Chapter 154: The Resolve of the Villain Vodka
As Ai Haibara's voice echoed between heaven and earth, omens rippled faintly throughout the world. Pitch-black crow feathers drifted out of the void, vanishing as quickly as they appeared, and the world grew dim in their wake.
The setting known as "Fortune" or "Providence" existed in the first loop as well. In this final hour of humanity, before a criminal plan of unprecedented scale, the stage called "The World" could no longer hide or block that rainbow-like surge of destiny piercing through the physical plane.
The extinction of humanity was narrated personally by Ai Haibara. Providence converged, and the status of the End-Time Bird of Ill Omen solidified upon her. The power of this status was absolute in its purity: it ensured that the "End" she narrated would inevitably be carried out and realized.
Under the declaration of the Bird of Ill Omen, the final case of the mortal world—and the final war of mankind—began.
The last members of the Distillery ascended the stage one by one, exhausting everything they were to launch an assault on Conan. Leading the charge was Ran Mouri, brandishing her killing blade. At this moment, she erupted with a ferocious, boundless slaughter-power.
The exceptional martial talent Kogoro Mouri had left her had long since blossomed. Honed through billions of daily cases and the vast stretches of time across dozens of Movies, and driven by a primal, bone-deep killing intent, she had surpassed the Makoto Kyogoku of old. In the realm of "Physical Might," she had reached the level of the undisputed strongest in the world.
The blade she wielded was sharp enough to slice a sniper bullet mid-air; even a steel tank was naught but a toy to be severed in two! At this moment, the strongest mortal blade, which spared nothing, swung toward the high and mighty deity.
"Shinichi... what are you waiting for? The ball has begun. Put on your prince's attire and dance with me..."
Amidst her mad, seductive laughter, blood-red blade-light wove a web of death. The Teitan High auditorium was shredded instantly; falling tiles were struck repeatedly by the dense flashes of light until they disintegrated into ash.
Conan retreated. Though he simply stepped backward with ordinary movements, he supernaturally evaded every incoming crimson arc. He was laughing, yet he was crying. A weeping smile.
"Are-re? Ran-neechan, you're joking, right? How could an ordinary high school girl devise a plan for a global nuclear war to destroy humanity? It's illogical... so, stop fooling around, okay?"
Whether Conan was refusing to acknowledge Ran's choice at this moment, or hinting that this "motive" was not yet sufficient to justify the truth of [The Death of All Mankind], remained unknown.
"No, I think it's perfectly logical. To kill the monster Edogawa Conan—the thing that brought despair to the whole world—humanity would do anything. For example, what if a member of an evil organization like me used lies to trick the Heroine into betraying the Protagonist? How's that for a shitty reason? Does that add enough weight to the motive?"
Entering the stage was Vodka. His physique had become inhumanly massive. He charged forward and grappled Conan, using a lifetime's worth of strength to lock the boy in a crushing embrace.
To defeat Conan, humanity had exhausted every method and explored every possibility. Even if "Science" was a mocking, absurd joke in the face of Conan, technology itself could still provide meaning. Through the cooperation of nations and the Heroine Ai Haibara, various biotechnologies had emerged—specifically, physical enhancement.
Vodka, realizing his mind wasn't sharp and his talent for marksmanship was average, had thrown himself into this field without hesitation. Now, he was the ultimate vessel of this technology.
His skeleton had been entirely replaced; his nerves were stimulated by drugs; his internal organs were biochemically modified, and his muscles had undergone multiple restructurings. This series of modifications was aggressive and bold, but it wasn't a "success." A lethal rejection reaction plagued him constantly, leaving him with a lifespan of only a few days.
But in this regard, Vodka had to thank Conan. In a world where there was no "tomorrow," even a few days of life were equivalent to eternity, provided one could endure the pain.
