"Home? If what you're saying is true… then you should know exactly what will happen the moment I reconnect to the Stillness Sanctuary, Medanzo."
Lloyd pressed his temples, a dull ache spreading through his mind. From his own perception, he had not been in the Interstice for long—yet in that fleeting span, he had endured more shocks than most could bear.
The world as he understood it was collapsing…
—or perhaps something new was being built upon those barren plains.
The Stillness Sanctuary was the Interstice.
Another Interstice.
During his years within the Order of Demon Hunters, Lloyd had always attributed every anomaly, every fragment of the unknown, to demons. Back then, the Stillness Sanctuary had seemed—at least from a rational perspective—nothing more than a vast structure hidden beneath the earth. When commands echoed within his mind, he never questioned them. That underground cathedral held too many secrets for doubt to take root.
The mysterious Shandafon hunters resided there, their uncanny foresight guiding missions from the shadows.
But never—not once—had Lloyd imagined its true nature to be this.
When the abnormal becomes commonplace…
it is mistaken for normal.
The Interstice was a strange mental realm, linking every demon hunter—
yet none of them had ever truly seen it.
"The Stillness Sanctuary can track me," Lloyd said sharply. "It can pinpoint my position—even from within this… distorted Interstice. The directives are still active. This will only bring more trouble."
In one of his few dealings with Watson, there had been an agreement—to sever that connection.
The secrets of the Evangelical Church ran too deep, too terrifying. Lloyd knew that the moment he reconnected, the Sanctuary would find him.
And what awaited him then…
was the Church's pursuit.
The endless ranks of the Templar Order.
He had been gone for too long. So long that the city which had once birthed him now felt alien—like a creature lurking in the night. Even its silhouette, outlined by distant flames, stirred a quiet dread within him.
"So, Lloyd… I think it's time we go home," Medanzo said slowly. "That place holds all the answers. At least… the answers we seek."
Beneath that subterranean palace, the demon hunters had been born. The forbidden technology had originated there.
It was also the source of the Night of Descent.
The center of all mysteries.
If there was any place closest to the truth of demons, it was there—
within the sacred Seven Hills, beneath the grand Cathedral of Saint Nalo, where every secret lay buried.
Lloyd froze slightly. He understood.
Medanzo wasn't speaking of reaching the Sanctuary through the Interstice—
he meant returning there in reality.
It was, in a way, the simplest solution.
The Evangelical Church stood at the center of every enigma. If Lloyd could reach it, perhaps everything would unravel.
Of course… that assumed he could survive the encirclement of the Templar Order.
"Think carefully, Lloyd," Medanzo continued, his tone carrying a subtle weight. "The Stillness Sanctuary connects more than just you and me. It connects every surviving demon hunter."
Like an ill omen taking shape, Lloyd spoke almost instinctively:
"Archbishop Lawrence… was once a demon hunter too."
Yes. The Archbishop who once bore the name of Shandafon. Now, he had vanished completely into the shadows—untraceable.
But if the Sanctuary could be used…
"No," Lloyd cut himself off. "The fact that he's still alive means even the Church doesn't know where he is. The Sanctuary can't fully help us."
"But it can give us something," Medanzo pressed. "At least a thread to follow, Lloyd."
There was an urgency in his voice—one Lloyd had never heard before.
"Don't you see? We're on the verge of reaching the truth."
The truth that shrouded the entire world.
What… are demons?
The grotesque fissures twisted and sealed themselves once more. The gray, frozen world returned to its former stillness, dull and lifeless. Medanzo watched Lloyd with a trace of disappointment.
"Lloyd… think for yourself. Don't let the Church think for you."
Lloyd said nothing.
He simply turned his gaze toward Watson, silent and guarded.
"Well," Watson finally spoke, breaking the quiet with a faint sigh, though the smile on her lips only deepened, "it seems our conversation has fallen apart."
She spread her hands slightly, almost amused.
"So, Lloyd… ask yourself—what matters more? Your hatred… or the truth?"
Before he could respond, the frozen sea beneath them began to thaw.
The waters surged, roaring violently. Instinctively, Lloyd lunged toward her, trying to stop whatever she was about to do—
—but the ice beneath his feet shattered.
