As though it were a grand rite unfolding, a radiant vault of light poured down from the mouth of the deep shaft, casting a sacred brilliance upon the steel altar below. It slipped along the jagged edges of the divine armor, warping into grotesque shadows that sprawled across the ground, swallowing all who stood beneath.
It stood like a fallen king—solemn, austere, and terrible in its dignity.
"Old-Epoch Divine Armor," Tesla began, almost casually. "A relic born of the technologies of Jiuxia in the Far East. Back then, a general named Zuo Zhen carried away the secrets of steam engineering… but in secret, he left us this—Divine Armor technology, along with a prototype."
He picked up a steel rod and gestured loosely at the colossal construct known as New Hope. Given its sheer size, there were many sections even he could not quite reach.
New Hope was unlike any Old-Epoch armor Lloyd had seen. It was enormous—nearly three meters tall—and due to the era of its construction, little had been refined or streamlined. Tangled clusters of brass conduits sprawled across its body, exposed and unapologetic.
"New Hope was built upon that prototype. Our foundational sciences differ from those of Jiuxia, so we integrated it with steam technology… and this is the result. Its battlefield performance? Exceptional. It can crush demons into pulp with nothing but its fists." Tesla paused, then added with a hint of dissatisfaction, "But it's far too cumbersome. So we spent years refining it, until at last we produced what can truly be called the first generation of Old-Epoch Divine Armor."
As his voice faded, researchers stepped forward, inserting cables of varying colors into ports along the armor's back—external control systems, it seemed.
"Despite multiple iterations," Tesla continued, "the core structure has never changed. We call it the Central Framework."
Electric current surged through the cables.
In that instant, the entire armor shuddered faintly.
Like a sealed gate long buried beneath dust, now forced open from within.
Something behind it was awakening—hurling itself against the threshold. Dust and iron filings trickled down as, slowly, the deep, thunderous rumble of a steam engine began to rise.
But that was not all.
As if stirred from slumber, Lloyd saw it clearly—within the seams of steel, dark red flesh was beginning to grow. Slowly. Deliberately. Like muscle threading itself between bones, it coiled and tightened, binding the plates of metal together with a living grip.
"Shall we proceed further?" a researcher asked quietly. They controlled the extent of the awakening.
"Proceed," Tesla replied without hesitation. "Our test pilot ought to see clearly what kind of beast he is meant to command… Besides—Mr. Holmes is present."
There was something layered in his tone as he glanced at Lloyd.
Much like those who delight in comparing their own children to others, Tesla harbored a curiosity—if the Old-Epoch Divine Armor were to face a Witch Hunter… which would prevail? The culmination of a new age's science? Or the stubborn relic of a superstitious past?
For now, however, such a question would remain unanswered.
Conventional force could be measured, predicted. But when demons were involved, all things turned… uncertain. Dangerous.
At its core, experimentation was about controlling risk.
But demons?
They were never truly controlled.
Only restrained—for a time.
And inevitably, they would break free.
Lloyd ignored Tesla's gaze. His attention was fixed solely upon the armor that was, piece by piece, coming alive.
The plated shell shifted open slightly. Within, dark red tissue writhed in slow, viscous motion. Sparks flickered between mechanical joints, and then—scalding steam vented outward from exhaust ports.
A pale mist engulfed the figure.
In that grey silhouette, it resembled a death knight risen from the River Styx.
"Behold—the Central Framework."
The armor had clearly been prepared for this demonstration. One by one, the covering plates lifted, revealing the core beneath—a skeletal structure of gleaming silver. The chest cavity opened wide, like the maw of some monstrous creature, exposing a brass-lined interior from which tangled cables hung loose.
"You may think of the Central Framework as the skeleton of the armor," Tesla explained, pointing toward the silver structure. "One of the cores that drives it."
At the same time, demonic flesh crept along those metallic bones, entwining itself tightly with the surrounding structures.
"The brilliance of Divine Armor lies here… It uses the power of demons to fill the gaps that mortal engineering cannot overcome. For example—shock absorption, structural stability. No alloy, no matter how refined, can endure repeated violent motion without fracturing. Nor can it maintain full articulation."
