Terror clawed its way into Banr's mind, but he crushed it down almost immediately. This was a moment balanced between life and death. In one swift motion, he drew the short dagger from his belt.
Rage twisted across his face. So what if it was a demon? He believed he would ascend to Heaven one day. If there was no place for him there, then he would carve one out with his own hands.
The Remnants needed no one's mercy. They were enough for themselves. That conviction had driven Banr all his life.
In the suffocating heat, he raised his dagger and slashed with every ounce of strength he possessed at the unknown thing before him. Steel crashed against steel, sending brilliant sparks cascading through the darkness. It felt as though he were facing a knight clad in iron armor. His attack achieved nothing.
The violent friction numbed his arm. His fingers nearly lost their grip on the dagger.
Then a fiercer wind howled.
The blow had not yet fallen, yet the murderous intent alone was enough to freeze the blood.
Death had already raised its scythe.
Banr could only throw himself backward. Perhaps that would spare him from Lloyd's fatal strike, but it would be nothing more than a brief reprieve. Once on the ground, he would have no chance to resist.
The cold gleam of the folding blade skimmed across his cheek, drawing a line of crimson blood.
At that exact moment, gunfire erupted.
Bullets rained through the darkness like a violent storm.
The barrage granted Banr a sliver of hope.
But the folding knife came again.
Within the blackness, Banr saw only a fleeting flash before blood burst from his shoulder.
The agony cleared his mind for an instant. He lunged with his dagger once more, only to be met by a crushing punch. It struck his chest with the force of a warhammer. The impact stole his breath and filled his ribs with unbearable pain.
One of the gang members advanced while firing. Layer upon layer of bullets could not pierce Lloyd's divine armor, but the force behind them struck him like a barrage of heavy hammers.
Lloyd returned fire toward the densest concentration of attackers. Fragmenting rounds screamed through the darkness, harvesting lives. Yet more gunfire answered him, echoing throughout the confined tunnel.
It sounded as though storm clouds had gathered beneath the earth itself.
The endless thunder rolled through the underground depths, shaking every soul who heard it.
After the steam explosion, the police had temporarily withdrawn from the tunnel. Pres was in the middle of fastening handcuffs onto Em when the thunderous judgment erupted from the depths once more, reverberating through the tunnels before eventually reaching the surface.
Everyone froze.
With pale faces, they stared at the pitch-black entrance.
It felt less like a tunnel and more like a gateway into Hell.
And somewhere in that infernal darkness, monsters were slaughtering one another, their maddened roars spilling into the mortal world.
Even Donas hesitated.
He was certain the fugitives had escaped into the tunnel.
But what exactly was happening down there?
Without warning, he grabbed Em by the collar and yanked him forward.
"Talk! What's happening down there?"
Em had escaped from the depths.
Surely he knew something.
Yet the boy looked terrified beyond reason. Years of malnutrition and a life spent without sunlight had left him frail and sickly. He shook his head desperately, unable to speak.
For most of his life, he had believed he would die in that lightless hideout.
Now he had escaped.
Yet somehow he had fallen into an even greater nightmare.
"I—I don't know! I don't know anything!"
His voice cracked into a desperate scream.
He truly knew nothing.
He had no idea what any of this meant.
Truthfully, he should have died already.
Only minutes ago, he had nearly perished in that forgotten darkness.
The fact that he still lived was nothing more than a trace of Lloyd's indifferent mercy.
He didn't know who that monster of a man was.
Nor did he understand what he wanted.
Then an even more violent explosion thundered from within the tunnel.
Metal slammed against metal.
Another shockwave burst forth.
Scalding steam, dust, and razor-sharp iron fragments blasted outward like a storm of shrapnel. They hammered into the crowd. Those standing too close were sliced open by the flying debris.
Iron splinters pierced clothing.
Skin split open.
Donas's face darkened.
He did not want to abandon this opportunity.
Yet the unknown lurking in the darkness filled him with dread.
He glanced at the officers nearby.
The confidence that had fueled them earlier was gone.
Only fear and uncertainty remained.
The unknown had always been mankind's oldest terror.
Cursing under his breath, Donas finally drew his revolver.
"Move forward. Stay with me."
He took the lead.
The officers desperately wanted to refuse.
But under the weight of expectation, they followed him back into the abyss.
