Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 443

Chapter 443**The conquest coast of the northern shore, Toulwa.**

Night cloaked the outskirts of Toulwa city, where a grand manor glowed intensely, its interior bustling with urgent movement.

A sudden crisis had forced the Gloom Gold Society to issue immediate evacuation orders. Throughout Toulwa, their hidden units toiled late into the night, rushing preparations for a dawn train departure.

Inside the hectic mansion, Barnum, dressed in black, moved swiftly along a hallway. His sharp eyes scanned his environment as he held a large canvas sack. Increasing his speed, he ascended multiple flights of stairs, quickly arriving on the third floor. After traversing its corridors, he noticed a servant hurrying towards him from the opposite end. The man halted, offering a small bow.

“Mr. Barnum, sir, might you know Mr. Bengcotchel’s current location?”

“Hmm… Why do you seek him?” Barnum paused, sidestepping the query with his own question. The servant stopped, replying,

“Oh, nothing too critical. Primarily to inquire about his instructions for the remaining materials stored below? Over a dozen are still there, and with the schedule so compressed, transporting them all is difficult. I require his directive on whether to dispose of them immediately to prevent issues.”

Barnum considered briefly before responding, “That is… a pressing matter. Very well, I am going to him myself. Walk with me.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Barnum.”

The servant followed Barnum. Shortly after, Barnum stepped into an unoccupied room. The servant entered behind him, glancing about only to find no sign of Bengcotchel. Confused, he spoke to Barnum’s back, “Mr. Barnum, what are we…”

Before the words were complete, Barnum whirled around. A pistol materialized in his hand, aimed directly at the servant’s forehead. Before comprehension could dawn, Barnum squeezed the trigger. The sharp report echoed through the manor as the projectile ripped through the servant’s brow. Eyes wide with disbelief, the man collapsed, lifeless.

The shot electrified the house. Workers surged towards the sound. Barnum merged back into the crowd, dashing up the staircases. Along the way, he met Farrell, a middle-aged man. Barnum demanded urgently,

“What’s going on?”

“Not sure! The noise seemed to come from upstairs! We must investigate!”

Together, Barnum and Farrell raced upwards. They joined a group gathering near the room, which included old Bengcotchel himself and his youthful aide, Alauri. The assembly stared grimly within.

“What occurred here, Mr. Bengcotchel?” Barnum and Farrell asked, echoed by other servants. Alauri answered Barnum,

“Someone’s been shot… We’ve been infiltrated. An intruder.”

“What…” Barnum and Farrell gaped at the body lying face down inside the chamber. Leaning on his walking stick, Bengcotchel turned to Barnum, his expression icy.

“We’re compromised. You were tracked here. They intentionally allowed your escape to follow you back!”

“T-Tracked… impossible. I constantly used anti-surveillance tactics on my path! This could be…” Barnum protested under the collective gaze. Just then, with all attention fixed on him, the prone body twitched.

In that altered instant, the corpse jerked upright, deliberately hurling itself towards the people clustered at the doorway, its arms gripping something concealed beneath its garments. The abrupt motion snapped focus back. Shock registered as the charging cadaver closed in. Instinct drove the group to scramble backwards.

Barnum’s strained face abruptly set. Seizing the moment, his hands lashed out, seizing Farrell and Alauri, who were attempting to retreat. With preternatural strength, he yanked them forward as living barricades. Their reflexive resistance ended abruptly as the corpse crashed into them. A faint, nearly invisible spark ignited the explosives hidden within its grasp.

“BOOM!!!”

A deafening explosion tore through the third-floor doorway. Blinding light and a brutal shockwave ripped outwards. The hallway and room at the core vanished in flame and flying debris. Third-story windows imploded violently, ejecting wreckage amid smoke and dust. Windows on the manor’s lower levels shattered. The earth trembled. In the darkness, the thunderous detonation set off frantic howls from dogs nearby.

Aftermath engulfed the mansion in thick, choking smoke. The blast site was a desolation. Walls disintegrated. Ceilings and floors buckled, dropping sections of the third story and roof down onto the second level. Shattered masonry littered the carnage. Servants’ mangled forms lay buried under rubble and fallen beams. A third of the manor instantaneously became a heap of ruinous wreckage focused on the second and third floors.

Amid the devastation, an elderly figure stirred beneath a pile of stones. Bengcotchel hauled himself upright, jacket torn, coated in grime from head to foot, his eyes burning with rage. Having been perilously close to the epicenter, he’d endured the savage blast directly. Those beside him were now scattered, unrecognizable remains. Bengcotchel displayed only hairline, nearly invisible cracks on his skin.

“Damnation… Tricked!” Bengcotchel spat through clenched teeth, surveying the destruction. “Alauri! Any survivors, rise!”