Out of that gratitude, Vodka unleashed the strongest physical form human technology could forge, pinning Conan in place. Even as Godzilla-level struggles radiated from his arms, Vodka squeezed with all his might. Even when his biceps burst, spraying oil and blood, and his alloy bones began to crack, he never let go.
The blood-red blade-light, at its most shrill and piercing, slashed toward the Conan pinned in Vodka's arms!
"Are-re? So it's you, Vodka? That seems to make sense. As an evil organization, you've always tried to kill Shinichi Kudo. Using deception to incite his childhood friend, Ran Mouri, and former member Ai Haibara to commit atrocities... it sounds like a very reasonable deduction. Yes... after eliminating all other options, no matter how incredible, this must be the truth..."
Amidst the spray of blood, Conan's voice echoed—filled with unshakeable despair, gloomy and low like death itself. Through "Deduction," Conan had confirmed this "Truth"!
"But Vodka... don't think that having committed such an atrocity, you can walk away unscathed..."
In the next instant, Vodka's pupils shrank. His modified arms, the peak of human strength, were torn off at the elbow by Conan's bare hands. A child's body could not contain the majestic power of a god; the manifestation of that power depended solely on whether the "Plot required it."
After tearing off Vodka's arms, Conan tossed them aside; they turned into projectiles that broke the sound barrier, hurtling toward Ran. Though she parried the blow, she was sent flying back by the majestic force.
Conan stood in place. A deep gash, exposing bone and weeping blood, ran across his chest. He maintained that despairing, weeping smile, but the eyes behind his glasses were completely obscured, save for a chilling, glinting light reflecting off the lenses.
Vodka had seen that expression before. It was the look Conan wore when he had truly decided to kill.
But instead of fear, Vodka burst into a manic laugh: "Hahaha! You want to kill me? Then do it! Because I should have... died long ago!"
Vodka had long wondered why he was still alive. In terms of crime and combat, he was inferior to Big Brother Gin. In terms of will, he was weaker than the heroes who died in the Movies. Why did he, following Gin, survive Movie after Movie while better men fell?
Did he, Vodka, actually have the script of a "Main Companion" to the protagonist Conan?
No, that joke wasn't funny. According to Ai's theory, Vodka held the script of a Destined Villain. Because an eternity ago, the birth of the Evil God known as the Detective seemed "linked" to him.
"Linked" was the term because humanity had tried everything. The so-called "A-drug" (APTX 4869) was no secret; it had been studied thousands of times by nations and Ai. They concluded that the Evil God simply used the drug as a medium to descend; even if he had swallowed a box of herbal tea at the time, the outcome would likely have been the same.
That didn't matter now. Vodka had forgotten many things over the eons, but he remembered one thing: the member of the Distillery carrying the name Vodka was a total scoundrel. A scoundrel should go out like one—beaten down by a hero, exiting the stage in pathetic misery.
Surviving while all the heroes were sacrificed was a disgrace to his role as a villain!
To uphold his resolve as a "bad guy" and welcome his proper ending, Vodka laughed manically and launched a final, suicidal charge. He had no arms, but he had the jagged steel of his elbow bones, his legs, and the massive bombs buried within his torso.
However, resolve cannot replace reality. With a single kick from Conan, the villain was severed in two at the waist. The "strongest modified body" and alloy skeleton meant nothing. But Vodka didn't care; he used the momentum to snap his jaws shut around Conan's leg, refusing to let go even in death!
Finally, Vodka flashed a smile—a smile as ugly and savage as a bear's—and then, the bombs inside him detonated.
Vodka exited the stage permanently.
Amidst the roaring fire and expansion of the blast, Ran Mouri did not retreat. She swung her blade, charging through the flames to continue the pursuit. Her blade-light was more shrill, more crazed, and more powerful than ever. In this case, as the Mastermind, she received a "buff" from the plot, making her increasingly ferocious.
Conan burst from the blood and fire! His hair was singed, and his body was marked with gashes, but he remained vibrant.
