"Lloyd… I have been thinking. In what form do I exist? And what, truly, is the Interstice?"
Medanzo gazed into the dim, lifeless expanse of stars before stepping toward it.
"I thought about it for a long time," he continued quietly. "And then I realized—this is not something I can understand through human reasoning alone. The very notion of being 'human' interferes with clarity… just as you can never fully comprehend an animal."
Human beings are rarely capable of making perfectly rational judgments about the unknown. Their instincts, their inherited understanding of the world—it all becomes interference.
Lloyd understood what he meant.
His eyes shifted toward Watson—that unsettling woman.
"So… you consulted a demon?"
"Yes," Medanzo answered without hesitation. "At least for now, she is the only one capable of offering answers. So… Watson and I reached a temporary agreement. Though, of course, there's always the possibility she will betray us at a critical moment."
He turned back, the massive fissure yawning behind him like an open wound.
"I've come to believe that I exist in a form of pure consciousness… intertwined with yours. Our minds overlap—and the Interstice is the space that binds them together."
Three distinct wills, coexisting within a single Interstice.
Lloyd shook his head slowly.
"I don't understand."
"It's actually quite simple," Medanzo said. "Let me show you."
He stepped aside, revealing the sky he had been blocking.
Within that dim and endless darkness, near the edge of the great fracture, there shone a single bright star.
"That," Medanzo said, "is another Interstice—a space that connects human consciousness at a mental level. And you… should find it familiar."
"Familiar? That's impossible."
Lloyd stared into the strange sky. The darkness seemed to possess a gravity of its own, tugging at his thoughts, drawing him inward. Yet something deeper—something instinctual—warned him: to fall into it would mean endless descent.
"You are still trapped in your misunderstanding, Lloyd. The imprint the Evangelical Church left upon your mind has yet to fade."
There was a trace of sorrow in Medanzo's voice.
When a belief is instilled from the moment of your birth, it becomes an invisible cage. Even if you escape it, even if you no longer believe in it, some part of you still obeys.
It is like being told that ice burns like fire—that touching it will scorch your skin. You may doubt it at first. But if such a rule governs your entire world, you will come to accept it as truth. You will stop questioning it altogether.
Lloyd still carried the Church within him.
He should have doubted the unknown—questioned it, dissected it—rather than accepting it as some unquestionable truth. The incomprehensible should have been reduced to something observable, something definable.
"Have you never wondered," Medanzo asked softly, "where the voice in your mind truly comes from?"
"The voice… in my mind?"
Lloyd froze.
He thought of it—that voice that echoed within him, the one tied to that mysterious mechanism.
It was like a system embedded within him—something that offered guidance, issued commands. And yet he had never questioned it. Never wondered what it was, or why it existed.
He had simply obeyed.
Like a tool.
A puppet.
Every action he had taken, every conflict he had faced, every triumph he had achieved—was it all born from that system?
Even if he were to gain ultimate power… without it, would he be anything at all?
"Yes," Medanzo continued, his tone deepening. "You can hear the voice from the Silver Binding Stake… and Watson's voice as well. But have you never considered what they share in common? Or has the Church hidden it so perfectly… that even you were misled?"
The Evangelical Church held far too many secrets.
So many… that no one had ever truly grasped them all.
"Perhaps," Medanzo said, a faint, almost mischievous smile forming, "if we call it by another name… it will become clearer."
There was anticipation in his gaze—he remembered the shock he himself had felt upon understanding.
"You could call that star… that Interstice…"
"The Stillness Sanctuary."
The words struck like thunder.
In an instant, Lloyd's anger, his vigilance—everything was swept away. He stood frozen, as though the world itself had fallen silent.
Medanzo watched his expression with quiet satisfaction.
"Yes. Exactly as you think. That voice echoing in our minds… the one we believed came from the Silver Binding Stake."
Every demon hunter obeyed that voice.
It carried the commands of the Church.
