Back to the Future 1999: Raining at the Same Time

As night completely enveloped the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Blood Demon, hidden in the shadows, opened its eyes.

Hanging from the cross atop the church, God's power did not scorch her transgressing limbs. She wrapped her body in wings, like a real bat suspended in the night.

Beneath the cross, the church hall, which should have been a place of holiness and silence, was instead a scene of decadent revelry.

The imperial elites, led by Franz Ferdinand, were celebrating a partial victory.

The crimson wine, as red as blood, shimmered in the crystal glasses. They patted each other on the shoulders and back, their throats rumbling with triumphant laughter, their words brimming with the arrogance of certain victory.

The rich and aromatic red wine, tonight, carries a faint, almost completely masked, fishy sweetness—an unusual scent that clashes with the festive atmosphere.

But the people in the hall were filled with glory and profit, and they only cared about drinking the wine in their cups. No one was willing to lower their heads, no one was willing to smell it carefully, and no one noticed the murderous intent hidden in the cup that was enough to destroy everything.

Unseen by anyone, a drop of scarlet blood had already silently spread in a wine glass, blending seamlessly with the red wine.

The liquor entered their throats and slid down their scalding esophagus into their internal organs. The drop of blood, like a blade tempered with cold sharpness, suddenly attacked their unsuspecting flesh and blood, violently shredding their internal organs.

Death is silent.

As the first person collapsed to the ground, the surrounding laughter and chatter continued, and no one noticed the body that had slid to the side of the chair.

The second, the third...

Until a crystal wine glass shattered on the cold marble floor, the sharp cracking sound piercing the noise and the lingering echo pulling everyone back from their reverie.

The joyous singing abruptly stopped. Some people seemed to wake from a dream, staggered and turned to flee, but after taking only three steps, their panicked figures fell heavily to the ground like puppets with broken strings, and were never heard from again.

Crimson blood foam first spilled from the corner of his lips, much like the red wine in the glass.

Then came a torrent of blood, gushing from his mouth and nose.

One bunch, two bunches, countless bunches—scarlet, eerie blood blossoms bloomed on the polished ground, intertwining with scattered shards of glass.

The empire's nobles fell one after another, not even having time to utter a single scream. The only sound was the wet, dripping sound of blood, clear and piercing in the empty hall.

In a short while, all the laughter, singing, dancing, and clinking of glasses vanished.

The vast church hall finally fell silent once more.

A deathly silence, even more so than usual, permeated with the thick stench of blood, seeped over the carved pillars, over the candlelight of the altar, and over every inch of the blood-stained ground.

Only on that cross, the Blood Demon's bone wings were slightly spread, its pupils reflecting the blood-red chaos below, still hanging in the boundless night, a maniacal laugh lingering on its lips.

……

The vendor at the alley entrance leaned halfway out, waving hurriedly at the two of them, pressing his fingertips to his lips, lowering his voice but still raising it in a high-pitched tone:

"Kakania! Here, here!"

The green parrot rushed over, its shoulder still covered in dust from the alleyway, raised its hand and slapped the vendor's arm hard, its tone filled with relief at surviving the ordeal:

"Ilyich! You've been a huge help this time. Thank you! This tool is really useful..."

As soon as she finished speaking, she grabbed the edge of the fake mustache with her fingertips and tore it hard, the rough adhesive surface making her upper lip turn red.

Kacania raised her hand and haphazardly tore open her collar, while her other hand cupped itself and fanned her face and neck rapidly, sweat trickling down her temples.

Marcus leaned against the alley wall, bent over, and rubbed his lips hard with his fingertips. A muffled groan escaped his throat. He straightened up, panting heavily, his brows furrowed, his fingertips still gently caressing his lips.

"Ugh—uh! Phew, finally it's down. Why does my mouth feel like it's stuck with something all day..."

The child vendor grinned and laughed heartily, proudly raising his chin and making a mustache shape with his finger on his lips:

"Ha! Of course. This beard of mine is no ordinary stuff! Every single hair of it has been thoroughly soaked in a Bohemian potion infused with bloodroot, toad heart, and dragon gall..."