Cold, abyssal waters dragged him down. Shards of ice scraped against his body like blades, tearing through the blur of chaos.
The world became a funnel.
And Lloyd was falling—
falling into the deepest darkness below.
It was a strange sensation.
He had never realized how he entered the Interstice—
but now, for the first time, he understood how one left it.
Downward. Endlessly downward.
Into the depths.
A distant, ethereal melody echoed in the suffocating blue silence. The color deepened, darkened—until something emerged from within it.
A shadow.
Unfathomable.
It was vast beyond comprehension—so immense that Lloyd's vision could barely contain it. It felt like something born of an ancient existence, a creation older than memory itself.
It fell alongside him.
Until consciousness slipped away.
Until he reached the abyssal floor.
A freezing wind swept across the surface above, sealing the sea once more in ice. Snow followed, blanketing the fractured world in a thin, pale shroud.
At some point, the bench had returned to its original place.
Medanzo walked over leisurely and sat down beside Watson. Together, they gazed at the half-submerged moon resting on the horizon.
Like the hand of a creator, the world had reset the moment Lloyd vanished—everything restored to its beginning.
"His mind is still in disarray," Watson said suddenly, breaking the silence. "More precisely… he hasn't even noticed those 'anomalies.'"
"A side effect of the authority," Medanzo replied calmly. "That he survived without being consumed by you is already something of a miracle."
Then, after a brief pause, he glanced at her.
"So… are you the same as me? Truly dead?"
"That depends on how you define 'death,'" Watson answered lightly. "I was a pitiful sacrifice. Those madmen elevated me into a false Grail. Now… I exist in a rather peculiar state. I am myself—yet not the self I once was. It sounds convoluted, I know, but that's the truth. Just as you said—Lloyd cannot understand me with a human mind."
"Like a demon?" Medanzo asked.
But before she could answer, he simply smiled—faintly, almost with relief.
"An almost immortal body… terrifying power… unbreakable bones… a lifespan without end… Who wouldn't want such a thing?"
He pulled his coat tighter, gazing out across the endless ice.
"Though… it would be better if one could keep their sanity."
…
"So, the accident still happened?"
Arthur's voice came through the channel.
"Yes," Merlin replied calmly.
"What's the situation on-site? Did he breach the facility? Deploy the ground units—we can't let him break out."
"Relax," Merlin said. "He's already been successfully recovered."
Arthur fell silent for a moment, clearly taken aback. He had expected a catastrophe—yet from Merlin's tone, the resolution had come with surprising ease.
"The god-armor of the Old Era possesses no offensive capability. Mr. Holmes has fallen into a coma… and his condition is rather unusual."
"Unusual?"
"Yes. Very unusual. You should understand—at the pinnacle of alchemy lies the excavation of the soul. And what I sensed from him at that moment was as if… his soul was no longer there."
Merlin spoke with hesitation, casting a brief glance toward Lloyd as he did.
At that very moment, Lloyd was being rushed down a narrow corridor. The security unit had bound him tightly to an iron bed, transporting him under strict guard—rifles pressed firmly against his head.
Merlin followed alongside, unwilling to leave even for a moment, his vigilance fixed on any sign of abnormality.
"The soul? Merlin, you should remember our doctrine—minimize the interference of mysticism."
Arthur's voice came through the channel.
Mysticism bred ignorance.
The Purge Agency demanded absolute reason.
"My apologies—old habits," Merlin replied. "Then think of it as his consciousness. His awareness is not within his body. It feels as though it has… submerged elsewhere."
"Consciousness transfer? Do we have any precedent for that in our records?"
"No. But in alchemy, there are similar cases."
Merlin's tone grew quieter.
"You should know… human history is far darker than what's written in textbooks. Beyond demons, there is also human greed.
Take, for example, those lunatics obsessed with immortality. Some even came to worship demons, yearning to become one of them."
In the long history of mankind's war against demons, traitors had never been absent. Some had glimpsed the terrifying vitality of demons. Even demon hunters who seized forbidden blood could extend their lifespans—so what, then, if a human became a demon?
And so, throughout history, countless cults had risen—faiths devoted to demons, believing immortality could be gained from them.
