Flames wove together in a searing tapestry, while molten iron fell like radiant rain, scattering in brilliant droplets. Pools of neutralizing fluid gathered upon the ground, boiling beneath the heat, exhaling scalding vapor that blurred and softened the glaring light. Within that hazy glow, two figures clashed—no, not merely clashed, but danced a brutal, deadly waltz.
The knight sprinted through the narrow corridor, then leapt high into the air. The spike-blade in his grasp descended like divine judgment, cleaving everything before it in two.
In such a confined passage, the fiend had no room to evade. It could only endure the fatal strike. Under the searing touch of consecrated silver, Lloyd's blow tore deeply into its flesh once more—but still, it was not enough.
Hideous wounds split across its body, healing at a grotesquely slow pace. Its blood flowed like molten lava, and even the briefest contact caused the blade's tip to glow faintly red from the heat.
Now the creature's terrifying vitality revealed itself in full. Lloyd could wound it, yes—but not kill it. That thick mass of flesh served as the finest of armor; even if the spike-blade were driven deep within, it seemed unable to reach anything resembling a heart.
Worse still was the heat within its body. The fiend burned like a living furnace. The divine armor conjured by his authority could shield him from some of the heat—but the weapon in his hand could not. Lloyd had the distinct impression that if the blade lingered too long inside the creature, it would simply melt away.
And still, that childlike scream persisted—rasping, endless, agonized—as though some wretched soul truly lay imprisoned within that infernal body, capable only of helpless, eternal wailing.
Even the water pooling on the ground began to boil as the creature advanced.
Lloyd raised his Winchester and fired again. The spinning rounds tore into the writhing flesh, blasting chunks away, driving ever deeper.
"Good… just like that. Come a little closer."
He guided it, almost gently—drawing its attention with gunfire while retreating step by step.
He needed space.
The narrow corridor constrained the monster—but it constrained him as well. From another angle, perhaps, he could deliver a killing blow.
The air grew suffocating, oppressive. Sweat poured from his body as though he stood within a steaming furnace.
"This is Arthur—respond if you can!"
A familiar voice crackled through the communicator, distorted by static, yet still unmistakable.
"Well now—this is your dear Mr. Holmes speaking. Arthur, I'm currently cleaning up your mess."
Lloyd replied casually, firing as he spoke. Even within this hellish crucible, he sounded as relaxed as if he were strolling the streets of Old Dunling.
"For once… I'm actually glad to hear your voice, Mr. Holmes."
Arthur's voice returned, blurred by interference.
"That's a rather hurtful thing to say."
Lloyd let out the remark lightly, as though the situation were anything but dire. Somehow, it eased the suffocating tension.
"So, Arthur—what exactly did you people do? Where did this thing come from?"
As he spoke, he hooked a finger through the trigger guard and spun the weapon, chambering a round in a fluid motion—like an executioner performing a practiced ritual.
There was a reason Lloyd favored the shotgun. Conventional firearms rarely inflicted decisive damage on fiends, but a shotgun's overwhelming spread and brutal force proved far more effective. Its wide coverage compensated even for the swift movements of such creatures.
"Do you remember that serial killer tied to the inferior secret blood? When Archpriest Lawrence appeared, he showed up as well. We captured him."
Another shot rang out. The creature advanced like a wall of flesh, slow yet unstoppable.
"You neglected to mention that."
There was a trace of displeasure in Lloyd's tone. By rights, that man had been his prisoner.
"No matter. You've probably met him by now. The interrogation can still begin."
Arthur, absurdly enough, joined him in this exchange of grim humor.
Gazing at the grotesque being before him—its nauseating form—Lloyd spoke slowly:
"I doubt it's in any condition to talk… So how did it become this? This thing is far beyond anything inferior secret blood could produce."
Even as they spoke, the creature continued to evolve. Its body swelled, distorting further, until Lloyd could scarcely discern its shape anymore. It was no longer a figure—only a mass of seething, high-temperature flesh.
Twisted arms burst forth from the mass, lashing outward. Yet to a seasoned hunter, their motion seemed almost slowed.
Lloyd pivoted, driving all his strength into the spike-blade. Steel flashed—striking the warped limb midair.
