Reincarnated Into A Dead Woman's Body In Another World-Chapter 447: Arc 6, - 63: Merge

"Bzz!" "BZZ!"

"This is getting annoyingghhh!" Beauregard whined as she caught herself against a column. Her whirlpool lower half was severed partially by electrical discharge.

"TSHHHHHH!!!"

A white butterfly scorched through the slime-girl’s torso, towards the poetry sheets she harboured.

"No!" Beauregard whimpered and moaned as the butterfly hissed through her body; she shifted her form, thrusting the poetry up in a coat of slime to her hands. "Mngh!" She whacked her hand in the air, summoning a wave to crash into an Asobi.

That Asobi however was an illusion. As one illusion was disrupted, a dozen more took its place. The one butterfly was flying to her command it seemed.

Jotou spun in the air boosted by her electrified kick and slashed her sword through Beauregard’s extended arms. A torrent of water surged and took the blonde into a vortex. It shoved her away as far as it could before her lightning evaporated what held her.

The slime-woman reconnected her arms in an instant and clutched the papers desperately. With a watery doe-eyed sob, she cried out at the landed Jotou and the multiple illusions, "I have had enough playtime with the two of you! Everything you do hurts!"

"Well love’s like that sometimes, not that you’d know," Jotou swivelled her sword around.

Beauregard leapt towards a window and water formed around her from where she jumped, springing her out the window. "Crash!"

"SNAPCH!" Just then, all the illusions of Asobi whipped their wands forward and over a dozen whips of bright white light lashed into Beauregard and lassoed her midriff.

The slime-girl’s eyes widened and she gasped, while all the Asobi-s dug their heels into the floor and yanked the dozens of reins that bound the escaping Beauregard like a wild horse.

With a whimpering groan, Beauregard severed herself at the waist and thwapped onto the small courtyard outside, still grasping onto the poetry she stole.

Asobi’s manifestations fizzled out and all the illusions merged back into one Asobi who stood beside Jotou.

The slime-girl’s lower half healed with the gallons of water she summoned and used to twist herself into the air and towards higher parts of Palais Celneir.

"Sorry," Asobi told.

"It’s alright. Neat trick," Jotou gave a half-smile.

"Thanks! I just made it up. I’m really tired now though," the elf drooped.

_

"Ngh," Fumeko held the puncture wounds on her lower back, right through her scars.

Hotaru caught the brunette by the shoulder and removed her blood-dabbled hand away to examine the injury before promptly healing it to the best of her ability.

Meanwhile, Ambrose continued his surprise entrance. The mountain lion morphed into a giant arachnoid, something between a spider and a scorpion—eight long legs, layered carapace across a flat body, two pincers and a bulbous tail dripping with venom.

The octagonal pillar pulsed in greyish-white light, dimming and brightening the entire fly loft every second. The howls of ghosts were more apparent after the sheet fell and yet the sphere at the top this time, was devoid of any glow or colour.

"I grow weary of nonsensical meddling from so-called heroes of the land. We of the Deuctus Cult seek only peace beyond the falling rubble," the dark-haired man spoke with hands behind his back.

"Your peace," Fumeko grunted as the redhead finished healing. She pulled both sides of her thin scarf in a flourish and unfurled the hoodless cloak around her figure, "Is nothing more than a sham."

Hotaru bared her fangs and claws by the brunette’s side.

Ambrose studied the two and sighed, "Is that so-"

"Fthck! Shck!"

"Eugh!" A purple-tipped crossbow bolt fired into Ambrose’s chest and he groaned aloud. His hand gripped the bolt’s shaft and pulled it out while gritting his teeth. The bolt’s purple dusted away as he eyed the direction from whence it fired.

"Just a tiny bit off?" Rose commented on her own aim, before she was almost swarmed by gunfire from her side.

"AHHH!" However, from a different catwalk, all the cables and ropes flung with the resonating echoes of a pale blonde, who successfully staggered and maimed the ears of the detective’s assailaints.

Ambrose threw the bolt aside and sanguine liquid dripped from the tip of his nails and into his palm like water. He let the blood he formed seep into the hole torn through the right side of his chest.

While his suit would need repairs, the wound healed over by stitching together hundreds of threads made of blood, till his pale skin was as good as new.

He smiled with his fangs, "Dark hair, exquisite figure and a crossbow of, what do you people call it nowadays? Magi-technology? You must be Detective Rosemary Cheshire; I believe I have not had the pleasure," he gave a formal bow.

"The pleasure’s not mine in the slightest," Rose was already loading another bolt into her crossbow. "You’re one of the so-called gods of the Deuctus Cult, pleasantries are wasted on you."

Fumeko blinked away; the spider-scorpion pounced off of the walkway and wound up a ball of light brown webbing which it used to balloon itself down towards the stage, where the brunette blinked to.

"Fifth greatest detective in Burnetrout, worked her way into the good graces of Burntish authorities after being turned in by the hoodlums she worked for throughout her teenage years," Ambrose listed whilst he walked with his shoulders broad and chest puffed.

Rose’s eyes narrowed by the second. Without letting her guard down, she saw Tiffany hide along the catwalks by staying low and Hotaru readying her claws to strike at Ambrose who was a catwalk away in front of the wolf-woman.

"Subterfuge, deception, espionage—her talents were great assets for a man named Peter Werner. She found and honed these talents after her father’s death by cultists after the great fire.

Would you not say, the Deuctus Cult lit a fire that made you the woman you are now—one of talent and renown? Pleasantries should be the least of your courtesies," he taunted.

