This was a ritual out of myth—solemn, austere, and merciless.
It descended from the heavens, as though a herald of the divine, yet equally a traitor to faith. Steel-feathered wings encircled it, each blade like a falling sword poised to pass judgment upon the guilty. From afar, Seriu could only bear witness—silent, unmoving—as the black angel drifted downward, settling upon the shattered remains of Lloyd's body.
It resembled the reaper of ancient legends, come to claim a lost soul—yet there was something else within its presence, something disturbingly akin to salvation. A gift, perhaps… though one born of the devil.
Lloyd was not yet dead. At the final threshold, the secret blood within him had breached its limits. He had entered demonization. And to truly kill a demon, one must destroy both heart and mind. Twisted growth sustained him in a grotesque imitation of life, even as the silver bindings melted away, scalding holy metal seeping into his veins and hastening his end.
Destruction and rebirth coexisted within him.
He lived—but only barely. And before him lay two paths: to surrender to the transformation, descend into darkness, and claim a demon's immortality… or to calm the raging blood, and die as a human—lucid, complete.
For Lloyd, it should have been an easy choice. He would have chosen death, clean and unburdened. But this time, the choice was no longer his.
The black angel bent down, lifting the dying body with a strange tenderness, dragging him free from the twisted steel. Only then did Seriu truly see the extent of his ruin. She had thought his lower body buried beneath debris—but in truth, it was gone. Half of him had been obliterated in the explosion. Through the horrific cavity at his abdomen, there was nothing—no organs, no bone—only hollow emptiness, like a burned-out husk.
"No… no…"
She could not bear to look.
The once-mighty hunter now resembled a broken doll, seams torn open, stuffing scattered. Yet his blood still surged, stubbornly sustaining the flicker of life—like a flame trembling in the wind, ready to vanish at any moment.
Then came something far more forbidden.
The black angel gazed upon the corpse and slowly spread its arms, as though to embrace him. The divine armor began to fracture. At its chest, a裂口 opened—flesh of demon origin tearing through steel. Within was nothing. No pilot. No master. Only void.
Like the maw of some abomination, it swallowed Lloyd whole.
And then it closed.
Like a smith's furnace—but this time, the hammer fell upon a sinful life. Steam roared from its vents, engines thundered, and proliferating flesh surged to fill every cavity. Safety protocols shattered one after another as the organic mass breached internal armor, invading even the pilot's chamber. It wrapped around Lloyd's ruined form, beginning a slow and grotesque assimilation.
This was the peril of first-generation divine armor—too much demon flesh within its design. Once compromised, it would not resist; it would merge. Galahad had once nearly perished this way, his body fused into the armor like a malformed twin.
Now, the same horror unfolded upon Lloyd.
But this time—it was keeping him alive.
They became one. Demon organs replacing what he had lost. Yet such flesh had no will of its own. Like the Grail-born tissue, it obeyed instinct alone. And yet… something else had seized control. A foreign consciousness, bending its growth toward defiance of all natural law.
Flesh extended, connecting to his body, differentiating rapidly into organs—external, grotesque, yet functional. More tissue flooded in, forming an unnatural circulation system. Shattered metal was forced out, crushed bone realigned. Openings tore through the armor, drawing in fresh oxygen to substitute for lungs that no longer existed.
It was as if the finest surgeons in the world had gathered here, carving relentlessly, dragging a dying man back from the abyss.
Yet even this was not enough.
"Lloyd… you cannot die."
Through the haze, he heard the voice.
The sensation was strange—like drifting in a warm ocean, embraced by something gentle, something vast. Peace, unlike anything he had ever known. And yet, beneath it, that voice rang loud and insistent.
"How… will you do it…?"
He forced his eyes open, whispering into the unknown. The truth was simple—he was dying. No blood, no miracle could undo such ruin.
"Watson… sometimes curses aren't reliable."
