Fear—the oldest and most terrible emotion ever born within mankind—spread through every Demon Hunter like a virulent plague. It coursed with the boiling Secret Blood through their veins, devouring every fragile thread of resolve in mere moments. They trembled. They wept. They prayed this was nothing more than a nightmare too cruel to endure. Yet every one of them knew the same dreadful truth: this nightmare had no dawn from which they would awaken.
Beneath the endless night, the howls of demons rose from every corner of the Seven Hills, swelling like a relentless tide. Flames blossomed across the darkness, accompanied by the harsh chorus of clashing steel. As the hours dragged on, more people throughout the Seven Hills succumbed to corruption. Cries of terror echoed through the streets. Refugees were running toward the cathedral, their frantic footsteps drawing ever closer.
Of course they came here. This was the Cathedral of Saint Naro. If there was any place in the world closest to the Kingdom of Heaven, it was here. Every believer dreamed of standing beneath its sacred vaults, and when all evil descended upon the earth, this place was meant to become humanity's final sanctuary.
How laughable.
Who could have imagined that the sanctuary humanity revered most would prove to be the very womb from which evil was born?
047 longed to raise his voice into the darkness and warn the fleeing masses to turn back, to run anywhere but here. Yet cold reason chained his tongue, and his fingers only tightened around the hilt of his Nail Sword.
Tonight's operation had been the War Faction's experiment upon the Holy Grail. If it succeeded, the Gospel Church would once again reclaim dominion over the Western world. It would wield a sharper blade against demons and heretics alike.
To guarantee the experiment's security, 047 had led the Metatron Demon Hunters to stand watch over the cathedral.
But the experiment had already spiraled beyond control.
Perhaps this night would not herald the Church's triumph, but the beginning of its extinction.
Even so, 047 would not abandon his duty—not for the Gospel Church, nor for some distant god hidden beyond mortal sight.
He remained because of the demons.
He would never allow those unnatural horrors to walk the mortal world again.
The fleeing crowd finally reached them.
Terrified civilians staggered into view, their faces twisted beneath the invisible pressure of corruption. In truth, they should have fled beyond the city walls. Even with the Holy Knights guarding the gates, it would have been safer than rushing toward the very heart of the infection.
Some shred of reason still lingered within them.
Upon seeing the blood-soaked Demon Hunters, faint hope lit their terrified faces. They cheered, believing salvation had finally arrived.
Then the Nail Swords pierced their hearts.
Their heads fell moments later.
Silence swallowed the crowd.
They stared in confusion at the Church's holy guardians, unable to comprehend why Heaven's protectors were slaughtering them. They did not even have time to scream before the Demon Hunters leapt into their midst, methodically cutting down one defenseless civilian after another.
047's sword arm slowly grew numb.
He no longer knew whether what he was doing was righteous... or unforgivable.
The moment corruption spread throughout the Seven Hills, every ordinary soul within them had already received a death sentence.
Normal humans could not resist corruption.
Even if they had not transformed yet, it was only a matter of time.
They were no longer merely civilians.
They were future demons waiting to be born.
047 told himself he was only eliminating the threat before it awakened.
But...
Was that truly the truth?
Those twisted, bewildered faces vanished into death, their final gazes filled only with confusion and pain.
The Demon Hunters' resolve was being tested on every front.
The crushing pressure of corruption.
The ceaseless threat of demons.
The unbearable guilt of slaughtering innocents.
On this blood-red night, they stood utterly alone.
Nearby, 051 seemed incapable of thought. He stood frozen in place, his bloodied sword hanging limply at his side. Before him lay the body of a young girl, and beside her, half-submerged in crimson, rested the teddy bear she had cherished.
Killing these civilians required little effort.
Compared to demons, they were pitifully weak.
Yet beneath every iron mask came the ragged breathing of cornered beasts as each hunter struggled desperately to suppress the emotions threatening to shatter their resolve.
In that moment, 047 finally understood Lawrence.
A Demon Hunter should never possess unnecessary emotion.
They should exist as cold weapons—nothing more.
Only then could they cast aside morality, compassion, good and evil alike.
Only then could they make the cruel decisions required of them.
Only then could they become blades that obeyed nothing except unwavering will.
But enlightenment had come too late.
047 was not cold-hearted.
He dreamed.
He mourned.
He still longed for the peaceful streets of Old Dunling.
He hesitated.
He faltered.
He wanted to run.
To continue fighting here meant certain death.