Fumeko stabbed her dagger into the dense transparent frame of the pillar. The gleaming purple blade sunk into it, shredding the protective enchantments and tough material it was made of.

Before her effort could bear fruit however, a giant mix-matched arachnid sprung onto the pillar and skittered towards her. With a look of pure disgust at the hairy mandibles and multiple eyes, she blinked several steps back.

The creature bit into the handle of the dagger left in the framing. "Hey!" Purplish-black shadows swiped the dagger from its mandibles into her grasp. Her face scrunched having to touch it after that.

Rosemary calmly aimed the crossbow at the taunting figure and smiled back, "Well, my father sends his regards." At the last second, the bolt fired, but not at Ambrose; it instead fired at the pillar. "Fhtck!"

It pierced about a few centimetres and was stuck there... Rose exhaled in contempt.

"Pitiful," Ambrose raised his hand. Blood-red water coiled around his fingers, forming the symbol of the Deuctus Cult—that being a winged serpent flying upwards.

Hotaru heard the sound of bones cracking all around her. All the corpses and disabled yet still alive people along the catwalks began to shift and move.

Those still clinging on to life first had their necks twist beyond the point of no return. The dead rose with their masks still over their heads—the only thing visible, their eyes, bloodshot red and pupilless.

Each joint cracked like they were being up by freshly attached marionette strings and they snarled with inhumane voices. A mist of blood surrounded the undead that now walked.

Ambrose shifted his fingers around like he was orchestrating a symphony, "If we must; may I have a swift dance with you all? The lady of the hour has yet to arrive," the corner of his lip frowned for just a moment as he stated.

Right on cue, through the ventilation shafts came aquamarine water that busted down the grate and deposited a panicked slime-girl into the middle of the fray—poetry sheets in head. She pulled said papers out of her head and into her grasp, "I have it, where is the pen!?"

"Beauregard, you could not have arrived at a more appropriate time," sarcasm oozed out of his voice as he reached under his coat to pull out a pen of bone-like material with runes engraved along its length.

From below, Fumeko’s attempts at sabotaging the pillar were in vain. Tightly-woven light brown webs were plastered up the pillar’s lower half. One did not need to know that getting caught or tangled up in it would not end well.

Even for someone as lithe as her, there spaces between were too small. Were she to get stuck, she could blink her way out of course, however, her examining eyes doubted she would be unscathed.

The webs had that hue for a reason—for it matched the hue of the venom that dripped from the stinger of the creature that defended the structure. It was a deduction that she did not want to doubt.

Get too close to the creature itself, it might change and leave more injuries on her body. Fumeko, out of options and with a groan of annoyance, blinked up back into the fly loft. "The hell?" She was met with undead thralls.

Hotaru’s claws shred through the undead machinations, however the claws made simple scratches and no true impact; the siphoning aspect of the spell felt much weaker—negligible even.

Fumeko blinked forward and slit the throats of the undead with her dagger, causing their bodies to drop again. Tiffany who was running around the catwalks had no difficulty in dispatching them either with a few screams.

Beauregard slung herself onto the sphere atop the pillar and lodged the pen into her arm. With some strength, she slipped her fingers into the seam around the circumference of the sphere that sealed it shut.

It opened up enough for her to slide into and it shut itself once she let go. She reformed in the sphere and took out the pen and papers, before she hastily began writing with no ink onto the back of the final page.

Meanwhile, Rosemary dealt with the undead that now were re-arming themselves with firearms. Their aim was... off by a few metres, but dangerous nonetheless.

Her gaze fell upon the slime-woman in the sphere. She took of the entire corsage of roses she wore and made a sprint along the walkways, as close to the pillar as she could get before lobbing the flowers up.

Beauregard’s slime began seeping into the runes and texture of the pen like blood. She winced at the odd sensation, like it was draining her to form the ink with which she wrote her own name.

She threw the pen away and shoved the papers into the middle of her torso. A hawk flew up to the sphere and looked within which Beauregard noticed. She slammed her fist on the side and yelled, "I am finished! Do it!"

"BOOM!"

At the peak of its arc, all the red roses detonated by the detective’s trigger. Beauregard shrieked while the shockwave rippled throughout the fly loft and everyone ducked for cover.

Debris of Palais Celneir snowed down while it did no seeming damage to the pillar beyond scuff marks. The hawk was unfazed; even though half of its wing was burned away, it regenerated just as quickly and was merely mildly pushed back.

It flew like an arrow straight down towards the base. The webbing dissolved into ash and dusted away, before a gorilla landed onto the stage and ripped the panelling of the base. It turned a metallic wheel with much effort.

Beneath Beuaregard’s feet, a gap began to widen that kept the light and wails of souls separated thus far. Footsteps stormed into the fly loft via various walkways.

Guards of Palais Celneir had grouped up to face the emergency and emerged with the dress swords by their side, but armed with rifles that they aimed immediately at quite literally everyone present.

First and foremost that emerged however, was a blonde with an armite blade and an elf with a wand who finally made it up. "Just in time," Beauregard smiled at the two who had just arrived.

"You mocked me. Now, you shall fear me and truly swear your fealty to my eminence; for I shall ascend to even further heights as your God...!"

"RROOOOAAR!!!"

The wails and shrieks of thousands of souls that converged up into the sphere made a sound so demented, it sent shivers down everyone’s spines.

The greyish-white light no longer diminished—it brightened and brightened, engulfing Beauregard and assaulting her form. Any noise she made was a whisper compared to the howls.

Every soul merged into her form; the parchment embedded in her body started to glow; it started from her name she wrote and into her body. Her usual aquamarine shimmer, turned into an ocean blue hue, little by little...