But his laughter quickly ceased. His gaze swept across the shadows at the alley entrance, he tapped his temple with his fingertips, lowered his voice, and frowned:

"How did you manage to provoke the guards?"

Kacania gently rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, sighed helplessly, and her tone turned somber:

"That's a long story..."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the vendor's gaze was fixed on Marcus. His fingertips suddenly tightened, and he gave the vendor's shoulder a light tap with his elbow, then raised his chin and gestured towards Marcus.

"Oh, no need to stare at this lady so cautiously. She saved my life, and she's a decent person, maybe half—a third of a friend!"

Marcus's eyelashes trembled, his fingertips curled, and he repeated in a low voice, his tone tinged with a hint of bewildered hesitation.

"one third……"

Her hand, hanging by her side, quietly slipped into her pocket, her fingertips landing on the cold communicator button. She gently rubbed it a couple of times with her fingertips, then released it very lightly and slowly, her knuckles taut and white, and even her breathing became a little lighter.

The next second, a weak whimper escaped her throat. Her fingertips gripped the communicator tightly in her pocket, repeatedly pressing the unresponsive button, a layer of anxious panic spreading across her eyes.

"Oh no... This is terrible. The communication lines are constantly down, and we can't get in touch with Ms. Hoffman at all."

His fingertips pressed against the communicator's casing, turning white, his lips pressed into a thin line, as he murmured to himself, as if trying to comfort himself or forcefully encourage himself.

"She might be discussing something important with a specialist from the outsourced contract team, so she's activated the barrier mode..."

He took a deep breath, his shoulders tensed slightly, his back straightened, and he pinched his palm hard with his fingertips, forcibly suppressing the panic in his eyes, leaving only a tense calm.

"No problem, Marcus, you can handle it alone. Just keep in touch with the mission target... It's just communication, what's so difficult about that? No problem, you've practiced it... You'll definitely be fine!"

She had imagined a thousand ways to strike up a conversation, but she never expected it to end up like this.

Marcus's fingers unconsciously curled and relaxed at his sides, his gaze shifting between the two of them, his eyes darting around, his lips pressed tightly together, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, his whole body tense like a fully drawn bow, frantically searching his mind for a topic to discuss.

Fortunately, everyone present was much more talkative than her.

The child slapped his thigh and laughed, pointing his fingertip at Kacania's chest, a hint of teasing in his eyes:

"Kakana, now you've become someone who's befriending officials too!"

After laughing, his smile faded slightly. He looked Marcus up and down, rubbing his chin with his fingertips, a hint of playful curiosity in his eyes.

"How novel! I've been here for a year and I've never seen a foundation member with a clean-shaven face before!"

He leaned forward slightly, his tone tinged with a hint of probing, and his fingertips tapped lightly in front of him.

"Where are you from? Croatia? Moravia? Galicia?"

Marcus paused slightly, his eyelashes drooped, and his fingers gently twisted the hem of his clothes. He answered in a soft, hesitant voice, tinged with a hint of restraint:

“I grew up in Romania…”

The vendor's eyes suddenly lit up, and he slapped his thigh hard. His tone instantly became warmer and more friendly, and he even gently bumped Marcus's arm with his shoulder.

"Oh, I'm from Bosnia and Herzegovina—we're practically 'fellow countrymen' anyway!"

Kacania frowned again, his fingertips lightly pinching the vendor's arm. His gaze swept towards the direction of the guard's footsteps at the alley entrance, and his tone turned serious, carrying a hint of solemnity in his warning:

"You also need to be careful, Ilyich. It would be troublesome if you ran into the guards! Your permit probably hasn't been issued yet."

Marcus's pupils widened slightly, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. His eyebrows rose slightly, and his tone carried a touch of bewildered astonishment:

"Huh? Don't you have a license?"