Though Demon Hunters surpassed ordinary humans, prolonged battle within such overwhelming corruption would eventually twist them into monsters themselves.
It was only a matter of time.
He looked around.
Demon Hunters stood amidst seas of blood where corpses of monsters, comrades, and civilians lay tangled together. Nail Swords carved fatal wounds through flesh and bone. Steam still drifted from scattered entrails. The battlefield resembled Hell itself.
"We should retreat... Metatron."
051 spoke again.
He did not know what had caused this catastrophe, but one thing had become undeniable.
The fall of the Seven Hills was inevitable.
No voice answered inside their minds.
The Stillness Sanctuary remained silent.
No command came.
051 stared uneasily toward the ground beneath his feet.
Far below them lay the Stillness Sanctuary.
The source of the corruption.
047 had never spoken it aloud, yet every Demon Hunter understood the implication.
The Order's very heart had fallen first.
No one knew how many Demon Hunters had been stationed below.
But at corruption's epicenter...
They had either died...
Or become something far worse.
Now the grinding scrape of claws echoed upward from deep within Saint Naro Cathedral.
The monsters...
Those once-human souls driven mad by corruption...
Were climbing out of Hell itself.
When they emerged, the handful of Demon Hunters still standing would never be enough to stop them.
Every gaze turned toward 047.
He bore the name Metatron.
Their commander.
Their answer.
Retreat...
Or die fighting.
The ugliness inherent in mankind stirred once more, as though some unseen deity watched from above, laughing at mortal weakness.
His grip upon the Nail Sword trembled.
There was no time left.
Slowly, 047 removed his iron mask and cast it into the blood.
Gray-blue eyes, exhausted beyond measure, looked out from a face stained black and red.
"It seems... I won't be waiting for you in Old Dunling after all, 051."
051 frowned in confusion.
Before he could speak, white radiance erupted along the blade.
The Nail Sword slipped through the gap in his armor.
Straight through his heart.
Disbelief filled his eyes.
Then his body began to change.
Jagged bone spikes burst through his sacred armor.
Only then did he realize...
Corruption had already consumed him.
Fear and the instinct to survive had blinded him to his own transformation.
But 047...
The man who looked so utterly exhausted...
Had been watching all along.
"...Thank you... for everything."
Those were 051's final words.
One clean swing.
Her head fell.
The bloodied iron mask struck the stone floor with a hollow clang, revealing a youthful, beautiful face beneath.
She was dead.
047 still remembered the day they first met.
Lawrence had been too busy to train every recruit personally.
As the one who already bore the title of Metatron, 047 had become her instructor.
He had taught her how to kill demons.
In the end...
She died by his own hand.
His empty gaze drifted across the battlefield before settling upon her peaceful face.
His soul felt hollow, as though something essential had been torn away forever.
"...Looks like... I won't make it there either."
"I really wanted to see that city... with my own eyes."
He staggered toward the crimson stairway.
Beyond it...
Lay Heaven.
Every Demon Hunter watched him, waiting for their commander to decide their fate.
After a long silence, 047 sighed quietly.
Then he let his battered Nail Sword fall into the blood.
Had he chosen to flee?
A faint relief flickered through the ranks.
Yet beneath it lingered disappointment.
Even the legendary Metatron...
Even the strongest among them...
Possessed the heart of an ordinary man.
He feared.
He hesitated.
He wished to survive.
But 047 never answered.
Instead, he stood motionless and began tearing apart the twisted clasps holding his armor together. Piece by piece, he stripped away the shattered sacred armor from his body.
This was the standard armor issued to every Demon Hunter.
He had always hated it.
Its protection overlapped with Metatron's own Authority. Whenever he invoked that sacred power, the divine armor it created remained hidden beneath these cumbersome plates.
He had often joked that a true Metatron Hunter ought to fight in nothing more than flowing priestly robes.
Metal struck stone.
One plate after another crashed into the blood.
Freed from its weight, he seemed almost lighter.
Beneath the armor lay a body covered in scars.
"No one will question your decision."
"We've already done everything we could."
"...After all..."
"We're only human."
Someone tried to comfort him.
047 answered only with a low, hoarse laugh.
"Human..."
"Yes."
"We are human."
"Pitiful."
"Tragic."
"Contemptible."
He stared at his blood-covered hands.
"Weak little creatures."
"Even after stealing forbidden power..."
"...we cannot change what we are."
"...nor erase the flaws that will always destroy us."
Silence spread among the Demon Hunters.
They believed he was justifying retreat.
After all, no one could halt a tide this hopeless.
