The rain came down harder than ever, driven by shrieking winds that dragged the world into a boundless sea of white. Thunder rolled endlessly within the churning clouds as every trace of daylight vanished beneath the blackened sky. Though it was still noon, the land had already surrendered to the darkness of night.
Yet within the White Chapel, prayers endured.
Men and women sat shoulder to shoulder beneath an ocean of candlelight, their voices rising together in hymns of hope, as though faith alone could hold the collapsing world at bay.
For a fleeting moment, Joey felt reality slipping through his fingers. It was as if everything beyond these walls had already been swallowed by the storm, reduced to ruin beneath the wrath of heaven. Only this humble chapel remained untouched, the final sanctuary standing at the end of the world.
"James... Moriarty."
Joey spoke the man's name softly.
As though answering an unseen summons, the gentleman lifted his head, a warm, almost ordinary smile spreading across his approachable face.
"What wonderful weather," Moriarty murmured, gazing through the stained-glass window at the world dissolving beneath the rain. "I've always loved rainy days."
His voice carried an effortless ease.
"When the world outside grows cruel while everything around you remains warm and safe..." He smiled faintly. "The contrast has a peculiar way of making people appreciate happiness."
Only then did his eyes return to Joey.
"Joey... May I call you that?"
Joey never let his guard down around the stranger. And yet, just as Moriarty had said, there was something strangely comforting about the contrast between the raging tempest and the quiet sanctuary. Before he realized it, he found himself giving the slightest nod.
The instant he did, a chill shot through him.
That wasn't like him.
His expression cooled.
"You're from Blackmount Hospital?"
Moriarty nodded without hesitation.
"I am. This place is merely a part-time endeavor." He chuckled. "After all, saving people is rather fulfilling work."
He spoke with remarkable ease.
It was impossible to deny that he was an exceptional psychiatrist. Even if you approached him wrapped in suspicion, somehow, through nothing more than casual conversation, he would quietly guide your thoughts until you were following his without ever noticing.
Joey had experienced that sensation once before.
Though the other man had accomplished it with an endless stream of outrageous nonsense.
"Working at Blackmount Hospital demands a very resilient mind," Moriarty continued lightly. "Doctors can't heal themselves. So every now and then, I come somewhere like this, help a few lost souls, satisfy my little hero complex..." He smiled almost sheepishly. "It gives me enough strength to return to that hell and keep doing good."
He sounded less like a stranger and more like an old friend chatting over ordinary life.
Despite the fact they had only just met.
Joey fought to maintain his vigilance.
Something about this man was wrong.
It felt like wandering through an impossibly vivid dream. You knew it was false. You knew something wasn't real.
But no matter how desperately you searched...
...you couldn't find the flaw.
"Doctors from Blackmount Hospital rarely take outside work."
As a member of the Purification Bureau, Joey knew more about the hospital than most. Security there bordered on obsession. Every entrance and exit was tightly controlled to preserve its countless secrets.
"But exceptions always exist, don't they?"
Moriarty rose and carried over a chair.
Rather than placing it among the circle of worshippers, he positioned it opposite his own on the chapel steps.
The two men sat facing one another.
"You don't seem to like me very much," Moriarty observed.
"Perhaps."
"Would that have something to do with your conditioning?"
Joey's pupils contracted.
His eyes locked onto Moriarty's spectacles, where his own blurred reflection stared back.
A heartbeat later, Moriarty laughed.
"Relax, Joey."
"In a manner of speaking..."
"We're colleagues."
Nothing escaped those calm gray eyes.
Every tightening muscle, every flicker across Joey's expression, every hesitation—Moriarty read them as effortlessly as words upon a page.
"You're one of the informed?" Joey asked quietly.
"You could say that."
Blackmount Hospital differed greatly from every other branch of the Purification Bureau.
One half of the institution operated openly, treating ordinary citizens like any conventional hospital.
The other half existed behind locked doors and buried records, receiving those whose wounds had been inflicted by demons and horrors the public was never meant to know existed.
Its physicians were divided accordingly.
Some knew the truth.
Others never would.
"You knights are all alike," Moriarty said with a faint sigh. "After your conditioning, you shut away your hearts to resist corruption. You reject anyone who tries to peer inside—doctors, friends... even demons themselves."
He smiled knowingly.
"Perhaps that's why you dislike me."
"Because psychiatrists make a living convincing stubborn people like you to open those locked doors."
