The strange alarm wailed again and again within the Everturning Pump, its shrill cry almost festive in its repetition. People surged at the sound, rushing through the corridors in frantic waves. Fear and tension clung to their faces—yet, in some distorted way, it resembled a grand celebration, a grotesque "Day of Divine Birth" unfolding deep within the machine's iron womb.
Though confined within a cell, such restraint meant little to Lloyd. The imprisonment was little more than ceremony. With a trace of curiosity, he gazed beyond the iron door, wondering what, this time, had slipped its cage.
An ancient God-Armor from the Old Era?
Or some aberration born of forbidden experiment?
Before his thoughts could settle, a fleeting hallucination flickered across his sight. He saw it—a crimson figure, wandering calmly through a shattered Gap.
It was a phenomenon difficult to name, yet Lloyd recognized it instinctively. That was the Gap… and it walked between its fractures.
At once, a warning screamed from the depths of his being. Without hesitation, dense, unyielding scales surged forth, encasing his body. In the next instant, the iron cage was torn apart as though it were nothing.
Steel split. Sparks screamed.
This time, the God-Armor did not fully envelop him. It felt lighter—more restrained. And Lloyd himself was no longer the unprepared man he once had been.
In the corner of the cell lay his familiar companions: the Winchester and the Nail-Sword, sent in with him like loyal hounds awaiting their master's call.
He seized them.
With a single swing, the Nail-Sword shattered the sealed door.
The corridor beyond was drowned in blood-red light, warped into something infernal. Muffled gunfire echoed endlessly, like distant thunder trapped in a coffin.
Lloyd closed his eyes.
Never before had his senses been so sharp. He let his perception expand, stretching outward through the chaos, threading through interference—until, at last, he detected it.
The faint origin of corruption.
When his eyes opened again, blazing white flames churned beneath them.
Without a word, without hesitation, he ran.
The Everturning Pump had entered full lockdown. Every gate was sealed. Lloyd sprinted as if trapped in a labyrinth—every passage ending in another immovable door. He tried to force them open, but the thick steel refused to yield.
Then, just as frustration closed in—
A door opened.
A wave of scorching wind and suffocating corruption rushed toward him.
Lloyd tightened his grip on the Nail-Sword, bracing for death.
But beyond the threshold—
There were only wounded men.
Their uniforms were familiar. A security unit.
Most were injured, exhausted beyond measure. Yet the moment they saw Lloyd, one of them still forced himself to raise his weapon, aiming shakily at the dangerous demon hunter before them.
"Easy. It's me."
Lloyd dismissed the God-Armor, revealing his face.
"A demon hunter…?"
One of them muttered.
Then another voice, hoarse yet urgent, cut through:
"Mr. Holmes?"
From behind the group.
Lloyd's gaze passed over the men—until he saw him.
"Joey?"
Ignoring the guns still trained on him, Lloyd stepped forward.
Joey's condition was dire.
Wounds riddled his body. His left arm was burned. Blood soaked him so completely he looked as though he had been dragged from a crimson lake.
"What happened?" Lloyd demanded, urgency sharpening his voice. "How did things collapse this quickly?"
"A demon… broke containment," Joey coughed, blood staining his lips. "That thing—it's absurdly strong. We couldn't suppress it. It's roaming the lower levels now."
He struggled to breathe.
"It released the others. The containment cells… everything down there is lost."
"Then I'll deal with it," Lloyd said simply.
A demon hunter hunts demons. Nothing more natural.
"No—wait for reinforcements," Joey rasped. "That one… it's different. We're preparing to designate the entire lower containment zone as a combat theater."
He knew exactly what Lloyd walking in now would mean.
Suicide.
"Rest, Joey," Lloyd shook his head. "There's something I need to confirm."
Something unseen seemed to pull him onward.
That crimson figure.
Just as he turned to leave, a bloodied hand seized him.
"The key… for the doors. And—listen for updates."
Joey forced the items into his hand: a strangely shaped key, and a familiar communicator.
"The lower levels are sealed off. Use the lift shaft. It's the safest way in."
He let go, waving weakly.
"Good luck… Mr. Holmes."
Lloyd watched as they departed.