Flesh parted. Bone shattered. Consecrated silver and ignited purifying flame maximized the destruction. Like a hot knife through butter, the limb was severed cleanly.
Scalding blood sprayed outward, further heating the already suffocating space.
The purifying flame burned across the swollen flesh—but only briefly, before it was swallowed by newly proliferating tissue. The creature's resilience defied expectation.
"As for how it became this… I don't know," Arthur admitted. "We intended to study it, to extract information about the inferior secret blood. But the moment we removed it from containment, it awakened—and its temperature began to rise."
"And your invincible modern firepower?" Lloyd countered sharply. "Even a transformation like this takes time. Why didn't you eliminate it immediately?"
He struck again, carving away at the rampant flesh. Yet grotesquely, every severed piece was soon reabsorbed, drawn back into the creature's body—like waste repurposed into life.
Demonization took time. Even for hunters, complete transformation required preparation. Before total loss of control, there was always a window to kill.
"You think we didn't try?" Arthur roared. "Its transformation was too fast! By the time we mobilized heavy firepower, it was already regenerating through the damage! And haven't you noticed, Lloyd? It's still transforming—it hasn't stopped!"
His shout was drowned beneath another wave of that childlike screaming.
This time, multiple arms surged from the writhing mass, slick with viscous fluid, claws raised high.
Only then did Lloyd fully grasp the horror before him.
In the short span of their battle, the creature had already swollen to several times its original size—
And it was still growing.
"So tell me… what exactly is your plan?"
Lloyd's voice cut through the claustrophobic tunnel, sharp with disbelief.
"Blow this entire level apart? We're underground!"
There was no space to evade. The corridor pressed in on him like a coffin.
He stepped back, swinging his nail-blade in a tight arc—but even so, several strikes broke through his defense, crashing against the hardened plates of his divine armor, scattering bursts of blinding sparks into the choking air.
"What do we do?"
Arthur's reply came as a roar—two voices layered as one.
One crackled through the communicator.
The other echoed from behind Lloyd, deep within the steam-choked passage.
"We execute it on the spot. That's how we've always done things!"
"Move, Lloyd!"
Arthur burst from the fog.
His silhouette tore through the vapor, dragging behind him the massive weight of a triple-barreled firegun.
In an instant—
compressed gas detonated.
Driven by that violent force, the reinforced electro-spears discharged in unison, streaking through the mist like lightning, and in the blink of an eye, they pierced deep into the bloated mass of flesh.
The weapon had been designed for the old era's divine armor—
its spears meant to lock joints, its currents to disrupt machinery.
But against a demon?
At its core, it was nothing more than a charged iron lance.
Arthur didn't know if it would work.
It was simply one of the few weapons he had left.
The rushing steel impaled a twisted limb—
but only for a moment.
Within seconds, the unbearable heat inside the creature began to warp the metal. The spear bent… softened… melted.
Fragments of ruined steel clattered to the ground.
The demon shrieked.
"Damn it!" Arthur cursed.
"We need to draw it out—into open space."
Lloyd spoke again, steady, deliberate—his mind still clinging to strategy even in the suffocating chaos.
At the sight of Arthur, there was even a flicker of relief in his eyes.
"I thought a leader like you would be hiding in some safe room, issuing orders from afar…"
He glanced at Arthur—alone.
"…didn't expect you to be this deep on the front line. And without a single escort."
Praise—or mockery. Even Lloyd himself might not have known.
Arthur gave a dry, unguarded answer.
"If I had the choice, I'd gladly be hiding in a safe room."
He cast aside the triple gun. Reloading it was too cumbersome—it was, in practice, a disposable weapon.
When the demon first went out of control, Arthur's priority had been Merlin.
The Cleansing Order had not yet abandoned alchemy.
If Merlin died, their entire technological lineage would fracture.
Merlin's life was worth far more than Arthur's.
During the evacuation, the demon crushed their security forces.
Arthur held the line to the very last moment, forcing an escape route open—sending Merlin beyond the lockdown zone.
But in buying that time—
in drawing the creature's attention—
he had sealed his own fate.
"Open space…?" Arthur muttered, mind racing.
The entire containment map spun through his memory like a storm of fragments.