He no longer wished to struggle. To sleep—peacefully, eternally—seemed the perfect end.
"No, Lloyd."
A hand reached out from the warm sea, brushing his cheek.
"If someone must bear the cost… I will."
"But you cannot die."
The voice sharpened with anger.
Then the tide surged, dragging forgotten memories back to shore. Everything he had buried resurfaced at once. Tranquility shattered. Flames consumed the calm.
Strange memories. Unfamiliar faces.
"Lloyd Holmes cannot die!"
She dragged him from the depths—ripped him from death itself.
He gasped violently, cold air flooding his lungs.
A baptism. A forbidden one.
And beyond it—a door had opened.
Everything thus far could only sustain him—not restore him. To truly live, he needed more power.
And it was here.
The black angel raised its head, gaze passing beyond Seriu, locking onto the writhing flesh beyond the inferno.
"In accordance with the Scabbard Treaty—execution begins."
A cold female voice echoed within the armor. In an instant, wings spread wide, and it surged forward, gliding across the smoke-filled battlefield. Steel feathers reflected the burning world below.
"Clause Three: Priority—target survival."
The mask shattered. Flesh coiled around steel, forming a living maw. The angel changed—mechanical elements stripped away, organic horror surging forth, until it resembled something out of nightmare, metal growing like fangs from flesh.
Battle erupted.
Its wings lashed out—thousands of blades striking as one, tearing open the Grail's flesh in an instant. Wind screamed beneath their cutting arcs, like a woman's whisper. The monstrous jaws bit down even as it fought, devouring its enemy piece by piece.
The Grail's flesh resisted, growing, striking—but it was not enough.
This was no duel.
This was slaughter.
"He… he's coming back to life!"
A cry rang out from the Dawn Vessel. Sensors confirmed the impossible—the corpse inside the armor was recovering. Vital signs rising.
A miracle.
Or something far more terrifying.
All could do nothing but watch.
Live.
A single beam of light pierced the darkness.
Live.
More followed, tearing night apart.
Only by living could the fire of rage endure. Only by living could Lloyd Holmes eradicate the demons.
His heart began to beat.
His eyes trembled—then opened.
Flame surged.
The black angel fought on, relentless. Steel tore through flesh again and again, while the Grail's body wailed like an infant in pain.
Armor plates shattered. Tumorous growth burst outward. A monstrous heartbeat echoed.
White-hot fire poured from within the seams.
"Yes… Lloyd. You must live. This is our will."
From ages past—since humanity first captured demons, first drew their blood, first defied fear.
Steel feathers struck like executioner's nails, pinning the Grail flesh down. It struggled—but could not escape.
The angel loomed above it.
"Humanity… will not live in fear any longer."
A pale arm burst from its abdomen.
It seized the writhing head.
Crushed it.
Lloyd's eyes burned crimson. Flesh clung to him like countless grasping hands. His wounds healed, his lower body fused entirely with the armor.
Demon flesh was not enough.
He needed the Grail.
Power surged. He dragged the creature closer, tendrils piercing, consuming—not merging, but devouring.
Like a demon.
He tore into it with his teeth. Blood flooded his throat. The apex predator reduced to prey.
The sound of tearing echoed—cold, unbearable.
He fed.
And the black angel embraced it—dragging it into darkness, wings folding shut, sealing a coffin of death.
Flesh swelled, spreading like a web across steel and earth alike.
Then—
Silence.
In the charred wasteland, only a black cocoon remained.
Time passed. The beast's roars faded. Flesh withered. Blood receded.
Life itself was being stripped away.
Within—
A breath.
A trade had been made.
Its death—for his rebirth.
At last, the cocoon trembled. Hands tore it open. Thick fluid stretched in strands. Pale red liquid spilled like birthwater.
A man stepped forth.
Bare. Unscarred.
Unsteady, like a newborn.
He collapsed to his knees beneath the first light of dawn.
And somewhere, faintly—
"Welcome back."