The holy angel plummeted from the heavens above. The edges of its wounds glowed with burning white radiance, and as the flames surged, its grotesque body crumbled into drifting ash. Yet some remnants had not been consumed. Blood poured from the sky in a torrential downpour, filling the bottom of the well.
Beneath this painstakingly replicated Ascension Well, everything was finally prepared. All that remained was to use this vast quantity of Grail Blood in place of the Secret Blood and carry out the ascension of the soul.
"Thank you, 042."
The old man spoke in a low voice. At the same time, the alchemical matrices etched into the walls of the well and across the old man's body began releasing a rhythmic radiance. The Grail Blood ceased evaporating at that moment and was drawn into the old man's body. Scorching flames erupted across his aged flesh.
He burned like a living sun, like daylight itself had descended into the world.
There seemed to be some strange magic within those flames. 042 watched in silence, and suddenly, inexplicably, he no longer felt anything resembling fear.
Broken corpses continued to fall from above. The Demon Hunters collapsed into the blood pool, while the Silver-Binding Spikes embedded within the gaps of their wounds were still melting away.
They were dead too. Just as expected. Humanity found it exceedingly difficult to contend with these mysterious Silent Ones. Yet there was no fear upon the faces of the dead. They wore the same expression as 042—a strange longing, almost an anticipation for something beyond death.
This was a crude ascension. The old man had never undergone the [Divine Grace Baptism], nor had a Silver-Binding Spike been implanted within him. In fact, his original body had already been pushed to the brink of collapse beneath this immense corruption. But for the sake of reaching that beautiful age, the will of a mortal had seized control of everything.
And this was also a great ascension.
The perfect vessel was right before his eyes.
A strange power roared through his veins. The crude Ascension Well began its final work. Beneath the dazzling radiance, the Grail Blood once again boiled into crimson steam, drawn by an invisible force and poured into the old man's body. Then, within his murky eyes, burning white flames ignited.
Pressure and corruption, the effects brought by the contamination, were like thousands upon thousands of blades repeatedly carving into the old man's will. His will was shattered, only to be forcibly gathered back together by his own determination, and the process continued.
"So this is what it means to be a Demon Hunter?"
The old man was almost intoxicated by this magnificent power. He had only just touched its threshold, yet the ecstasy it brought was already enough to make him understand the difference between a Demon Hunter and an ordinary mortal.
Perhaps… perhaps with this kind of power, he really could reach that beautiful age.
The Grail Blood gradually consumed every part of his body. Once the process was complete, he would be able to activate his Authority.
But power never descended without a price.
It was becoming increasingly clear that the old man's body had already begun to mutate. Abnormal layers of hardened matter sprouted from his bones, while beneath his pallid skin, blue veins bulged like a nest of writhing serpents.
It was almost time.
The old man had to seize that brief interval between obtaining the power and being completely transformed. Within that fleeting moment, he would take possession of 042's body.
Only then would this be considered a success.
His gaze fell upon 042.
042 knew he was going to die, yet he still summoned his courage and stood within the blood pool.
This time, he was willing to believe the old man.
He was willing to believe in that beautiful age.
The old man smiled in satisfaction. Then he slowly reached out, attempting to touch 042's head.
And in that very instant, a piercing buzz split the air.
A slender silver spike shot through the old man's arm and pinned him to the bottom of the well.
Time seemed to slow.
Shattered flesh. Blood spraying in every direction. The old man's bewildered gaze. And 042, thrown backward again and again by the impact.
As 042 crashed into the blood pool, his eyes swept across his surroundings.
He saw the grotesque beings gathered above the mouth of the well.
The battle had reached its end at some point.
The Demon Hunters of Shandarfon had ultimately failed to withstand the assault of the Silent Ones. Countless nail-swords pierced through those angel-like bodies like spears, pinning them against the walls of the well.
But the Demon Hunters they had killed were pinned there as well.
Flesh covered the walls. Different kinds of blood mingled together and poured down into the depths of the well.
"My lord!"
011's roar echoed through the walls of the well.
He was the last surviving Demon Hunter.
He was straddling a Silent One, its razor-sharp wings buried deep within his flesh, while his own nail-sword had pierced straight through the creature's heart.
Yet even that was not enough to kill it.
After such a prolonged battle and the repeated exertion of his Authority, 011 was already utterly exhausted. The Silent Ones seized upon that moment of weakness and finally found an opening in his defenses.