From another debris mound within the swirling dust, a survivor emerged. Barnum stood amidst the ruins. Before him lay two savaged bodies. One, grotesquely mutilated and dead, was Farrell. The other, comparatively whole but crisscrossed with bloody fissures, its life force gone – Alauri.

In the splinter of crisis, Barnum had grabbed the two closest individuals, Farrell and Alauri, employing them as sacrificial shields. Though both possessed the bullet-resistant resilience of Wandering Walls, point-blank explosives were overwhelming. The shields perished instantly. Hearing Bengcotchel’s shout, Barnum fixed his stare on Alauri’s corpse. An eerie force reanimated Alauri; its eyes snapped open, it stood and shouted towards the sound.

“Cough… cough… Mr. Bengcotchel! Over here!”

Alauri accepted a pistol from Barnum. Together, they picked their way across fractured wreckage towards Bengcotchel. Spotting them, Bengcotchel began to speak. But the instant recognition clicked, both Barnum and Alauri lifted their weapons and fired.

“Bang! Bang!”

Revolver bullets flew towards Bengcotchel. He stood immobile, the rounds ricocheting harmlessly off his body.

“Enchanted dead… Damned flesh-puppetry?!” Bengcotchel roared, fury intensifying.

He flicked his cane. Its tip detached and expanded into a bladed, spiked orb the size of a fist, linked by a chain to the staff – instantly morphing it into a heavy flail. He swung. The chain propelled the weighted head into Alauri. The impact hurled the body backwards, its upper torso obliterated in a shower of gore and splintered bone. Utter destruction.

Seeing the Barnum puppet also down, Bengcotchel readied another blow. As he swung, his arm was suddenly wrenched downward, the flail smashing uselessly into nearby rubble. His gaze snapped left. A ruined manservant corpse lay at his feet; it had coiled itself around his right arm, sabotaging his strike.

Immediately, fragmented bodies strewn throughout the ruins surged, hurling themselves at Bengcotchel. Limbs long or short, they mobbed him, clinging like leeches, pinning him down. As Bengcotchel strained against the dead weight, fighting to maneuver his flail, the Barnum corpse had seized its spiked head, halting its movement.

Just as Bengcotchel mustered greater effort to break free, distant darkness was pierced. A scorching spear of brilliant orange light stabbed from hundreds of meters away, striking Bengcotchel squarely between the shoulder blades. Intense, blistering heat erupted from the impact point. Jets of flame gushed forward, engulfing Bengcotchel and the corpses binding him. His entire figure erupted into a raging inferno.

* * *

Outside the manor grounds, atop a modest building several hundred meters distant, Doroes crouched beneath a stark black cloak. A long rifle lay balanced in her hands.

It was a masterful creation – brass and walnut construction. Intricate scrollwork adorned the brass barrel; the wooden stock was smooth and perfectly weighted. Small brackets held calibrated lenses aligned along its spine, angled above the receiver. Doroes peered through the layered optics, sighting deep into the gloom of the distant manor.

“Luminite’s Embrace” was its name. This weapon focused “Lamp” spiritual energy into searing incandescent projectiles capable of burning targets nearly a kilometer away. The tiered lenses of its “Farseer Array” granted any user the enhanced sight of a “Lamp” adept – acute night vision extended by optical magnification, coupled with intensely heightened focus and accuracy.

This gun – the very instrument the Eight-Pointed Nest had planned to assassinate Duke Barlett with. Their initial scheme thwarted by Doroes, it had been abandoned at the scene, later recovered by Versia and given to her. Only now was Doroes deploying it in true battle.

“Handles acceptably… Certainly strikes accurately when needed; gets the job done… it seems,” Doroes murmured, peering through the magnifying assembly. Though the hit transformed the target into a vertical funeral pyre, her caution remained. Through the lenses, she watched the conflagration wane – the raging flames visibly collapsing inwards.

Back in the manor’s heart, the pillar of fire consuming Bengcotchel vanished. Charred limbs were revealed. Then, what those limbs had shackled became visible.

Skin fused beneath polished, blackened stone. Limbs ending in bestial talons. A ghastly stone countenance stretched between pointed, gargoyle-like ears. Smoke curled upwards around broad, bat-like wings unfurling from its back.

Emerging from the flame’s extinction as smoke drifted away stood Bengcotchel* utterly transformed: an intricately formed, terrifying Stone Golem.

The monster surveyed the surrounding devastation. Bodies stirred anew amidst the rubble, shambling towards him through the haze. Scowling fury tightening its stony visage, glowing orange sigils ignited across Bengcotchel’s form. Countless symbols resolved into the pattern signifying “*Lamp*.”

His stone maw gaped wide. A torrent of scorching fire blasted forth, engulfing the reanimated dead. It was the very “*Lamp*”-inferno Bengcotchel had absorbed and weaponized moments prior, stored now within his Stone Golem form – White Ash rank “*Stone*”, Primary, “*Shadow*” Auxiliary.