Ran continued her relentless assault; Ai continued her steady gunfire. After uncounted Movies, they and all of humanity knew that "Wounds" on Conan were merely visual indicators of a "Status." The human common sense that "Accumulated wounds lead to death" did not apply to him.
To a God, Injury and Death were two distinct, non-intersecting concepts. Ten trillion armor-piercing strikes were insufficient to "directly" kill the Eternal God of the Eternal Stage.
To humanity, this was despair, but they quickly rallied. In a sense, it was good news: they no longer had to worry about how to hurt him. They only had to focus entirely on how to depict his death.
The Final Plan, which wagered all of humanity's chips, was designed for exactly this: To trade the terminal death of all mankind for the "Death" of Edogawa Conan!
Suddenly, Conan's figure began to blur, as if he were about to vanish entirely.
At that moment, Ai Haibara spoke: "In this case of human extinction, Kaito Kid has stolen the world's nukes and is preparing to launch them. The Detective Conan has set out on his fated path to solve the crime, but he was stopped by Vodka's suicidal sacrifice—and thus, he is one step too late!"
The cry of the Bird of Ill Omen echoed sharply through the air. From Vodka's scattered, charred remains, black qi erupted like fangs, biting into Conan's leg with a death grip. Conan's blurred figure solidified once more.
"Are-re... that big bad guy Vodka... how hateful, using his life just to stall me? But to stop a Detective from reaching the crime scene... this isn't enough. It's far from enough..."
Conan's voice, fully infected by despair and growing ever deeper, resonated across the auditorium. He "acknowledged" Vodka's death, but he was also stating a truth. Trying to stall a god's steps toward his fated destination was equivalent to blocking the momentum of the wheel of destiny. One villain's life was insufficient!
But on this stage, there was more than one "bad guy"!
"Conan! After an age of research, I have a super invention that will shock the world!"
Professor Agasa, who had been locked in his basement for uncounted years of madness, ascended the stage with his latest creation!
It was a massive Altar. The names of every god and demon from every religion in history were carved into it. Complex rituals were laid out, and fresh, bleeding sacrifices of flesh were arranged. Beneath the altar was a gargantuan mechanical structure, a chariot carrying the shrine forward.
The chariot extended countless robotic arms that waved in ritualistic gestures; hundreds of synthetic human heads were embedded in the armor, their lips moving as built-in speakers blasted a deafening loop of chants and incantations.
As for Agasa himself, his appearance was bizarre. He had traded his lab coat for a complex magus robe. His lower half was gone; his upper body was bristling with neural interfaces and nutrient tubes, embedded at the very top of the altar. He was controlling this fusion of metaphysics and science with his own consciousness.
Upon arrival, Agasa screamed manically: "Science may be dead, but Theology and Magic exist! Conan! This is my latest assassination device: The Anti-Conan Annihilation-Type MK2 God-Demon Altar Chariot!!!"
Mo Yu, watching from above, gasped. Agasa's latest invention was "abstract-cyber-punk" with a touch of the unnamable, yet undeniably cool.
Was it effective?
Agasa raised his hand. The myriad robotic arms followed with signs; the mechanical heads chanted in unison. Fireballs materialized out of thin air, providing the answer. Agasa had unearthed the hidden "Magic" setting of the Conan world and was using it with an abstract art style to unleash impressive combat power.
In any other world, Agasa's invention would have changed history. But here, the outcome was set.
The magical power withered the moment it touched Conan. Once it entered his vicinity, it was suppressed by an invisible force, vanishing into nothingness. The hidden setting—that Conan's existence itself suppresses Magic—was finally revealed to the world through Agasa's effort.
For Agasa, knowing this didn't bring the joy of truth. On the contrary, he felt a horror deeper than despair. It wasn't just Science that was dead; Theology and Magic had been dead all along!
The only thing Agasa could do was embody the ancient Eastern proverb: To hear the Tao in the morning is to die content in the evening.
But Agasa couldn't wait for the evening. He wanted to die now.
End of Chapter
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