"You're using… demonic flesh," Lloyd said.
Though unfamiliar with mechanics, in his mind the armor had already become something else entirely—
A dissected human body.
"Like a cruel transplantation," he added.
Tesla clapped his hands once, lightly.
"That is… an acceptable interpretation."
More plates lifted, releasing torrents of steam.
Beneath the rigid armor lay a grotesque truth—silver bones intertwined with writhing demonic flesh. Every gap in the metal was filled by living tissue.
"The Central Framework is the skeleton. The demonic flesh acts as muscle. And the outer plates—its armor."
Tesla could not hide his admiration.
"It's difficult to imagine under what circumstances the people of Jiuxia discovered this. In mechanical engineering, we lack materials that are both resilient and capable of withstanding extreme temperature differentials… demonic flesh solves that elegantly. More than that—its vitality grants it slow regenerative properties."
Loose structures bound tightly together.
A perfect fusion of the organic and the mechanical.
"So in essence," Lloyd said slowly, "you've dressed a demon in armor?"
"No," Tesla corrected.
"We have dressed ourselves… in armor made of demons."
Then—
A heavy heartbeat echoed from within the armor.
The pressure in the chamber deepened instantly.
Along the walls of the shaft, every Geiger counter flickered—then turned a violent crimson. Their alarms erupted in unison, shrill and relentless, like a flock of crows circling the abyss, wailing in mourning.
This time—
It had truly awakened.
Cold blood began to flow once more.
A dormant heart now beat like a war drum.
"It never truly died," Lloyd murmured, his grip tightening around his cane-sword. At any moment, the blade might be drawn.
Demons possessed formidable vitality.
To ensure their death, both brain and heart must be destroyed.
And yet—
From within that armor—
Came the sound of a heartbeat.
A demon's heartbeat.
"Yes. We need the fiend to remain alive. Only in living flesh will it continue to grow, and only through that strength of muscle can the Divine Armor be driven beneath the engine's command."
"You're playing with fire."
"It has become… manageable. At least, for now."
Tesla spoke without the slightest trace of concern, as though he were discussing nothing more than an ordinary machine.
"We excised the creature's brain in its entirety, yet preserved the heart through life-sustaining measures. When the engine stirs, this frozen life awakens once more. So… in essence, what you see is indeed a fiend clad in armor—but the will that governs this body is ours."
He tapped his temple, smiling faintly at Lloyd.
"We shall replace its brain. Our nerves will be grafted to its own. The ponderous armor will move with the grace of a swallow—but in return, the erosion upon us will deepen."
His gaze drifted across Red Falcon and Joey. Whether from the creeping corrosion or the grim honor of becoming pilots, their faces had drained to a deathly pale.
"At first, we used condemned prisoners for the trials. Most of them went mad inside the armor—lost control entirely. Even those who stabilized were reduced to hollow shells, staring blankly at the sky, incapable of yielding any meaningful information."
His voice lowered slightly.
"And that is where you come in, Mr. Holmes. We need you to tune the variables—to find a stable threshold."
The engine's roar began to falter.
The writhing mass of flesh slowed… stilled… then shrank inward, as though retreating into hibernation. Plates of armor slid shut, one after another. The glowing indicators dimmed and died. The heartbeat faded into silence.
Before them, the Divine Armor died once more.
Like a coffin sealed tight—
a soul on the verge of escape dragged back into darkness.
"What you've seen is merely the first-generation model," Tesla continued. "After years of refinement, we've improved it considerably. With advances in mechanical science, we are gradually reducing the proportion of fiendish matter. If possible, we would make it entirely mechanical."
He gave a small, helpless gesture.
"Though that hope is slim. To reach that point, we would need a material capable of replacing the fiend itself—and with current technology, that is… unlikely."
Lloyd said nothing. He merely watched as the relic of the old world was hauled back into its container, lifted along iron rails, swallowed once more by the sealed gate, and returned to the waiting dark.
"So… I'm to find myself an old-world suit and try it on?"