"The Mind Nexus System, built upon the foundation of the Stillness Sanctuary," Medanzo went on, "is disguised beneath layers of divine myth. But if my reasoning is correct… its true nature is nothing more than a massive Interstice—one that connects every demon hunter."
"A world that links consciousness itself."
"That is why you can see Watson, hear Watson… while others cannot. Because you are connected—to this Interstice, to her Interstice. And that is also why you once heard the Church's commands through the Silver Binding Stake."
"The unseen Interstice… is the bond that connects us."
And then—
A voice echoed across the cold, empty expanse of the ice field.
[Reconnecting to the Stillness Sanctuary…]
[Connection failed.]
[Reconnecting…]
The star in the dim sky called out to Lloyd.
It longed for its children to return.
Lloyd stood motionless, utterly stunned. Watson's protection still lingered, preventing him from reconnecting to the Sanctuary.
"We could not understand it before," Medanzo said. "Because we were merely those being connected. But now… with Watson's help—unreliable as she may be—we have become something else."
"A kind of… administrator."
He extended an invitation.
"Would you like to go 'home'… and take a look?"
...
The blare of alarms tore through the Ever-Motion Pump—sharp, piercing, like the scream of a woman.
The passageways of the workshop opened once more.
But this time, those who entered were not engineers—
They were armed security forces.
They carried experimental weaponry—devices long abandoned due to their excessive production cost, yet here reduced to standard-issue equipment.
The soldiers wore heavy isolation suits, massive steam-powered packs mounted upon their backs. In their hands, they gripped cumbersome firearms—triple-barreled weapons connected by steam conduits.
These massive guns were driven by steam pressure, firing electrified lances capable of disrupting machinery. Powered by bursts of compressed gas, they were far more violent than traditional gunpowder—capable of piercing armor and suppressing targets in an instant.
They advanced with rigid discipline.
Their heartbeats rose and fell in rhythm—
with the slowly opening gate.
Yet beyond the door, there were no monstrous horrors waiting—no rampaging god-armor driven mad.
At the center of the steel altar, the Weaponsmith stood in silence.
The rampant flesh had spread only so far before halting, as if restrained by some unseen will. It resembled a grotesque garden of blood and sinew—dark crimson tendrils crawling over the iron shell of the armor, coiling and clinging like parasitic vines.
The breastplate rose and fell ever so slightly, trembling in rhythm with a violent, unseen heartbeat.
"Security team in position."
The voice echoed through the communication channel.
This was not their first time dealing with a god-armor gone out of control.
But it was the first time they had encountered one like this.
It did not rage.
It did not hunt.
It simply stood there—
silent… and that silence was far more terrifying.
The security team did not dare advance further. By design, they were the second line of defense. The first lay deeper within the workshop itself—heavy firepower embedded high within the dome. Yet beneath the blinding floodlights, no one could even glimpse its presence.
"What's the situation?"
A new voice cut into the channel.
Merlin.
High above, upon the elevated platform, he had forced open a sealed passage using his authority and entered the workshop. By all regulations, this alone was a violation—but this incident was unlike any before it.
Inside that armor… was a demon hunter.
And that made all the difference.
"It hasn't gone berserk," Tesla reported, glancing toward the opposite platform where Merlin now stood. "But it's not responding either."
"What exactly does that mean?" Merlin asked.
"After Mr. Holmes entered the armor, he simply… stopped. The demonic flesh is growing abnormally—corruption levels are increasing and spreading. He appears to have lost consciousness. There's no movement, no aggression… but also no sign of control. It's just… standing there."
Tesla kept his tone as steady as possible, though this was unlike anything he had ever seen. Normally, when a pilot lost consciousness, the armor would be driven by instinctive demonic flesh—violent, uncontrollable.
But this one… was too quiet.
Unnaturally quiet.
"Fuel consumption?"
"The Weaponsmith is operating at minimal output. We didn't fully fuel it—it will run dry soon."