Then the gate fell once more, sealing the view.
No one had expected an outbreak at the core. From its inception, the Everturning Pump had been guarded by overwhelming force—vast industrial zones, fortress-like mechanical complexes. The only true access point was the massive lift platform to the surface—and even that was defended by formidable firepower.
An unnoticed infiltration should have been impossible.
Lloyd couldn't understand it.
Could a single escaped demon truly cause such devastation? Any ordinary security officer, armed as they were, could annihilate swathes of demons with ease.
Different…
Joey's warning resurfaced.
This one was different.
A different kind of demon.
Curiosity stirred deeper.
Traces of Joey's blood marked the ground. Following them, Lloyd soon found the lift shaft.
He pried open the sealed doors with his Nail-Sword.
No elevator awaited him.
Only an empty shaft, plunging into darkness.
Far below, he could just make out twisted wreckage of steel.
To prevent the demons from climbing upward, Joey's team had severed the cables after their escape. The wreckage now blocked the lower exit.
Without hesitation, Lloyd leapt.
The God-Armor wrapped around him mid-fall. He drove the Nail-Sword into the wall, slowing his descent as showers of sparks cascaded in dazzling arcs.
Downward.
Ever downward.
Until—
Impact.
He kicked aside the shattered debris and pulled himself free.
Only then did he truly feel it.
The state of the lower levels.
Corruption saturated the air, pulsing through the space like a living thing. From above, neutralizing fluid rained endlessly, flooding the corridors into shallow pools.
And then—
The sound of water.
Rippling. Approaching.
The moment came like a blade drawn from silence.
Lloyd twisted sharply, his body moving before thought could catch up. His sword flashed—a brutal arc of steel—and in the very next heartbeat, the fiend before him detonated. Flesh parted as though it had always been meant to yield; the barbed blade sank effortlessly into its body. From the wound, searing Purging Flame surged outward—violent, radiant—only to collapse and scatter like a dying firework swallowed by the dark.
The half-burnt carcass slammed into the waterlogged floor with a wet, hollow impact.
It was… underwhelming.
The creature was not strong—by demonic standards, it was almost malnourished. Steel spikes had been driven through its joints, locking its movement, reducing it to a sluggish, broken thing.
This… had caused the containment zone to fall into chaos?
Absurd.
And yet—
A sudden chorus of splashing erupted from the far end of the corridor.
Countless shapes surged forward.
More fiends.
Their bodies flickered with cold metallic glints. Like the one Lloyd had just slain, each of them had been pinned with steel spikes. They ran—if such a word could be used—clumsy, uneven, some stumbling outright, collapsing mid-charge.
Lloyd slowly raised the Winchester, sighting down its length toward the writhing mass at the corridor's end.
He was about to pull the trigger.
Then—
A heavier sound.
Something vast.
Something approaching.
The fiends screamed—not in fury, but in terror.
They were not attacking.
They were fleeing.
Lloyd saw it then.
From beyond the corner, a grotesque arm lashed out and seized one of the fleeing creatures. The fiend shrieked—a sound of pure, instinctive horror. A monster that once haunted human nightmares was now confronting a nightmare of its own.
It was dragged into the darkness beyond the bend.
Then came the sound.
A sickening, splintering crunch.
As if iron jaws were grinding flesh and bone together, savoring each rupture, each burst of blood.
Bones shattered.
Muscle torn.
Even without seeing it, Lloyd could feel what was happening beyond that corner. The pressure in the air grew strange, oppressive—wrong.
He fired.
The shotgun roared. Scattering shells ignited into searing white arcs, streaking through the corridor like molten light. The flooded ground mirrored the blaze, rippling with luminous currents that surged forward, illuminating the suffocating dark.
Every fiend in the path was torn apart.
Their bodies ruptured as though struck by flowing magma—flesh collapsing, burning away—until only fragments of bone remained.
And beyond them—
It emerged.
The water at its feet began to boil.
A faint mist rose, curling upward like breath from the abyss.
This was a fiend.
But not one Lloyd had ever seen.
It burned with the fury of a caged sun.
Heat pulsed from its body, turning stagnant water into vapor. In that instant, Lloyd understood why the neutralizing fluid had overflowed uncontrollably—it wasn't merely suppressing demonic corruption.