"You're violating confidentiality protocols, Moriarty."
Joey's voice remained cold.
Others still occupied the chapel. Laughter and cheerful conversation echoed only a few yards away.
"They can't hear us."
Moriarty glanced toward the gathering.
"They're completely immersed in their own happiness."
Indeed, the congregation chatted merrily. Sig had somehow blended seamlessly into the crowd. They laughed together like companions reunited after many years apart.
Every face wore a smile.
Yet something about those smiles felt... rehearsed.
Too perfect.
Like actors performing joy they no longer truly understood.
"Joey Joshua."
Moriarty leaned back slightly.
"This isn't actually our first meeting."
"At least..."
"Not from my perspective."
He smiled to himself, recalling an old memory.
"I first met you through a patient file."
"That was why I recognized you immediately."
"You were quite famous at Blackmount Hospital."
A trace of amusement crossed his face.
"Most of us believed you'd never leave."
"We even prepared a comfortable long-term room for you in the rehabilitation ward..."
A sharp discomfort twisted through Joey's chest.
He had spent years trying to bury those memories.
He refused to hear another word.
Abruptly, he rose from his chair and headed toward the chapel doors, uncaring of the storm raging outside.
"Joey."
Moriarty's calm voice followed him.
"You were discharged eventually."
"But according to your treatment records, aside from routine psychological evaluations..."
"...you never attended another counseling session."
A brief silence lingered.
"Tell me."
"Have you truly escaped the shadows?"
Joey stopped.
Slowly...
...he turned around.
"That's none of your concern."
"On the contrary."
"I'm a doctor."
"My responsibility is making sure heroes like you survive."
Moriarty watched him quietly.
His expression remained unreadable.
Then, with deliberate emphasis, he spoke.
"No."
"You haven't escaped."
Joey refused to answer.
He strode toward the entrance and shoved the heavy doors open with all his strength.
If he didn't listen...
Perhaps the words would lose their power.
Yet Moriarty's voice lingered inside his mind like an ancient curse.
"If you've truly overcome your past..."
"Why do you keep attending support groups?"
"To make friends?"
"To hear other people's tragedies so your own suffering feels lighter?"
"Or have you invented some even stranger excuse?"
His voice remained impossibly gentle.
"Joey."
"Running away has never solved anything."
Thunder exploded overhead.
Joey raised his black umbrella and stepped into the storm.
Then...
He saw it.
The rainwater pooling beneath his feet slowly changed color.
Like ink spreading through clear water...
Scarlet.
One puddle after another turned crimson.
Moments later, the rain itself followed.
The sky no longer poured water.
It poured blood.
A crimson curtain descended upon the earth.
Beyond that curtain...
Footsteps echoed.
Light.
Playful.
Like children splashing through puddles on a carefree afternoon.
Then they appeared.
One after another.
Every child wore the same face.
And through each innocent visage burned a ragged hole, as though molten metal had pierced straight through flesh and bone.
The nightmare he had fought so desperately to forget...
...had finally come to find him.
Joey stood frozen.
The children surrounded him slowly.
Tiny hands clawed at his body.
They tore away strips of flesh as effortlessly as peeling paper.
Small teeth gnawed upon his bones with dreadful, rasping crunches that echoed through the storm.
All the while...
They sang.
A nursery rhyme.
Sweet.
Cheerful.
Terrifying.
When the song ended, they scattered with delighted laughter, disappearing once more behind the curtain of crimson rain.
Only shredded flesh...
And shattered bone...
Remained behind.
A violent gust swept through the street, wrenching the black umbrella high into the air.
Only when the icy rain drenched him completely did Joey finally awaken.
As though everything moments before had been nothing more than overlapping nightmares.
He collapsed onto one knee, clutching his chest.
It felt as though someone were twisting a knife inside his heart.
"Hah..."
"Hah..."
He gasped desperately for air.
Cold rain flooded his lungs.
A violent cough wracked his body until he was left trembling, soaked, and utterly broken.
"Are you alright, Joey?"
Moriarty approached with practiced concern.
Lightning flashed overhead.
For the briefest instant, the strange flames reflected in his eyes faded into darkness.
Still wearing that unsettling smile, he gently rested a hand upon Joey's back.
Joey said nothing.
He shrugged the hand away with force.
Then he looked deeply into Moriarty's eyes.
Into the eyes of a man who seemed less human with every passing second.
Without another word...
He turned and disappeared into the endless curtain of rain.