Dies Irae: Song To The Witch - Chapter 2 There Are No West Side Stories

My, she’s the worst. How long do I have to wait…

In the back of her head played the conversation she had with Rusalka two months earlier. Beatrice went through enough trouble to get in touch with her, and explained the state of affairs. Her response was simple…

Sorry! I’m a little busy, could you wait until like June?

Well, she probably has her own things going on. Her being quick to hang up and the simple response, they are but part of her personality after all. The specifics about the time and place were handled via telegram, though she went and sent her replies to Beatrice’s new private residence she really wants to keep under the radar. All that she could forgive… However, making her wait for over an hour might really be crossing the line here.

Irritated, Beatrice waited at an open s.p.a.ce in the airport. Around here were people coming and going, exchanging chatter in all sorts of languages. This airport is much like a miniaturized America.

Man, America sure was an amazing country, huh!? My eyes have truly opened!

I’m so grateful to Mr. Herman for inviting us here. And it’s all thanks to the guys back in Suwahara City.

Beatrice turned around without thinking, after hearing j.a.panese people utter that city’s name. She had already finished her j.a.panese language studies, as it would surely become an indispensable tool in the future.

Suwahara City. A city in the far east of j.a.pan, and the promised landShambala of Reinhard’s return. Beatrice, too, would one day set foot in that city. The j.a.panese people met up with a group of others. Enthusiastically talking about the best parts of their trip to America.

Hearing this chatter hurt Beatrice. Would they make it through the Day of Wrath? Would they even be in Suwahara City at all? As long as they live in that city, they are all sacrifices. Looking at the smiles of those whose lives she might one day take made her feel that sense of guilt she should have gotten over once more.

Alright everyone, this marks the end! Did you all enjoy the bullet tour of America? I hope you all had b.u.t.tloads of fun ~!

The woman leading the group addressed the people while holding a flag that read “Tour group from Suwahara City”.

Wh!!!

Beatrice rubbed her eyes. This pet.i.te tour guide looked too familiar. The tour guide paid no heed to the perplexed Beatrice and continued on.

We’ll be going our separate ways now. Now you all taught me this phrase, but the excursion doesn’t end until you’re all home safe! Be careful on your way home!

It was fun!

Thanks, little miss!

The pet.i.te girl’s body became the center of applause and praise by the people.

Stooop ~ I’m an a d u l t guys!

The tour guide saw the group of people to the boarding gate while brus.h.i.+ng off the compliments. After they disappeared to the other side of the gate, the guide turned around and smiled at the perplexed Beatrice. Her eyes and senses did not betray her, that tour guide is definitely Rusalka Schwgelin. Rusalka tossed the flag in a trash bin and headed over to Beatrice.

What on earth are you doing!?

Beatrice broke the ice.

Hm? I’m a tour guide. You know, I’ve barely been to America so I thought I’d gather some intel. This is Bey’s turf after all. He’s the type of guy who snaps when you poke your nose into his business. You know, like vampires and dogs.

Wilhelm Ehrenburg, Number IV of the Longinus Dreizehn Orden’s Obsidian Round Table, also known as Bey. Another maniac among the Obsidian Round Table, like Schreiber. While he would normally settle in North America, he went to the battlefield for a lack of blood and ma.s.sacre that he needs to survive. His current preferred spot is the front lines of Vietnam that has turned into a big swamp.

Realizing there’s no point in discussing someone who isn’t here, Rusalka continued.

It’s super easy to remember things when you explain them to other people. At first I started doing this as a joke, but people have been praising my wealth of knowledge and my beautiful voice, maybe a tour guide is my calling!

That’s all great.

Beatrice interrupted the ever so fluent Rusalka’s enthusiastic chatter. She is good at making small talk and has a beautiful voice, maybe she actually is cut out to be a tour guide, but that is not the issue at hand.

If you’re already here, please call me next time!