It was trying to cool this.
The creature saw him.
Its eyes glowed white—fixed, unblinking.
Then it let out a low, trembling hum.
Almost—
Like laughter.
"You… hello."
The voice that followed was enough to unmake reason.
Something inside Lloyd's chest tightened. His breath grew heavy, labored—as though the very air had thickened into lead. It pressed against him, smothering him.
Like a drowning man, clawing upward in his final struggle.
The battle began the moment their gazes locked.
Through the mist, the creature advanced, each step ringing against the metal floor—carrying with it unbearable heat.
Lloyd did not rush.
The witch-hunter narrowed his eyes, reason still warring against the encroaching corruption. He stepped back—measured, controlled—while his shotgun thundered again and again, weaving streaks of blazing light between them.
The burning rounds struck.
Impact drove the mist aside, peeling it back just enough.
Just enough for him to see.
It was as though the creature had devoured the sun itself. Beneath its flesh, a dull crimson radiance pulsed. Within its jagged maw, liquid fire churned and seethed.
Lloyd did not falter.
He retreated, firing continuously, testing—observing.
"Holy silver is effective… strong regeneration… extreme surface temperature."
His cold gaze tracked every shot, every reaction. Silver rounds buried deep into the creature's flesh, drawing a twisted howl of pain. Enraged, it surged forward faster, desperate to kill.
"It hurts!"
The voice shrieked—sharp, piercing—like a child screaming.
Then it layered.
Multiplied.
As though a nursery full of unruly children had erupted into chaos, their cries overlapping in maddening discord.
For a fleeting moment, Lloyd almost wished he was trapped among children.
Not this thing.
"What the hell are you?!"
He cursed, darting into a side turn.
Behind him, the creature slammed headlong into the wall. The reinforced metal caved inward, a deep, brutal dent marking the impact.
Even Lloyd felt a flicker of unease at that strength.
Now, at close range, he saw it more clearly.
At the base of its neck, buried beneath layers of swollen flesh, there was a face.
Human.
Or what had once been.
Perhaps this… had been its original form.
Lloyd raised his barbed sword.
Divine armor surged over him, encasing his body—transforming him into an unbreakable knight.
There was no space to evade.
Not for something of that size.
The blade rose—
Then fell.
Steel split flesh with ease. Where holy silver touched, the creature's body reacted like it had been doused in acid, writhing under searing pain.
Lloyd's strength was monstrous. Empowered by forbidden blood, he was something more than human—something dangerously close to a fiend himself.
The strike cleaved through flesh, bone, and sinew alike.
Too much force.
The blade bit deep into the metal wall beyond, carving a savage scar into its surface.
The creature's leg was nearly severed.
Its massive body wavered—then collapsed forward toward him. Blood dripped, sizzling, bursting into bubbles upon impact.
The sword in Lloyd's hand burned hotter than ever before. For a moment, he nearly lost his grip.
Then—
Light.
The creature's blood glowed.
Each drop that fell into the water sent it boiling into frenzy.
The twisted head turned toward him.
In those luminous eyes—
There was confusion.
As though it could not understand why Lloyd would attack it.
Its massive hand pressed against the wall, molten blood streaming down. The heat turned metal red-hot, steam roaring into the air.
"So hungry…"
It reached out.
A flash.
Cold, merciless steel.
The arm split cleanly in two.
Flesh and bone sagged, lifeless, revealing the hunter behind.
The creature stared—slow, uncomprehending—at its severed limb.
Then it screamed.
A child's scream.
The air thickened with oppressive corruption. Sound tore at the eardrums. Heat climbed relentlessly.
This place had become a crimson hell.
Only Lloyd—
And the fiend.
This time, Lloyd did not retreat.
He advanced.
The divine armor held firm—his shield against annihilation.
"…Too similar."
He murmured.
A thought—strange, unsettling… almost blasphemous—took root in his mind.
The creature's heat…
How closely it resembled that of the Mikael the Witch-Hunter.
From its wounds, incandescent blood poured, striking the ground and melting it into pitted scars—one after another, like the marks of a dying world.