Most of them never lasted long.
Before the hunting orders could even intervene, they destroyed themselves—summoning horrors they could not control.
But… there were always a few exceptions.
And among alchemists, there were those who coveted the same path.
They attempted to transfer their consciousness—or their very souls—into the bodies of demons.
Every single one of them became something else.
Something monstrous.
"You're saying his consciousness is gone?" Arthur asked. "Then where could it have gone? If he'd been consumed by demonic corruption, you'd already be dead, Merlin. That hunter is absurdly strong."
If Lloyd had lost control, the Perpetual Engine would have already fallen.
"I don't know," Merlin admitted. "We alchemists don't have the luxury of experimenting on demon hunters. To us, this is uncharted territory."
He paused, then added:
"But we cannot rule out other possibilities. Come to the Perpetual Engine, Arthur. We need to meet in person."
A brief silence followed.
"I understand," Arthur replied.
Suddenly, Merlin's voice sharpened with urgency.
"Wait—!"
"What happened?!"
Arthur's tone tightened instantly. Despite his earlier composure, he knew the gravity of the situation all too well.
"He… he looks like he's waking up."
...
It felt as though something was crawling up from his stomach—scraping along the inner walls, forcing its way toward his throat.
Lloyd retched violently, his body convulsing like that of a drowning man fighting for air. But the struggle was futile.
His vision was blurred.
All he could see were passing lights, streaking by in fragments. The voices around him echoed strangely, distorted as though filtered through water.
"He—he's awake! Director Merlin!"
Merlin?
What… was happening?
Lloyd remembered—he had been inside the Old Era god-armor… yes, that damned experiment. Had he lost control? Had he torn the Perpetual Engine apart?
His thoughts spiraled wildly, incoherent and racing. Whether out of trust or something far more absurd, they had not killed him on sight.
"Stay conscious!"
A voice cut through the haze.
Then—
a sharp slap struck his face.
Pain flared, and with it, clarity.
Merlin's face came into focus.
"What… is going on?"
Lloyd struggled to take in his surroundings. He was lying on a bed. The space around him felt crowded—blurred figures shifting at the edges of his vision.
It felt like waking in a hospital.
If the people around you smiled, it meant your surgery had succeeded.
If their brows were tightly drawn—
Then perhaps they had just discovered a new disease.
One they might even name after you.
"So… what are you going to call it?" Lloyd muttered hoarsely. "Holmes Syndrome?"
Seeing their grim expressions, he couldn't help but bark out:
"Relax a little. You all look like you're attending my funeral."
"Mr. Holmes," someone replied, "this is hardly a situation that allows for relaxation."
At last, his vision cleared completely.
At each corner of the bed stood a fully armed soldier, rifles aimed squarely at his head. Judging by the caliber, retaining a recognizable corpse would already count as good fortune.
Merlin stood on the other side. The bed shifted slightly as it rolled forward, the faint grind of wheels against the floor echoing through the corridor.
Only then did Lloyd realize—
He was being transported.
"What are you planning to do with me?" he asked, attempting to move. But his body was firmly bound to the iron frame.
"We're selecting a suitable cell for you," Merlin replied calmly. "If possible, I suggest you remain at ease. Do not agitate yourself."
"Actually…" Lloyd said quietly, "I'm quite calm."
Yet beneath that calm, something flickered in his eyes—
A confusion too deep to name.
Doubt.
At this moment, Lloyd doubted the very nature of the world itself.
As his consciousness gradually returned, his mind had already begun to wander—
To the Interstice.
Clearly, that strange mental realm was not something an ordinary mind could construct. It was born from the deepest connection to darkness—from reaching the furthest depths of something… beyond.
It was tied to demons.
Lloyd carried the false Grail within him. He himself was the prison of that monstrous entity.
And if, as Medanzo had said, the Stagnant Sanctuary was itself a vast Interstice—
Then did it, too, connect to some greater demon?
A chill crept through him.
The Evangelical Church was far more complex than he had ever imagined—
Just as no one truly knew how many chambers lay hidden within the Cathedral of Saint Naro.
And deeper still…
What else was waiting in the dark?