The massive explosion had nearly flattened the entire underground base into rubble.
Soren picked his way up through the collapsed sections, boots crunching over shattered concrete and twisted rebar.
"Thud."
His foot struck something solid buried in the debris. He looked down. Half-buried in dust and broken stone was a perfect black square, smooth and strangely warm when he lifted it.
He wiped the grit away with his thumb and gave it a sharp breath. A flash of yellow appeared beneath the black surface, along with intricate carved patterns.
The Lament Configuration?
Soren's eyebrows lifted.
The whole base had been reduced to a crater. Load-bearing pillars had been pulverized. Yet this little box had come through without a scratch?
He turned it over in his hands. The material felt wrong for metal—too smooth, almost like polished bone or some exotic mineral.
"I've got one of these too," the black cat draped across his shoulder said suddenly.
"Though mine's probably just a replica. Someone's been seeding these puzzle boxes all over the world on purpose."
The cat flicked her tail and settled into a more comfortable sprawl.
"Still, if a human gets greedy and actually tries to solve the puzzle—even on a fake—one of those monks will show up."
Soren curled his lip.
Great. So much for finding some ancient relic. Turned out it was mass-produced junk.
Like digging up a priceless artifact in some forgotten tomb only for the expert to shrug and say it might have rolled off the assembly line last week.
The black cat caught his disappointment and swished her tail again.
"That said… the fact yours survived that kind of blast means it's probably one of the original boxes Leviathan made himself."
Soren's face stayed blank. He slipped the box into his coat pocket without another word.
Mass-produced was fine. He wasn't picky.
"Speaking of which," he said, shoving aside another slab of concrete, "during the fight down there, Pyramid Head mentioned something. 'Apostle.' What the hell is that? Is that the guy you wanted me to draw out?"
"Apostles are just a title," the cat answered lazily. "They're the ones who run the Witch Cult. But they don't worship any of the usual demons or devils. They only answer to their own god."
"For example, this whole research base was probably bankrolled and built by one of them after their so-called god whispered instructions in their ear."
"Then Leviathan's projection was one of them too?"
Soren's mind jumped straight to the connection.
"An ordinary Apostle doesn't have that kind of juice."
The black cat's golden eyes narrowed. She clearly had no intention of explaining further.
Soren walked a few more steps, then let it go. "So what are they actually trying to accomplish with all this?"
The cat opened one eye and gave him a flat look.
"If you're expecting a cat who's been awake all night to hand you the secrets of the universe on a silver platter, you picked the wrong shoulder to cry on."
She stood, hopped to his other shoulder, and curled up again.
"If I knew what these rats were really planning, I would've already kicked their door in. I wouldn't be wasting my time babysitting you through the night."
Soren gave a short, dry laugh and let the subject drop. The witch knew more than she was saying. That much was obvious.
Luckily he still had Aunt Wang back in Silent Hill. Maybe he could squeeze something useful out of her later.
When he finally shoved the last slab aside and climbed out into open air, the sky had already begun to pale with dawn.
He stood on solid ground and looked back at what remained of the psychiatric hospital.
Nothing. Just a huge, smoking crater where the building had once stood.
At least they were in the middle of nowhere. Dozens of miles of empty wilderness in every direction. With any luck the noise hadn't reached anyone who mattered yet.
A black sedan came winding up the mountain road and pulled over. Absher jumped out, sweating and breathing hard.
"Soren! You alright?"
Soren walked over, gave him a quick once-over, and asked casually, "What about Luca? He didn't come with you?"
Absher's whole body jerked like someone had run ice down his spine.
"He said… his cat was about to have kittens. So he left early."
"His cat was about to have kittens?"
Soren almost laughed out loud. He swallowed the urge to draw his blade and hack something just to vent, filing the excuse away for later.
"Let's go. Back to the city."
Afternoon sunlight slanted across the highway as the black sedan rolled steadily toward Los Santos.
Bayonetta, still in her black-cat form, had curled into a tight ball on the back seat, her fluffy tail wrapped completely over her eyes and ears.
Soren sat beside her with his eyes closed, letting his mind drift.
Inside Silent Hill, Madison was deep into practicing the fourth wonder.
What surprised Soren was her choice. She wasn't working on life renewal, divination that could sense danger, or communion with the dead that let someone walk into Hell.
She had picked mind control—an abstract, delicate art that was nearly impossible to train inside the Otherworld.
What was she trying to do?
Take control of the monsters and steal them from Alessa?
Or use the power to reach inside their broken minds and feel the torment they'd suffered before death?
Right now Madison had an Armless Man pinned helplessly against a wall with telekinesis. She stood right in front of it, staring into its empty face, lips moving in a constant low murmur.
Soren watched from a short distance, utterly speechless.
It looked like she was trying to have a conversation with a brick wall.
These things were made by Alessa. They didn't have hearts left to control.
He shook his head and left her to her strange little experiment, heading instead toward the church.
The bizarre plant growing in the center of the church had grown again. Its trunk was thicker, its branches heavier.
"Looks like it soaked up most of the resentment from the underground base."
Soren studied the plant. If he had unfolded the full Silent Hill domain down there and absorbed every drop of that concentrated despair and fear without waste, the thing would probably be twice this size by now.
But the risk had been too high. Once the domain expanded completely, everything hidden inside it—including the imprisoned angel—would have been exposed to the outside world.
He pushed the greedy thought away. The plant would mature eventually. No point rushing and losing everything.
Alessa appeared beside him without warning.
"She's awake."
Three words. Then she vanished again, off to whatever dark little project she was currently obsessed with.
"Finally."
Soren's form dissolved from the church.
In the quiet room, Ada groaned softly.
Pain throbbed behind her eyes as she slowly pushed herself upright. The white lab coat she had worn as camouflage was gone. Only the tight red dress remained, the silky fabric hugging every curve of her body. Even slightly hunched, her stomach stayed perfectly flat.
Lower down, her black stockings were torn in several places, pale skin showing through the ragged holes. The torn edges pressed into the soft flesh of her thighs.
She braced one hand on the edge of the bed and sat up fully. Her gaze swept over her missing coat and ruined stockings. A cold, ugly suspicion flashed through her mind.
The fog of unconsciousness cleared instantly. Her eyes went sharp and lethal.
For a spy who lived on the knife's edge, losing consciousness was the one mistake that could get you killed.
At that exact moment Soren appeared in the room.
Ada didn't hesitate. Her hand slipped behind her thigh, drew the compact pistol she kept there, and fired three quick shots—head, left shoulder, right shoulder.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The bullets passed straight through Soren's body and punched into the wall behind him.
Ada's gun hand trembled for a split second. Shock flickered across her face before she forced it down.
She kept the weapon trained on him, voice like ice.
"Who the hell are you? What did you do to me?"