Yet suddenly 047 bent down and searched through the blood.
Then he found it.
Another Nail Sword.
Unlike the broken weapon he had discarded, this one remained razor-sharp.
"But perhaps..."
"It is precisely because we are so deeply flawed..."
"...that when we finally burn..."
"...our light shines all the brighter."
He had never intended to leave.
He discarded one sword only to raise a sharper one.
White flames roared to life once more.
He shed his armor only to summon stronger protection.
Dense divine armor spread across his body like living steel.
Within moments, black armor completely encased him.
Blazing white fire poured from every seam.
"It seems all of you understand humanity's weakness."
"So never place your hope in anyone else."
"We already stand before the gates of Hell."
"So don't pray for gods..."
"...or for heroes..."
"...to come save us."
Step by step, he climbed the crimson staircase toward the depths of Saint Naro Cathedral.
"If any of you lack the courage to fight this battle..."
"Then leave."
He continued walking.
His voice sounded weary.
Yet it shook the cathedral like thunder.
"I have no wish to fight beside a Demon Hunter who's afraid to die with his comrades."
047 suddenly remembered those words.
016 had written them once.
They were spoken by a king before an impossible war.
And that king had won.
But 047 was no king.
He commanded no army.
Only exhausted Demon Hunters...
And wills already on the verge of collapse.
"From this day until the end of the world..."
"...our deeds tonight shall never be forgotten."
No.
No one will remember you.
The whisper echoed inside his mind.
Corruption itself tempted him.
Still he roared against it.
"Our names will be sung..."
"...like hymns that never fade."
"047."
"063."
"053."
"051..."
He spoke every name engraved forever within his heart.
The comrades who had once marched beside him clad in iron.
"Whoever dies with me today..."
"...shall be my brother..."
"...no matter how humble his birth."
Gripping his Nail Sword, 047 strode onward with stubborn determination.
He looked like a madman.
Or perhaps a fool.
Spouting impossible promises while marching willingly toward death.
He desperately wanted to look back.
To see how many still followed him.
Yet he feared turning around.
Feared discovering he walked alone.
Feared dying in utter solitude.
Still...
He forced himself to keep shouting.
"One day..."
"...those Demon Hunters sleeping safely tonight..."
"...will weep bitter tears."
"They will believe themselves cursed..."
"...for not dying here with us."
He crossed the magnificent sanctuary.
Ahead stood the Gate of Heaven.
Angels and demons alike had been carved into the colossal stone doors.
Together they wept.
Perhaps in pity.
Perhaps in mockery.
The trembling grew stronger.
Beyond those gates, countless demons crawled across ancient stone walls.
At any moment...
They would burst free.
He had never stood closer to fear.
Nor had courage and fury ever burned brighter within him.
Humanity exists because mankind can restrain itself.
Restrain greed.
Restrain envy.
Restrain fear.
"We are enough."
"One more soul would only steal the glory that belongs to us."
A deafening crash shook the cathedral.
Something colossal slammed against the Gate of Heaven.
Dust poured from the ceiling.
Cracks spread across the sacred stone.
047 raised his Nail Sword.
And marched forward.
He was the Firebearer of the Eternal Night.
The one who carried a torch through absolute despair, carving a path toward hope.
He burned himself away...
And with him...
All darkness.
"DEFEND HEAVEN!"
His roar echoed through the immense cathedral.
Lonely.
Like the cry of a wandering ghost.
For one fleeting instant, overwhelming sorrow seized his heart.
So in the end...
Was he truly the only fool willing to die?
Then countless voices answered him.
The sorrow ignited into blazing wrath.
"DEFEND HEAVEN!"
The Demon Hunters roared as one.
The Gate of Heaven shattered.
The carved faces of angels and demons exploded into countless fragments.
Twisted monstrosities crawled from the darkness beyond, carrying the stench of death and meaningless wails.
Then white fire erupted across black divine armor.
The Demon Hunters stood together.
Like the rain of holy fire descending from the Gospel itself.
Only a handful.
Yet they advanced with the fury of ten thousand.
Year 924 of the Ingelvig Calendar.
On the Night of the Holy Advent, the catastrophe within the Stillness Sanctuary began.
The Metatron Demon Hunters met the demonic horde at the Gate of Heaven before the corruption could escape, holding shut the gates of Hell with their lives.
When the battle finally ended, every Demon Hunter who had entered the Sanctuary had fallen amidst its endless slaughter.
And with them...
The history of the Old Order came to its final end.