It felt as though the world had been stripped of all light. Her vision drowned beneath a suffocating blackness. Eve walked through the dark corridor, holding onto the hope that light would eventually return—just as Lloyd had once told her: those who linger too long in the abyss might greet the coming of light not with relief…but with a hysterical madness.
Lloyd and Eve were now deep underground. Ever since the Gut-Gnaw Grass had escaped its restraints, the two had not dared stop—not until they reached this place.
Even the famed detective had no idea where they were. Silence and darkness devoured every direction, offering no sense of orientation. Yet the madness-inducing sounds continued to echo relentlessly.
They came from beyond the walls—unnatural, unspeakable noises that scraped the spine like fear incarnate. It sounded like a thousand steel needles dragging across stone…or countless serpents slithering and rolling their scales against the walls with a chilling rustle.
"It's the Gut-Gnaw Grass," Lloyd's voice emerged from the dark, though Eve could see nothing of him. "A mass of flesh and tendrils—calling it 'grass' is merely a comparison to plants. In truth, it is a demon. And now…it's free."
Eve hated that she couldn't see him. The invisible presence of a companion in a place like this felt disturbingly unreliable.
"What do we do now?"
"Up. We climb. We must find a way out—otherwise the Gut-Gnaw Grass will strip us clean to the bone."
A sudden hand reached through the darkness and seized Eve's wrist—it was Lloyd. Another cigarette sparked to life, a dim ember confirming his position beside her.
The corridors branched endlessly upward, making the direction simple to judge. Yet the deeper they went, the more the passage quaked violently. They had felt this earlier in the great hall—somebody must be bombarding the underground temple.
"Is…is someone trying to rescue us?"
In this nightmare, Eve had forgotten entirely that Lloyd had once used her as a disposable pawn. All she wanted now was to escape with her life.
"Unlikely. As far as I know, Suyalan Hall doesn't possess artillery of that scale. And tonight…the only ones who know we're here are the Suyalan Hall officials. Heavy weaponry would require authorization from the military—there's no way it could arrive so quickly."
Dust showered from the walls, layer after layer. It felt as though the entire structure might collapse at any second.
"Unless…there's another faction involved…"
Suddenly, the entire situation snapped into clarity. Lloyd pushed forward with renewed urgency, desperate to locate an exit.
Tonight had nothing to do with him. This was a clash between Sabo and another power entirely. The demons here had never been meant for Lloyd or Eve—they were prepared for those attacking this place. The detective and the girl were merely lost lambs caught between wolves.
"Do you smell something?"
Eve sniffed, and her expression shifted.
Lloyd removed the cigarette—its scent had been masking the truth. The darkness trembled as he drew a deep breath. A few seconds of silence stretched thin…and then:
"One good news. One bad news."
Before she could ask, he pulled Eve into a sprint—ignoring the Gut-Gnaw Grass's screeches behind them. They ran as though racing toward death itself.
"The good news: a much more professional group has arrived. They know fire-oil can seal off the underground temple. Demons fear flames—the fire will weaken them significantly!"
His voice thundered down the corridor.
"The bad news: we're still in here. They'll burn us alive too!"
Smoke thickened in the air—so dense it was already suffocating even at this depth. One could only imagine the inferno raging above.
"So do we still go up?!"
Panic cracked Eve's voice. Upward lay the firestorm. Downward was only a slower death.
"Down! A place this deep—and filled with so many captives—must have its own waste-discharge system. We need to find it!"
Lloyd's response came instantly. He had prepared for every possible contingency before stepping into this accursed place.
"The old Dunling underground drainage feeds the entire steam system. It reaches every corner of the city. Tremendous pressure from the steam engines below sends vapor upward, while rainwater returns downward…and everything eventually flows back into the Thames."
He knew Dunling like the map of his own mind.
"This place must connect to a sewage passage—if we find it, we follow it straight to the Thames!"
When it came to survival, this detective was terrifyingly dependable. He dropped his facade entirely, raising his cane-sword and cleaving through the iron door ahead. After so much running—this was the first door he'd seen. Whatever lay beyond, it was their only choice.
The gate burst apart. Smoke billowed into the corridor. Heat slammed into them the instant they stepped forward.
This seemed to be beneath the great hall. Firelight flickered in the distance…and rushed closer with alarming speed.
It burned as it moved—wailing like a creature drowning in flame. Tendrils scraped the walls with that familiar serpentine rasp.
"I'm guessing that would be the Gut-Gnaw Grass's parasitic demon."
Lloyd's face hardened. Just like flowers in nature, the Gut-Gnaw Grass offered shelter to demons. In turn, its seeds clung to demonic hosts—and sprouted into metallic crimson vines across their grotesque bodies.
He raised his shotgun—and fired without hesitation. The blast tore flesh into scarlet spray. But from the wounds erupted even more tendrils, driven by agony and their ravenous hunger for living meat.
"Run! If you see anything like a water channel—hold your breath and jump!"
