Chapter 392: xMiller’s Resistance

Seeing the ashes on the ground, Hoffa couldn't help but take a sharp breath. He recalled what Chloe had told him in the dream—this was indeed an extremely dangerous substance. He had no idea what Silby had used to concoct this thing.

In just a few short minutes, two old men had died in this ward. For Silby, he had lost two members.

"What about the rest of them?" Miller pointed at the others and asked Hoffa.

Hoffa glanced at the group still lost in their dreams and said indifferently, "Pierce the IV bags. Without dilution, their fate will likely be the same."

Miller understood. He conjured an ice spike out of thin air and walked past the iron-framed beds, piercing each IV bag one by one. The liquid surged out, and the pale purple fluid dripped into the shattered IV bottles, flowing through the tubes into the bodies of the old men.

Without dilution, the previously slow aging process accelerated dramatically. One by one, the elderly men on the beds curled up and turned to ash.

Hoffa stood motionless, watching their deaths. At this moment, at least a tenth of Silby's financial resources had vanished. If he could locate the remaining members in Genoa, Silby's supply chain would be completely severed. No matter how cunning or well-planned Silby was, it would all crumble like a castle in the sky.

Watching the last person in the hall disintegrate into ash, Hoffa turned to Miller and said, "Let's go to Genoa and take care of the rest."

However, after witnessing the people on the beds burn to death one after another, Miller appeared strangely dazed. His face was pale as he stared at the ashen remains of the old men, standing still on the upper floor, making no move to follow Hoffa.

Hoffa didn't know what he was thinking, but he had no patience for hesitation. The longer they delayed, the more likely Silby would notice his missing clients. Every moment wasted was a disadvantage to Hoffa.

He walked up to Miller, picked him up, and carried him to the burning opening. Then, he leaped. Midair, he spread his wings, gliding with Miller in his arms. Normally, Miller would have protested at being held like this—he might even have bickered with Hoffa—but this time, he just curled up silently in Hoffa's embrace, motionless.

Suddenly, just as Hoffa was about to land, Miller seemed to snap out of it. He wrapped one arm around Hoffa's neck, raised his other hand, and pointed toward the top floor of the New York Elders' Hospital.

A violent surge of magical energy followed. Hoffa's expression changed as he turned his head.

The hospital's rooftop exploded under Miller's magic, sending burning bricks flying like raindrops. Molten iron streaked through the night like shooting stars, crashing onto rooftops and cars below, triggering a wave of panicked screams.

With the top floor exposed, the bloodstained hall was now laid bare under the pale moonlight. Soon, the world would know of it. But as Hoffa took in the shocking sight, rage surged through him.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

After landing, he grabbed Miller by the collar, their faces almost touching as he questioned him furiously, "Are you insane?! Who told you to blow up that building!?"

"That building was too filthy. I couldn't stand it. I had to make it known to the world," Miller turned his head away and replied flatly.

Hoffa's heart pounded wildly. The destruction of the hospital would attract endless attention from non-magical people and could be exposed by morning. If word got out, Silby would immediately reinforce security in Genoa. Worse yet, he might scatter his clients, making them even harder to find—something Hoffa absolutely did not want to happen.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Why are you deliberately making my job harder!?" Hoffa gritted his teeth. "Do you realize this will expose our movements!?"

"I can't stand it. I hate it. It disgusts me. I wanted to burn it down!" Miller said irritably. "That's all."

"So if you can't stand bugs, do you have to wipe out all bugs!?" Hoffa slammed Miller against the wall. "Your discomfort is your problem. The world doesn't exist to make you comfortable!"

"Don't talk to me like that. I don't owe you anything, Bach."

Miller sneered. "And by the way, we're just collaborators. Whatever results you want, whatever goals you aim to achieve, we only align in certain aspects. I'm not obligated to obey you completely."