Deep within the darkness, the slaughter continued.
The gangsters fired like madmen.
Bullet after bullet struck the strange silhouette.
Yet the results never changed.
Rounds ricocheted harmlessly from his armor, leaving behind only brief sparks that illuminated fragments of the jagged figure.
Their hearing had become a blur.
Within that endless thundercloud, all they could hear was the relentless roar of gunfire.
The flashing sparks transformed their vision into something dreamlike and unreal.
Their breathing grew ragged.
The scorching air tortured them, yet they continued to inhale greedily.
Even if it burned their lungs.
The lingering heat scorched their insides.
It felt as though flames had taken root within their bodies.
One man emptied his revolver.
Without hesitation, he drew a dagger and charged the armored figure.
He had no idea whether the attack would matter.
But there were no other choices left.
The monster from their nightmares had finally come for them.
Even now, they did not understand what they were fighting.
Yet one truth was painfully clear.
Only one side would leave this place alive.
In the darkness, they could not accurately track Lloyd's position.
They relied entirely on the constant flashes of gunfire to follow his movements.
And they were no soldiers.
Merely gangsters.
Nothing more.
A dagger swung downward with all its strength.
It never reached Lloyd.
The arm holding it dropped from the shoulder before the strike could land.
A heartbeat later, Lloyd's folding knife pierced the man's throat.
The blade swept sideways.
Half his body burst apart.
The stench of blood mingled with the ancient, scorching air.
Together they became something else.
A vaporous manifestation of fear itself.
Each breath forced them to taste it.
And each taste returned the same trembling terror.
This was Lloyd's victory.
The victory of fear.
Others continued fighting.
One of them detonated a steam pipeline behind Lloyd.
A shrill scream echoed through the tunnel as superheated vapor exploded outward.
The impact caused Lloyd to stagger.
The force was enough to scald an ordinary man to death.
To the monster, it meant almost nothing.
More condensation formed across the iron armor.
Droplets scattered as he swung his blade.
The resistance was futile.
Yet that was not what drove them into despair.
The true source of despair was the monster they faced.
The sparks from bullet impacts became fragments of a puzzle.
Piece by piece, they revealed his shape.
Lloyd carved through them without mercy.
Each swing of the folding blade claimed another life.
Banr clutched the remaining hallucinogens against his chest and fled through the darkness.
This was despair beyond endurance.
Everything around him assaulted his senses.
The screams.
The heat.
The burning flesh.
The fear.
He was going to die.
He was truly going to die.
Only now did Banr see himself clearly.
Weak.
Cowardly.
Pathetic.
Men always spoke bravely before death.
But when the nightmare finally came for him, Banr understood how hollow those grand declarations truly were.
There was no dignity.
No courage.
Only terror.
He fled blindly.
Desperately.
He glanced back toward the dreadful darkness.
Gunfire flashed like camera shutters.
Within each brief burst of light, Banr caught glimpses of the ghostly silhouette.
The pale folding blade rose and fell.
Between light and darkness, Lloyd moved with impossible speed.
Every thunderous gunshot was followed by another body collapsing forever.
The entire scene resembled a grotesque stop-motion film.
And when everyone else was dead, Lloyd finally lifted his head.
His burning gaze found Banr at the far end of the darkness.
Banr ran with every shred of strength he had left.
Reason had abandoned him.
He stumbled blindly through the tunnels.
He slipped on standing water and crashed to the ground, only to scramble back up again.
He could not stop.
Stopping meant death.
Driven by absolute panic, he followed a narrow path forward.
He could hear rushing water nearby.
The Lower District was close.
Then he stumbled.
Hard.
Pain exploded through his leg.
Looking down, he saw a jagged sheet of metal had sliced deep into his flesh.
Blood poured freely from the wound.
Banr growled through clenched teeth.
He could no longer stand.
All he could do was drag himself into a corner.
His wounded leg trailed blood across the floor.
Tiny rustling sounds emerged from the darkness.
Rats watched him.
Like vultures circling a dying animal, they waited patiently for his death.
"Get away!"
His furious roar scattered them.
Yet little strength remained.
He collapsed heavily against the ground.
The accumulation of pain eventually became numbness.
What a miserable day.
Death had arrived so suddenly.
Without warning.