He didn't step back—his voice was cold, crisp, commanding.
"What about you?"
The thought terrified Eve. Was he choosing to fight alone?
"RUN! You'll only get in the way if you stay!"
The demon lunged with monstrous speed.
Lloyd shoved her—hard. She stumbled, caught herself, and looked back at the silhouette bathed in firelight. Something inside her steeled—she ran with all her strength, shouting:
"I'll be waiting for you!"
Under any other circumstance, those words might have moved Lloyd to tears. But not now—not with death at his heels.
Hunting demons had always been a perilous profession. Their mere existence eroded the mind. To battle them face-to-face—to be drenched in their blood—was to stare into madness itself.
Even Lloyd could not promise that he would remain sane under such circumstances. That was why Eve had to leave. And of course, there were other reasons—things that absolutely must remain hidden from anyone.
He raised the sharp cane-sword just as the fiend lunged toward him. In that instant, the detective's figure twisted unnaturally—no human body should be able to bend like that—yet he did. He slipped through a blind spot beneath the monster's massive form, exerting strength at the perfect moment, cutting his own flesh on the blade as blood flew in a crimson arc.
The abomination shrieked, a hoarse and malformed sound. Its tentacles writhed awake like a pit of serpents, surging toward Lloyd in a frenzy of hunger. What met them, however, was a streak of pale lightning.
Lloyd leaned on his cane-sword. A faint white vapor rose from beneath his torn clothes—like steam from a boiling kettle.
His gray-blue eyes narrowed, pupils contracting into predatory slits. Beneath the fabric, something writhed along his spine—only visible as a shifting bulge. Slowly, he raised his sword, tip poised downward. He stood at the very edge of sanity.
The next second, the monster roared and charged. Its appendages lashed like jagged blades, each tiny mouth upon them eager to tear and devour. But the descending swordlight fell like a thunderbolt—like a guillotine that severs all things.
His body rolled and spun, impossibly agile. Once he entered that strange state, his physical abilities surged—faster steps, swifter strikes. A simple leap was enough for him to vault over the towering creature entirely.
Then the shotgun roared from above—its pellets tearing open a bowl-sized crater in the monster's head. Lloyd discarded the gun the next moment, letting it clatter uselessly away.
Death came quickly—mere seconds. Lloyd remained airborne, feet stomping against the wall for leverage, both hands gripping the sword as he plunged downward—ferocious as lightning falling from the heavens.
A blade of judgment—fire cast upon a demon.
The cane-sword drove through the opening blasted in the skull, nailing the monster's brain. But then the stomach-leeches found him. Countless biting maws latched onto his flesh, a ravenous swarm like wolves at a carcass. At the pace he had seen them feed before… ten seconds, perhaps less, and nothing would remain of him but bones. Even escape would mean his body overtaken by parasitic growth—death inevitable.
Blood surged hot and relentless. This should have been the end. He should have been stripped to alabaster bone atop a dying beast.
But none of that happened.
Lloyd was foul to their taste—at least to the stomach-leeches. Their mouthparts pierced his skin and greedily drank his blood… until the monster realized something was terribly wrong.
The blood was vile—revolting. And worse, the scent rising from Lloyd was their own kind's scent. In those brief moments… the human had become monster.
Confusion flickered through its dim mind—then agony drowned everything.
Blood-red tendrils wrapped him tight—but in the cracks between them, white fire surged forth, consuming every inch of the fiend.
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
Within that holy blaze, Lloyd's expression twisted—half delirium, half wrath. His blood was burning—like a volatile reagent. Harmless when spilled into open air, but the instant it touched demonic flesh… it became a wildfire.
He clung to his sword, forcing blood along the blade's grooves deep into the creature. The flames erupted fiercer, devouring its flesh and boiling its corrupt veins to ash—yet leaving Lloyd untouched.
The massive body thrashed wildly, trying to shake him off. But the detective clung on, a nail hammered through its skull. More leeches rose—but each wave only fueled a greater inferno.
The rampaging crash lasted long—like a beast's final death struggle—until at last, the monster stilled.
It was dead.
Holy white fire burned through its carcass, leaving only smoldering remains and scattered ashes within a hollowed shell. Lloyd stayed there motionless for a long moment before he finally pushed himself upright with the cane-sword. His face was pale—legs trembling beneath him.
He had always prepared meticulously before facing fiends. But life in Old Dunlinn had lulled him into forgetting who he once was. He believed the monsters gone. Yet tonight… they had come for him again.
His blood had burned the beast alive—and yet he too was fading, consciousness dimming from the massive blood loss. He recovered the fallen shotgun and used his sword as a cane, staggering forward step by step.
His hand brushed along his spine. At the base of it, beneath skin and cloth, was a hard protrusion—anything but normal.
"The Argent Shackle… still intact…"
A long breath escaped him—uncertain whether it was relief or dread.
But the moment he dared loosen his guard, instinct screamed out—a primal alarm rising from his core.
From ahead.
From the direction Eve had fled.