Within seconds, he found the answer.
"Containment Chamber Four. That's where we go."
The place where the demon had first broken free.
"We'll have to circle around," he added quickly.
"We can't let it reach Chamber One."
"What—more things in there that shouldn't be released?" Lloyd asked.
A single breach was all it took.
One demon unleashed could cascade into many—
tearing open other cells, dragging more horrors into freedom.
And if left too long—
even humans could be twisted… consumed… reborn as monsters.
"No." Arthur's voice dropped.
"People."
A beat.
"Those who couldn't escape. We lost a lot holding it back."
That had been his last position.
The survivors had barricaded themselves inside Chamber One, waiting for rescue.
What came instead—
was Lloyd.
"Then you'd better move faster," Lloyd said coldly.
"This thing is far deadlier than you think."
The rising temperature alone was a weapon.
An ordinary person would collapse just by approaching—lungs scorched by the searing air.
And beyond that—
there was the erosion of the mind.
"Follow me—watch out!"
Arthur had just begun to lead—
when the demon moved.
What had been sluggish suddenly surged forward with terrifying speed.
Lloyd reacted instantly.
He turned, blade flashing—meeting the incoming claws head-on.
Arthur dove aside, barely escaping.
For all his enhancements under the Ranger Program, he was still—at his core—human.
Not like Lloyd.
Not like that thing infused with secret blood.
"Damn it!" Arthur snarled.
The water pooled across the ground was scalding.
At some point—without them noticing—
this place had become a furnace.
"Stay back, Arthur!"
Metal screamed behind him.
Lloyd cut down several more limbs—but under that grotesque vitality, the creature only continued to multiply.
Endlessly.
"So… hungry…"
The voice came again.
Childlike.
Wrong.
A grotesque maw tore open across the mass of flesh.
The remaining limbs gathered the severed chunks Lloyd had carved away—feeding them into the crimson mouth.
A wet, cracking sound followed.
Lloyd felt his scalp tighten.
He had never seen anything like this.
More claws lashed out—
but the narrow space made their paths predictable. With the protection of his armor, Lloyd could barely hold the line.
Barely.
And yet—
so focused was he on the fight, he failed to notice:
The metal around them was beginning to glow red.
The water at his feet had begun to boil—
rising into scalding vapor that swallowed the corridor whole.
Light fractured in the steam.
Though Arthur stood not far away, Lloyd could see him only as a vague silhouette.
The world had become heat, shadow… and breathless suffocation.
"What a terrifying power…"
Arthur whispered, unable to stop himself.
Not just fear of the demon—
but of Lloyd.
The air had reached lethal temperatures.
Even with his enhancements, every breath felt like fire scraping down his throat. The steam alone made staying conscious a struggle.
And yet—
the hunter still fought.
Every strike precise.
Every motion controlled.
Even now, he held strength in reserve.
Lloyd himself noticed none of it.
Compared to what he had faced before—
this heat was still within tolerance.
Back then…
when he had fought Ed—
when the purging flame of Michael had burned everything to ash—
that had been true terror.
Now—
he searched for a killing blow.
This proliferating mass could no longer be slain by the nail-blade. Even if he struck deep, he could not be certain of reaching the heart buried beneath layers of flesh.
His final gamble rested on one thing:
The Winchester.
After his encounter with Bishop Lawrence, Lloyd had forged two special rounds.
Not buckshot plated with holy silver—
but solid slugs, cast entirely from it.
Pure holy silver, carrying devastating kinetic force—
enough to punch through flesh…
if he could find the fatal point.
Two shots.
That was all he had.
"Then come."
Without warning, Lloyd disengaged his divine armor.
His bare skin met the searing steam.
Pain tore through his nerves—sharp, merciless—
and he ignored it.
Raising the nail-blade, he drew it across his own wrist.
Blood spilled.
With it—something darker.
Something restless.
The demon hungered.
So he would feed it.
The scent of blood spread instantly.
The creature shuddered—then surged forward, emitting a sound of eager delight. Its bloated body writhed through the corridor like a massive worm, its speed far greater than before.
And then—
it laughed.
A sound innocent as a child's giggle.
Which made it all the more grotesque—
because it came from that nightmare of flesh.