The steam engine of the old-era god-armor was one of its primary power sources, and it required fuel to function. This had only been a test; Tesla had intentionally supplied it with a limited amount.
"Security team—move in. Extract Mr. Holmes from the armor immediately."
After a brief silence, Merlin gave the order.
"Should we wait until the fuel is depleted?" Tesla asked, puzzled. Once the engine stalled, the armor's output would drop significantly, making the operation far safer.
"The longer we wait, the deeper the corruption spreads," Merlin replied. "And don't forget—there's secret blood in his body. Lloyd himself is the greatest unknown variable here."
A demon hunter.
A child of monsters.
At Merlin's command, the operation began at once.
The security team stepped forward, boots splashing through the faintly warm neutralizing fluid, advancing toward the steel altar.
These old-era armors had been designed with failure in mind. Emergency release valves could be triggered from the outside—but to prevent accidental activation, they were hidden beneath heavy plating, carefully concealed.
Countless eyes aligned along gun barrels, all fixed upon the silent Weaponsmith.
The flesh had grown like wild vines, dense and invasive. Carefully, the team began cutting through it. Blood spilled in thick streams—but still, the armor did not react.
Only when they located and pulled the hidden valve—
A hiss of searing steam burst from the seams.
The back armor snapped open with a violent jolt, releasing plumes of white vapor.
And there—within—
Lloyd.
Unconscious.
The flesh had already spread inside the armor, entangling most of his body. He showed no sign of awareness. The guards sliced through the binding tissue, tearing free fine neural electrodes from his body, drawing thin trails of blood.
They dragged him out.
The operation, against all odds, ended without catastrophe.
And yet—what followed was a lingering, unspoken dread.
The first recorded case… in the experiments of old-era god-armor.
"What's wrong with him?"
Once the armor was fully shut down and the immediate danger passed, the platform descended. Tesla and Merlin arrived together at the altar.
Lloyd lay motionless on the ground, deep in unconsciousness. Several experimental firearms were trained on his head—enough to reduce him to pulp in an instant.
"No response."
Researchers removed probes from his brain. They had examined him immediately—but the readings made no sense.
"What do you mean, no response?" Tesla pressed.
Every pilot who had emerged from a god-armor—whether conscious or not—showed catastrophic readings, like a body on the verge of death.
But Lloyd…
There was nothing.
"No abnormalities… at all," the researcher said, his voice uncertain.
"It's as if… he's simply asleep."
He hesitated, then added quietly:
"As if… his soul isn't here."
Even he didn't know why he chose those words. In a place devoted to reason and science, to invoke something like a "soul" felt almost absurd.
"Enough," Merlin said. "Have him secured. Treat him as you would a demon for now—contain him. And no, I don't mean throwing him into an iron cell. Strap him to a reinforced bed—we still have some sense of humanity here."
The farce ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Tesla looked at his superior with suspicion.
"You know what's happening to him… don't you?"
"Tesla," Merlin replied calmly, "you're a genius. But some knowledge… is not for you to grasp just yet."
He didn't even try to deny it.
"The project is suspended for now. Until he wakes, nothing proceeds."
"And what am I supposed to do?" Tesla asked, frustration evident. The experiment had barely begun, and already it was halted.
"Continue your work on electrical currents. Didn't you say you were close to a breakthrough?"
"And you?" Tesla pressed.
Few noticed it, but within the Everlasting Pump, a quiet transition was underway.
If Tesla and his peers represented the future—modern science—
then Merlin embodied something far older.
Alchemy.
Once, it had sustained the Cleansing Order through its darkest days.
Now, it was fading—slowly vanishing from this world.
"I'm going to see Arthur," Merlin said at last. "There are things that need to be discussed."
He offered no room for further questions, turning and leaving.
A strange tension lingered within the workshop.
All except for two.
Joey and Red Falcon—tears in their eyes—embraced one another in overwhelming relief, grateful that, at least for now… they would not be the next test subjects.