It looked like the guide work would take some more time and I’d be late… I’m also not sure how I should’ve contacted you, I figured you would be more forgiving, kind of like the Italians, sorry ~!

We’re both German here.

And we’re both Germans who got fed up with Italy’s bulls.h.i.+t during the war, I’d prefer to leave them out of it this time. Though that’s exactly what we’re doing…

The ritual in the far east will take place far from Italy, so she is correct. The alliance between Germany, j.a.pan and Italy is a thing of the past now too, it seems.

So I actually arrived in America a couple days ago. I got acquainted with an African dictator and he let me borrow his private jet. It’s amazing what you can do with money, you can do whatever you want and you don’t even have to kill anyone. Thanks to that I got here early. I can’t get over how great it is to profit off dictators!

We can never know if she is telling the truth, but knowing her, she could definitely pull it off. It has been a while since Beatrice last saw Rusalka, but the density of souls inside her has definitely increased. She probably has been gathering them from all over the globe.

Interested? I can introduce you. The spot of wife number 5 is open right now! Apparently the last one had a bit of a jealousy problem, picked the wrong fights…

I’ll pa.s.s…

Beatrice pretended not to hear that second half and returned her answer. If she accomodated Rusalka’s conversation like this, it would not end before dark. Beatrice turned around to lead the way.

The situation has changed somewhat since a couple months back, so I’ll fill you in on the way.

Some steps later, Beatrice noticed Rusalka was not coming along.

Haha stop it you! But, you know… I’m here with a friend… She’s kind of new to all this but she’s a real beauty!

In no time Rusalka had attracted a group of locals who started flirting with her. And she was into it. No, she might have been the one flirting with them instead. Beatrice covered her face. She could already tell this case would exhaust her like none ever had.

h.e.l.l’s Kitchen – Manhattan, New York. A place even the police prefer to avoid as a place worse than h.e.l.l, riddled with gangs who commit wicked and heinous crimes. Murder, robbery, rape… Cases like these tower above the rest in terms of frequency, and not even those curious dare come close.

But tonight, the city that normally reeks of conflict is awfully quiet. Not a soul to be found out on the streets. One would be forgiven for thinking all criminal gangs were suddenly cleaned up by means of divine punishment. But striding about the city right now is no G.o.d, but something wicked. Two women who would normally make for easy prey…

Hmmmm. Do you feel it? This atmosphere, this presence… So exciting.

Rusalka sniffed the air. A place as dangerous as this one makes for a great reservoir of souls that are sure to be defiled and easy to obtain.

Where are Lisa and Bernard anyway? Maybe they’ll come walking out of an alley if I sing and dance…

Rusalka took light steps and danced. A dance befitting a witch under the moonlight, giving off not a ghastly vibe, but an innocent one that would make people mistake her for an innocent girl.

Unlike Rusalka, Beatrice was exhausted. She has no intention of being inferior to any other member of the Obsidian Round Table, neither in combat prowess nor talent. However, she can never quite escape her junior position. A junior can not become a leash to a witch to whom everything is a toy. If anything, Rusalka has been tossing Beatrice around like one. What a little devil.

So, there really is a CIA safehouse around here?

Rusalka, twirling around, asked Beatrice.

Yes, the top floor of that house up ahead is apparently extensively used as a safehouse. This place may be vile, but in turn, that makes it suitable for obtaining intel that can’t be found anywhere else.

I read your report, you did a good job on the investigation. As expected from a former Gestapo operative.

I was an officer of the SS after all.

From the Schutzstaffel to the Gestapo to the Obsidian Round Table. All of Beatrice’s fond memories came solely from her time at the Schutzstaffel.

Beatrice leading the way, the two set foot in the practically deserted house. The wooden stairs creaked with every step. This was not a matter of being stealthy anymore.