Hoffa suddenly let go, his face darkening as he strode toward the airport. He had no idea what had gotten into Miller, why he had suddenly done something so reckless without even discussing it first.

But the building was already destroyed. There was no point in arguing. Hoffa could only rush to Genoa as fast as possible and cut off Silby's financial resources before he had time to react.

Hoffa was so furious that he almost didn't want to work with Miller anymore. Miller, however, followed him from a distance—neither too close nor too far, maintaining an ambiguous gap.

Without Miller's guidance, Hoffa found it difficult to navigate this foreign land. Fortunately, New York, as one of the largest cities of the 20th century, had no shortage of transportation. He hailed a taxi, which took him 14 kilometers from Manhattan to LaGuardia Airport.

It was still early morning when Hoffa stepped out of the taxi and hurried toward the terminal. But halfway there, he stopped abruptly, his expression dark and unreadable as he stood waiting.

About half an hour later, another taxi arrived. Miller stepped out, holding a hot dog in one hand and a cup of soda in the other, strolling leisurely toward Hoffa.

Hoffa stood there, glaring at him.

Miller sauntered up beside him, biting into his hot dog at a leisurely pace. "Why are you looking at me like that? Weren't you acting all high and mighty? I thought you'd already be in Genoa by now."

"I can't board the plane."

Hoffa spoke in a muffled voice. Of course, he couldn't. He had been a wanted man since his time in Britain. The only reason he had been able to board a ship earlier was because of Miller, who had used the Imperius Curse to get them through without issue. But Hoffa couldn't use the Imperius Curse, and his wand had already lost its core. He had no choice but to wait for Miller.

But Miller, still in a strange mood, said mockingly, "Oh? The great legendary wizard Hoffa Bach can't even board a plane? Who would believe that?"

Hoffa resisted the urge to slam him into the nearest wall and urged, "We don't have time to waste. Hurry up."

"What's the rush? Let me finish eating first."

Hoffa watched as Miller, suddenly acting delicate, nibbled at his hot dog bit by bit. He even drank his soda in small sips, spitting half of it back into the bottle.

Hoffa sighed heavily and looked up at the sky. "For the love of Merlin… What the hell happened to you? Why are you tormenting me like this? Can't we just work together like before?"

"You're mad at me," Miller said. "You're mad because I blew up the building."

"I was being an idiot, alright? I ran my mouth. When we get to Genoa, do whatever you want. Blow up the whole damn city for all I care—I won't say a word."

Miller burst into laughter, only to choke on his soda. He blew his nose a few times and said, "Do I look like that kind of person? Am I really that much of a demon? Come on."

Despite his words, he seemed much more cheerful. After finishing his hot dog in a few bites, the two of them headed to the check-in counter.

This was an era without electronic processing—everything was done manually, which gave Miller plenty of room to work his magic.

"Are there any flights to Italy?" Miller asked the staff. "We want to go to Genoa."

"It's storm season right now, so we don't have any flights going that far at the moment," the staff member replied.

"Storms?" Miller raised an eyebrow. "What storms?"

"Storm Kukuchi. Haven't you watched the news? Meteorologists have warned that the South Pacific is currently in storm season. Traveling now is extremely dangerous," the flight attendant told Miller. "Forget about Genoa; we can't even fly to Hawaii right now."

After saying that, the staff member went off to handle other tasks.

"Oh well," Miller spread his hands toward Hoffa.

"Looks like we're out of luck. This isn't a good time to travel. Should we wait a few days?"

There was no way Hoffa could wait a few days—he couldn't even wait an hour. Right now, he wished he could transform into a Thunderbird and fly straight there, but crossing half the globe like that was impossible.

"Ask. Keep asking. Ask her about the quickest way to Genoa. No matter what, we have to get there."

"Are you serious? I'm not a god. Do you think I can just make these Muggles fly whenever I want?" Miller said impatiently.