Gritting his teeth, he twisted the nail-sword with all his remaining strength, trying to tear the Silent One's body apart.
But he had almost no strength left.
In the end, his blows were no more powerful than the feeble pounding of a child.
The old man stared blankly at the scene.
He did not act immediately. Instead, he lifted his gaze toward the walls of the well.
Amid the endless mass of flesh, black arcs of lightning still pulsed faintly. They tugged at blood and bone, drawing them together.
A new Silent One was about to emerge from that sinister light.
No.
It was not being born.
It was returning.
All this time, the Demon Hunters had never truly killed the Silent Ones. They had destroyed nothing more than their shells.
The will beneath those shells had never been destroyed.
The light of death circled above his head.
The old man stared upward, his eyes vacant.
Then he burst into laughter.
"To oppose the unknown, one must be willing to pay the cost of trial and error."
As he spoke, he violently tore at his own arm, ripping the entire limb from his body.
With his remaining hand, he seized the long spike that had pinned him down.
Power erupted within his body.
The strange spiral spike flew from his grasp like a spear, hurtling toward the descending Silent One above.
The spike tore through the air and pierced the Silent One's skull.
Its ruined shell began to collapse.
With nothing left to support him, 011 fell into the blood pool. Afterward, he struggled to his feet.
"My lord?"
011 raised his head.
Then black arcs of lightning flashed before his eyes.
A surge of black electricity erupted between him and the old man. Everything touched by the arcs was annihilated instantly, while the collapsing matter was drawn together by an invisible force, converging upon a central point and forming the shape of an angel.
Blood streamed from the corners of 011's eyes.
He was too exhausted. He could barely maintain the manifestation of his Authority any longer, and because of that, he failed to notice the Silent One that had suddenly appeared.
Authority: Shandarfon.
This was the final moment.
As long as the ascension succeeded, there was still hope.
011's eyes burned with fury as he pushed his Authority to its absolute limit. Even the Silver-Binding Spike within his body began to melt beneath the overwhelming strain.
He had to glimpse a single moment of hope within the future where his death was certain.
He had to find a path to survival within this hopeless abyss.
011 tightened his grip around the nail-sword.
He had never felt such fury.
Nor had he ever felt such joy.
As long as he succeeded, then the deaths of everyone would have meaning.
But suddenly, he froze.
He stood there in a daze, while chaotic images flickered within his blazing white gaze, as though he had witnessed something unbearably tragic.
Blood flowed down his face like tears.
"Why?"
He stared at the old man beyond the black arcs of lightning.
But no one could answer him.
Beneath the black arcs, the hated body of the Silent One began to take shape. At the same time, violent pain erupted throughout the old man's body.
He seemed unable to believe what was happening.
Then he questioned himself.
"Am I… going to die?"
Half of his body had already been annihilated.
The instant the black arcs erupted, the old man had been standing within their reach. It was as though an impossibly sharp blade had sliced through his body. The severed flesh was unnaturally smooth, leaving his blood vessels, bones, and steaming organs completely exposed.
For an instant, it seemed as though everything was slipping away from him.
The beautiful thing he had held so tightly had grown vicious thorns, piercing through his palms as it struggled to escape his grasp.
Perhaps because death was so near, every sound suddenly became crystal clear.
The buzzing crackle of the lightning.
The sound of blood flowing.
The grotesque noises of flesh weaving itself together.
"So… I failed?"
The old man asked himself.
"Yes. You failed."
He answered his own question.
He had failed.
Within the black arcs, a sharp spike pierced through the old man's chest.
The Silent One had not yet fully formed. It had only constructed a head and a pair of arms. Its entire torso was still nothing more than a crimson spine.
And yet, even in such an incomplete state, it unleashed a desperate, fatal blow, determined to kill the old man completely.
The old man lowered his head.
The surface of the now-still blood pool reflected his battered face.
The sensation was strange.
He could not quite put it into words.
He had failed, yet instead of sorrow, he felt a lightness he had never known before.
It turned out that, somewhere along the way, the "Golden Age" had become a curse to him.
He had given everything to pursue it.
But when he finally understood that he had failed, there was no grief.
Instead, he felt as though he had finally escaped from a cage.
He was free.
Everything suddenly seemed beautiful.
And if that was the case, then perhaps death was not frightening either.