"Yes—but not New Hope. That one is merely instructional material, a relic abandoned by time. A museum piece, really. The one you will use, Mr. Holmes, is the second-generation armor. Unfortunately, there are very few in active service—and those not deployed are still undergoing maintenance."
Tesla turned toward the sealed gate as he spoke.
"So first, we'll need to run some tests. Assess the extent of corrosion each of you has sustained."
As his words fell, a curtain of water descended from the vault above—not violent, but all-encompassing, washing every inch of the chamber.
Joey and Red Falcon froze, bewildered. Their first thought was simple: the madmen had finally ruptured a pipe, and they were now being drenched in water from the Thames.
"That's not a leak," Tesla added calmly. "It's a neutralizing solution. Standard procedure after any experiment involving corrosive exposure."
The sealed doors groaned open, revealing yet another unknown passage.
High above, upon a platform along the shaft wall, a figure stood in silhouette—reduced to nothing more than a black outline beneath the blinding array of lights mounted upon the dome.
"It seems the initial contact went rather well."
Merlin stood beneath the falling veil of neutralizing rain, his pale robes darkened where they were touched.
"Are you certain about this?" another voice asked, uneasy. "You intend to place a demon hunter inside old-world armor—locking one creature on the brink of losing control inside another?"
He had lived through that nightmare. Fear lingered in him still.
"It is dangerous," Merlin admitted. "But we have little time. To achieve our ends, we must proceed—no matter the risk. You wouldn't wish your tragedy to be repeated in others… would you, Galahad?"
Galahad turned to look at him.
The youthful radiance he once possessed was gone. His skin had taken on a sickly pallor, his body gaunt and diminished.
During that subterranean operation, he had lost control while using the old-world armor. Though the situation had been contained before catastrophe struck, the cost had already been exacted.
The once-brilliant knight commander now stood as little more than a shadow of what he had been.
"When you lost control, the corrosion nearly consumed you," Merlin said quietly. "We came within a breath of performing a frontal lobotomy."
He had visited Galahad later, at the Perpetual Pump. The man had been perilously close to the third stage of corrosion. His spine—where it interfaced with the armor—had begun to mutate. It had taken more than a dozen surgeries to drag him back from death's edge.
"Perhaps it would've been better if you had," Galahad replied flatly. "At least then I wouldn't be… this."
Silence settled between them.
Merlin let out a long, weary sigh.
"People differ more than we like to admit."
Galahad's gaze drifted downward, into the depths of the shaft.
"I was healthier than Lancelot. Stronger, even. Yet before the corrosion of the armor, I was utterly fragile. And he… he commands it flawlessly."
His voice grew quieter.
"You say it's a matter of willpower. Is it truly, Merlin?"
Merlin hesitated for a moment.
"Do you know," he said at last, "that in the distant lands of Jiuxia, there exists a word—obsession… or perhaps unyielding fixation."
"Obsession?"
"Yes. In their stories, it is something quite fascinating. Many do not truly die. They are bound by their obsessions—unable to pass on until their purpose is fulfilled. Not truly alive… yet not entirely gone. Like spirits, lingering in the world."
"Sounds like the fanatics of the Evangelical Church."
"And yet," Merlin said softly, "is there not something tragic in it? Even in death, they refuse peace. They claw their way back into the mortal world… just to finish what they began."
He pulled a lever beside him. The platform shuddered, then began its slow descent, the thunder of machinery echoing through the shaft.
"Lancelot is such a man," Merlin continued, his voice distant now. "Not even corrosion can conquer him. He will not yield."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"If not for the confidentiality protocols… I would very much like for the two of you to meet."
"So he's real?" Galahad asked, skepticism threading his tone. "Not just a story you tell to inspire others?"
Within the Purging Order, tales of Lancelot had long circulated.
No one had truly seen him.
Not even Galahad, though he held the same rank.
You could hear the broadcast announcing his deployment. You could see the azure armor streaking across the battlefield like a phantom.
But never—never—would you glimpse what lay beneath.
As though the one who wore the armor was no man at all… but a wandering soul.
And only those at the highest echelons knew the truth of his identity.
Men like Merlin.