The vendor scoffed, a mocking smile playing on his lips:

“Whoa, of course we don’t have any! Listen to its conditions, ‘Guaranteed safe use of mystical arts from the third generation or above…’—I’ve been selling goods since I was born, I’ve never even seen my mother’s mother.”

He touched his lips with his fingertip, his eyes filled with even more mockery, and his voice was lowered, almost whispering in Marcus's ear.

"That's all fine, guarantees have always been the easiest to forge. But now if you want to apply for a license in Vienna, you have to go through the central government."

"It's not the Austrian government, nor the Hungarian government—it's the central government sandwiched between them."

"And that's the hardest part; no one has ever been able to reliably distinguish the differences here. Where is the emperor's, where is the king's, and where is the emperor's—king's…"

A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips. He waved his fingertips in front of him as if counting something, his tone chillingly indifferent.

"If you follow the rules exactly, you'll find yourself completely fooled! Once you realize what's happening, you'll be trapped here by some unknown spell, unable to move or move freely. Unless you use some glittering crowns to lubricate things up..."

Marcus gripped the hem of his shirt tightly with his fingertips, his lips pressed together, a layer of horrified bewilderment spreading across his eyes, his voice trembling slightly, his tone carrying a hint of timid questioning:

"...What happens if I don't have a occult license?"

A ruthless glint flashed in the vendor's eyes, but a playful smile curled at the corners of his mouth. He lightly traced a line across his neck with his fingertip, his tone light yet every word piercing.

"Oh, that's exciting."

His fingertips stood upright one by one, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something insignificant:

"You might be detained for three days, or you might be sentenced to ten years in prison. Or you might be sentenced to ten years, but the court might forget to notify you."

He tapped his temples lightly with his fingertips, a sinister glint flashing in his eyes.

"Or perhaps you are so skilled that you are perfectly suited to demonstrate the overwhelming victory of reason over mysticism through an advanced surgical resection..."

Finally, he spread his hands, shrugged his shoulders, and spoke with a hint of nonchalant mockery.

"The system here is much more random than mystical arts, so our chances are quite high!"

However, Kacania's brows suddenly furrowed, and he pressed his fingertips heavily on the vendor's shoulder, so hard that the vendor staggered.

He cleared his throat, his voice deep and cold, the wariness in his eyes almost tangible. At the same time, he quickly gave Marcus a wink, the corner of his eye carrying a warning.

"That's enough, Ilyich."

His shoulders sank as he was pressed down, and he instantly came to his senses. The hostility and mockery in his eyes vanished completely. He quickly waved his hands, put on an embarrassed smile, took a half step back, and raised his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender.

"Oh, okay, okay... Goodbye, Kacania and—Miss Government, just pretend I didn't say anything!"

Before he finished speaking, he bent over and quickly disappeared into the shadows at the end of the alley, vanishing in an instant.

Marcus stared in the direction the vendor had disappeared, his fingertips trembling slightly, his eyes filled with a bewildered and uneasy look. He leaned forward slightly and asked hesitantly.

"Who are they...?"

Kacania slowly withdrew her fingers, which landed at her side. Her fingertips unconsciously rubbed her cuffs as her gaze swept across the bustling alleyway, a cold sneer flashing in her eyes.

The sarcasm in his voice flowed from the tip of his tongue, and even his shoulders tensed slightly, carrying a hint of disappointment with the country.

“Some mystical kids, I’m surprised you don’t know these things. This is the situation in this country. Not everything in Vienna is as magnificent as the architecture of the Ringstrasse and the Gentlemen’s Street.”

“I’m very grateful for your help, Miss Government, but I’ve also helped you in return—being discovered by the guards isn’t so easy for you to handle, is it? We’re even!”

"So what exactly did you come to see me about?"

Perhaps due to a particularly impactful experience, Marcus spoke more decisively than during the main storyline. However, just as she finally found an opening in Kacania's speech and was about to interject, another voice interrupted her:

"Marcus Marcus, you're under arrest!"