It was like lying upon a soft mattress, surrendering to a dream from which one would never awaken.
A beautiful dream…
"Lloyd Medici!"
A sudden roar jolted the old man awake.
042 had crawled out of the blood pool. He seemed to have choked on the Grail Blood, and he looked utterly miserable.
Terrible corruption ravaged his body, and his consciousness was on the verge of descending into madness.
But 042 knew he could not collapse yet.
He stretched out his hand toward the old man.
As long as he could take possession of his own body…
As long as Lloyd Medici could survive…
As long as—
The old man struggled to open his eyes.
He looked at 042 in confusion and slowly raised his arm, only to discover that it had already mutated into something hideous.
Without realizing it, the old man had become something akin to a demon.
Of course.
He was only a mortal.
After enduring the corruption of both the Silent One and the Grail Blood, the fact that he had survived this long was already a miracle.
He stared at 042 approaching him.
His consciousness began to dissolve into chaos.
Who am I again?
What was I supposed to do?
The demon looked around.
It seemed to have completely forgotten why it was here.
Then, from the deepest recesses of its being, an immense hunger and desire surged forth.
It needed blood.
It needed pain.
It needed slaughter.
It…
"Lloyd Medici!"
Another voice rang out.
011 had finally managed to pierce the Silent One through the heart. With the last of his strength, he hacked off its head.
011 was dying too.
More arcs of lightning erupted along the walls of the well.
He no longer had the strength to continue fighting.
"I am…"
The demon muttered to itself.
Then, as though it had suddenly remembered some terrible truth, its chaotic vision cleared.
A bloodstained smile stretched across its hateful face.
For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though countless enormous hands were dragging the demon away, pulling it back into that ideal prison and fastening heavy shackles around it once more.
"I am… Lloyd…"
"Lloyd Medici."
The demon roared and tore the spike from its chest.
At that moment, 042 arrived before it.
All the demon needed to do was lower its hand.
Take possession of 042's body.
And this nightmare would finally end.
042 stared at it with anticipation.
But the monstrous arm never descended.
"I… can no longer see those things."
"What?"
042 did not understand.
As long as the demon occupied his body, everything would finally be over.
The demon would be eradicated.
Humanity would enter the Golden Age.
So many people had already died for this.
And yet, at this final moment, the demon hesitated.
It shook its head.
Then, in the next instant, a phantom flashed before 042.
Something sliced across his throat.
Amid the pain, 042 stared blankly at what had happened.
Blood gushed from the wound.
The scar connected with the entire alchemical matrix.
Then brilliant light once again illuminated the walls of the well.
The still blood pool began to boil.
Power was engraved deep within 042's soul, ascending the mediocre substance of his existence.
The demon bent down and embraced 042, whispering into his ear.
"Run. Go to the Seven Hills. Go to the Grand Cathedral of San Naro. I have a gift waiting for you there."
"Lloyd Medici…"
042 repeated the name.
"You are my continuation."
The demon pushed 042 away, urging him to leave.
The boy moved forward on stiff, trembling legs.
He already understood what the demon intended to do.
He also knew what would happen next.
Blood-red steam followed close behind him as he slowly reached the edge of the well wall.
There were stairs leading upward.
Lloyd Medici was already dead.
He had died the moment that spike fell.
Everything that remained was nothing more than the Grail Blood forcibly extending his life.
And the price was his aged body being transformed into a demon, corrupted into that loathsome creature.
His free will had been imprisoned as well.
There would never be a chance for it to escape again.
The demon smiled as it watched the boy leave.
As 042 began to run, countless arcs of lightning erupted once more.
But this time, they were joined by the flames burning along the walls of the well.
"Someone must survive."
"Someone must live to see the Golden Age."
The demon whispered to itself.
The Demon Hunters pinned against the walls slowly opened their eyes once more.
Their bodies began to mutate.
The Silver-Binding Spikes overheated and melted away, while grotesque power was poured into their barely surviving bodies.
The demons roared and threw themselves into battle against the Silent Ones that had reappeared.
And the boy kept climbing upward without once looking back.
Fresh air flooded into his lungs and nostrils.
He stumbled and collapsed onto the ground.
When he finally struggled back to his feet, he suddenly realized that night had already fallen.
In the direction he knew so well, an endless sea of flames had set the night sky ablaze.
It looked like a long, unending nightmare.
On this night, the Great Divine had descended upon the world.