Hoffa knew Miller had a stubborn streak and didn't respond with force. Instead, he leaned in and whispered, "Please, my dear brother-in-law, just find a way—any way—to get me there, okay?"

Miller froze as if struck by lightning. His whole body stiffened, and then he turned his head mechanically, staring at Hoffa like he'd seen a ghost. "What the hell did you just call me?"

"I—"

"Don't you dare call me that!"

Before Hoffa could say another word, Miller jumped like a cat whose tail had been stepped on and shouted, "I can joke around, but you can't!"

Hoffa raised his hands, speechless.

Behind them, the other passengers grew impatient and started grumbling.

"If you two want to flirt, do it somewhere else! Stop blocking the line!"

"Quit your yelling! Ever heard of waiting your turn?"

Miller turned around and snapped, clearly agitated. He took a few deep breaths and then snapped his fingers.

Instantly, the noisy passengers behind them fell silent, and the staff at the counter slumped in their seats, staring blankly ahead.

They had all been put under the Imperius Curse.

"Find us the nearest flight to Genoa!" Miller ordered.

"Storms. No flights available," the staff replied mechanically.

"I said, find one!" Miller commanded again, his tone sharp.

The staff member lowered their head and flipped through the flight schedule.

"There is a military plane heading to Guam, transporting urgent supplies. It's currently under maintenance, but it's a military aircraft—it doesn't carry passengers and isn't bound for Italy."

"Will that work?" Miller asked Hoffa.

Hoffa thought for a moment. Japan was still far from Europe, but it was closer than the U.S. Time was tight—they needed to leave immediately. Once they reached Japan, they could use the Imperius Curse to board another plane and make their way to Italy step by step.

"Get us on that plane," Miller said.

The staff member stood up stiffly. "Follow me," they said.

The two followed the staff member through the employee passage. Miller cast the Imperius Curse along the way, removing any obstacles in their path. Soon, they arrived at the tarmac, where a massive green military transport plane was being loaded with cargo by soldiers.

The cargo was completely exposed—crates full of artillery shells. Hoffa stared at them, then glanced at the date. He felt an eerie sense of detachment, as if he had stepped into another world. A part of him wanted to destroy the plane, but rationality reminded him that he was also fighting a war—one where he didn't even know the outcome. He couldn't afford to make unnecessary moves.

Miller vanished using a Disillusionment Charm. Hoffa did the same. They slipped onto the plane and hid behind a stack of crates, waiting quietly.

An hour later, the plane's propellers roared to life. Fully loaded, it tilted slightly as it ascended into the sky.

A few hours into the flight, they entered the Pacific. The plane began to shake. Miller stood up, pressed against the round window, and looked outside. "It's pitch black out there," he muttered.

Hoffa stood up too. Sure enough, the sky outside was an inky void. As a Thunderbird, he could sense a massive storm brewing in the sky. A deep unease settled over him. Thunderbirds loved storms, but he wasn't fully a Thunderbird. If his magic failed, the storm would tear him apart just like anything else.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" Miller asked in a hushed voice.

Hoffa patted his shoulder. "We should be fine. This is a military plane—it's sturdier than a commercial one."

Miller sat back down, looking a little pale.

Half an hour later, the turbulence worsened. Even through the window and the plane's hull, Hoffa could feel the storm raging outside. Streaks of lightning flashed through the thick, ink-like clouds, sending chills down his spine.

"Damn it! Pull up! Pull up!!"

The voices of the pilots echoed through the cockpit, tense and urgent.

Miller looked at Hoffa with worry in his eyes. There was no turning back now. In a place like this, his magic couldn't do much to help. Even Apparition was out of the question—they were far too far from New York.

"It'll be fine," Hoffa reassured Miller. "Storms pass quickly. It'll be over soon."

"Are you sure?" Miller asked softly.

"Yes!" Hoffa said with conviction.

As if to mock him, the moment he finished speaking, a massive bolt of lightning struck the plane's propeller.

(End of Chapter)

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