathedral.  

Even that did not seem to satisfy the Voodoo Queen.  

Her dark eyes turned toward Amanda and the rest of the team.  

"Since you were close to this man, I'll send you to join him."  

As her words fell, her hair shot forward at lightning speed, lunging toward the surviving team members.  

Port Prince, Inside a Tavern  

"Huff... huff..."  

With ragged breathing, Agent Phil abruptly opened his eyes.  

Glancing around, he saw his companions unharmed. Lowering his gaze to inspect his own body, he repeatedly patted himself down, ensuring he hadn't been sliced into pieces by the Voodoo Queen’s hair. Only then did he exhale in relief, still shaken.  

Following Phil’s reaction, Amanda and the others in the tavern also woke up one by one.  

They looked at their familiar yet strangely unfamiliar surroundings, recalling the final moments before their deaths. Their expressions grew bewildered.  

"What... exactly happened?"  

Angela murmured as she gazed down at her intact body.  

She clearly remembered stepping into the Voodoo Church with their captain—only to be killed by Laviu, the resurrected Voodoo Queen.  

She wasn’t alone.  

Agent Zhou also lowered his head, staring at his arm.  

Though he had blocked the Voodoo Queen’s first strike with his woodenized arm, he soon met his demise after making direct eye contact with the Twisted One, his body grotesquely contorted into a corpse.  

Holding his head, he tried to process the memories that had suddenly returned.  

Inside the church, Amanda had survived the longest. Thanks to her enchanted necklace, she had withstood most of the attacks.  

During that time, she had witnessed everyone’s deaths firsthand.  

She saw Phil and Angela being consumed by the Voodoo Queen’s hair, saw Agent Zhou’s body grotesquely twisted into shreds, and saw both the diviner Joey and Spirit Medium Spike perish under the Voodoo Queen’s curse.  

Then, as her memory faded bit by bit, she too lost everything—including the recollection of her own death.  

And now, with those memories resurfacing, she finally remembered.  

Her last moments.  

She had died when she could no longer pay the cost demanded by her necklace—warped and crushed by the Twisted One’s touch.  

Reaching up to touch her neck, she confirmed it was still intact, not twisted grotesquely as in her memories. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her chaotic thoughts and turned her gaze toward Joey and Spike.  

"Now, can you finally explain what the hell is going on, Spike?"  

The memories were so vivid and real, as if they had truly lived through them.  

Yet, as she recalled the final moments in the church, neither Joey nor Spike had seemed surprised by their circumstances.  

Even in the last moments before their deaths, they barely resisted when facing the Voodoo Queen’s curse, allowing its power to claim them.  

"I already told you," Spike shrugged in response to Amanda’s questioning. "We didn’t hide anything from you. You just forgot certain things."  

With a slight shift of his gaze, he gestured toward the item in the diviner’s hands.  

Following his motion, Amanda’s eyes landed on it.  

In Joey’s hands lay a thin notebook, resting there silently.  

The notebook looked old, its pages worn.  

Visible tear marks suggested that several pages had been ripped out.  

It was clear that the notebook’s thinness was due to these missing pages.  

But why would anyone tear them out?  

As Amanda studied the notebook, a trace of doubt flickered across her face.  

And then—  

A flood of fragmented memories surged into her mind.  

As those memories resurfaced, clarity dawned upon her.  

She finally understood what had happened.  

And why Spike had insisted they had simply forgotten certain things.  

Indeed, as he had said, they had not been deceived.  

They had merely forgotten something crucial.  

(End of Chapter)