First a branch politician, then FBI, then the Pentagon… So our next meet and greet will be with the CIA. We sure are popular… Though it’s not quite the same thing when your fans are all dead when the time comes…

The people whom Beatrice was trying to meet, those who sought the Longinus Dreizehn Orden, were one step behind and subsequently ma.s.sacred. And this incident once more. The house already more than reeked of an eerie silence that only the dead could cause. Beatrice reached the top of the stairs and entered the nearest room, then she moved a bookshelf near the wall. Behind it lay an iron wall.

Isn’t this something little boys like to do, rather than actual spies..? Oh well… Anyway, mine is on the other side, right? I’m getting kind of excited

Is that so…

Beatrice s.h.i.+vered, seeing Rusalka unable to hide her excitement.

Oh, you don’t like it, Valkyria? I honestly can’t wait. Isn’t it admirable that someone would try and be like us? And only the girls! Though if I end up seeing Schreiber’s face again after opening my arms I’ll be real p.i.s.sed.

Rusalka is already aware that the Obsidian Round Table’s female members are being imitated.

The first victim was decapitated by means of a sharp blade. This resembled Beatrice’s killing style as a knight. At the site of the second victim, corpses moved. Lisa Brenner, Number XI of the Longinus Dreizehn Orden’s Obsidian Round Table. Her power concerns corpses.

As for the third victim…

Ah, so this is what you don’t like. You can’t appreciate it when they try to imitate your big sis…

Rusalka had a broad smirk. The third victim was burned to death in the bedroom. He was toasted to the point his corpse was completely black, and a prost.i.tute who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time met her fate along with him. Only her silhouette was visible. Only the right half of her body was scorched.

Eleonore von Wittenburg, Number IX of the Longinus Dreizehn Orden’s Obsidian Round Table, one of the battalion commanders. She is currently in another plane along with Heydrich and the other battalion commanders. A heroine who possesses both fiery discipline and cool-headedness. She played with fire and suffered a burn wound in the form of a battle scar across the right half of her body. This particular case is imitating her. This. .h.i.t particularly close to home for Beatrice, who once served under her even before they joined the Obsidian Round Table.

Upon seeing this mockery that hit harder than one of hers could, Beatrice became so agitated she could barely think straight. She did not respond to Rusalka’s laugh. It only served to ignite the spark in her blade and turn the thick iron door into dust. With what is beyond the door exposed, the results are not unlike what one would expect.

A messy room, covered with maps and doc.u.ments stuck on bulletin boards. Once again the wall had hagazussa! written on it. There was a chair centered in the room, a man sat on it. The man’s body was covered with torture tools. His fingers, knees, all of his joints had contraptions pierced into them. He was shut tight by means of countless spikes and bolts that resembled the fangs of a beast. A device called a tiger bench was used to break the man’s knees to pieces.

But that was not all.

He had scratch marks all over him, peeling his flesh all the way off. The steel fangs used to perform the deed were scattered all over the room. These were called cat’s paw, part of a Spanish torture technique. These unsanitary claws probably killed more than enough people throughout the years by means of shock and infectious diseases.

Countless scattered torture tools and countless wounds. Unless this man had superpowers, there was absolutely no need to hurt him this much in order to kill him. It is painfully clear this man was tortured on purpose.

I don’t like this.

Much like Beatrice before her, Rusalka was visibly upset. She felt ashamed of this spectacle, of what is normally her own work. However, she is not one to be swayed or sickened by witnessing something being taken this far so much as to be tempted by her sense of justice. No…

They tried this hard to imitate me, huh… I see…

Anyone can grab some torture tools and inflict pain to a person to their heart’s desire. Even a child can do it. In fact, if anything this resembles the work of a child. So simple. Ah, to think someone would do such a poor job of imitating you… Rusalka tossed away the bright mood she had since she arrived in America and left the scene.

Beatrice did not stop her. She is like an artist who just had their work defiled. It would seem pointless to try and stop her when you can not understand her rage. She simply stood there watching her off.