Tears welled in Banr's eyes.
As one of the Remnants, his tragic life appeared destined to end here.
"My Lord... my Lord..."
His voice became a distant murmur.
Again and again he whispered the words.
Like a devout believer reciting a prayer.
A strange voice echoed beside his ear.
Someone seemed to be whispering.
Calling him.
Urging him forward.
There was no hope left.
His gaze drifted toward the hallucinogens.
Perhaps despair drove him.
Perhaps fear pursued him.
Whatever the reason, he reached out and injected every remaining dose into his body.
Such was the joke of human will.
Banr could face death.
Just not a death filled with terror.
The drugs flooded through his bloodstream almost immediately.
They spread into every vein.
Soothing his nerves.
Driving away his suffering.
He felt wonderful.
Even the mortal agony tearing apart his body could no longer reach him.
Bliss enveloped him.
Yet some fragment of awareness remained.
The Secret Blood awakened.
It surged through his veins, rewriting his fragile flesh.
The forbidden power multiplied without restraint.
Something new and unnatural began to grow.
Within the absolute silence of the darkness, the Secret Blood rose inside Banr's body.
A pure white beacon ignited.
"My Lord... is that you?"
Death was near.
Banr had never truly believed in gods or spirits.
Yet now, standing at the threshold himself, he could not help but marvel.
He stared into the darkness.
He could clearly see it moving.
Writhing.
Shifting.
Until it formed the outline of a pale gray figure.
No light illuminated him.
Yet color somehow existed upon his form.
The writhing darkness became a phantom.
The figure approached.
A young face.
A gentle smile filled with compassion.
"My Lord..."
Banr could scarcely believe his eyes.
Across a connection that transcended physical distance, the man knelt beside him and brushed a hand against his face.
"Are... are you real?"
Banr suspected it was merely the hallucinogens.
Under such drugs, seeing impossible things was hardly surprising.
Yet the man answered calmly.
"I am real, Banr."
Banr froze.
Then he began to cry.
"I'm dying, my Lord... I'm dying..."
He wept as he confessed the fate awaiting him.
"Do not worry, Banr. As I told you before, death is not the end. It is merely the beginning of another journey."
The man gently stroked his hair.
Like a priest offering the final rites to the dying.
"Will we have a place to belong?"
"We will. One day."
The answer came without hesitation.
Banr's eyes became distant.
Perhaps he had finally fallen completely into hallucination.
Yet moments later, fury returned to them.
Such was the contradiction of human nature.
Moments ago he had been consumed by fear.
Now he burned with anger.
"You can't lie to me, my Lord! You can't!"
His voice erupted like a dying curse.
He seized the man's hand with desperate strength.
"You promised us! And if you've deceived us, I swear—I will never forgive you!"
This was the greatest wish of his entire life.
If death could purchase a place for his people to belong, then Banr would gladly die.
The man seemed almost surprised.
As though he had not expected tears to end in fury.
"You shall ascend to Heaven."
"A Heaven that belongs to us alone."
"Your Heaven."
Just as he had promised long ago, the man spoke with solemn sincerity.
No answer came.
Banr was dead.
The overdose had killed him.
Yet he rose again.
The forbidden Secret Blood claimed dominion over his corpse.
A heavy heartbeat echoed through the darkness.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Faster.
Life that should never have existed awakened within him.
An unsettling smile still lingered on his face.
Lawrence sighed helplessly and shook his head.
Then he rose.
His gaze shifted toward the darkness beyond.
A pair of burning eyes approached steadily through the tunnel.
Yet their owner seemed unable to perceive Lawrence at all.
"It's been a long time..."
There was genuine nostalgia in his voice.
Then the connection to the Gap shattered.
The writhing darkness collapsed and vanished.
It dissolved entirely into the depths of illusion, as though it had never existed.
When Lawrence finally opened his eyes once more, he found himself seated in his chair.
Outside the window, Old Dunling remained as bleak as ever.
Fire-colored clouds blanketed the heavens.
Great iron whales drifted through the sea of clouds above.
He rose and walked to the window.
Silently, he gazed toward the distant direction where Banr had died.
The door creaked open.
The Plague Doctor stood nearby.
At his feet were stacks of wooden crates.
Inside them rested the hallucinogens Ender had delivered.