In his eyes burned the purest white flame—warm, and searing with pain.
A forgotten story surfaced in his mind, crackling with thunder and storm.
He remembered the Vikings never planned to take him to Englwig at all. They only wanted their coin. He had struggled on their ship for so long, yet in the end, they cast him into the sea. He once believed he would die there—cold and silent beneath the waves.
But when he opened his eyes again upon the shore, the soil of Englwig lay beneath his feet.
That was the moment his dream became real.
When he woke upon that beach, the sunlight before him was just as warm—just as painfully bright.
…
Sparks flared—blinding against the dark cavern.
Lloyd's sword-staff had pierced halfway through Sabo's chest. Just a little deeper, and he could drive the blade into the monster's heart. Yet in that final instant, Sabo raised his weapons—four arms clamping down from different angles—locking the sword in place. Lloyd could only ignite the flesh around Sabo's chest… unable to scorch the organs within.
"Mr. Holmes… so you devoured the Forbidden Blood just to kill men like me?"
Sabo stared into Lloyd's face—feral, distorted. Black tattoos twisted across his skin like serpents slithering beneath the flesh. His grey-blue eyes shimmered with a cold brilliance.
"To fight demons… are you willing to become one yourself?"
Sabo's smile was crooked—almost pitiful.
Then with a violent heave, his four arms flung Lloyd away. Hooked limbs scraped rapidly across the cavern wall as Sabo dove into the shadows. Lloyd landed upon a wooden pillar, gripping sword and gun tightly.
"Tell me, Mr. Holmes—will the day come when you kill yourself as well?"
His voice echoed with mocking laughter, bouncing between hollow stone. Lloyd could not locate its source.
"A doctor gave me this blood," Lloyd muttered. "He said it was technology from the Order."
The plague doctor's silhouette flickered in his thoughts—eccentric, frightening—just like the mysterious mentor who came before.
"The Order was the first to fight against demons," Sabo's voice sneered from the dark.
"They swung weapons of sacred silver in holy pursuit, slaughtering monsters in the night. Even in death, they would plunge their blades into the creature's blackened heart. Such noble believers… I could almost weep…"
A razor-sharp bone blade shot toward him from the shadows. Lloyd struck it aside with ease, scanning the darkness—alert, breathing slow.
"So what is it then, Sabo? The Forbidden Blood is long gone. Just who was that doctor!?"
This time, anger laced Lloyd's voice—rare, raw.
Humans are greedy.
Fishermen hunted whales to harvest oil for light… and the Order extracted from demons a substance that should never have existed—
the root of all sin.
Those who fought monsters inevitably became monsters.
"That was the Order's mistake!" Sabo bellowed. "Power no human should wield!"
"Oh? And yet you believe you can wield it?"
His shriek cut through the cavern. A jagged sword plunged from above, splintering the pillar as Lloyd leapt away. Water roared, spraying upward—only to be blasted apart as gunfire burst through the veil, bullets tearing into Sabo.
Blinding white fire illuminated the dark—both a weapon and a revelation—exposing the twisted creature's form.
Sabo lunged through the water curtain, body fully corrupted.
Wood splintered beneath his charging steps. Steel clashed with bone and iron—each strike a starburst in night's abyss.
"You know nothing of what you tamper with! Pandora's box holds nothing but calamity!"
Between sword swings, Lloyd fired again—scattershot erupting. In midair, he twisted unnaturally, dropping his blade in a downward arc. A blazing stroke split across Sabo's abdomen—shearing flesh and cracking bone—leaving a gaping wound.
"And yet," Lloyd answered, breath steady, "is there not a thread of hope buried in calamity?"
Sabo's voice gurgled, blood spilling. His blade slashed down—carving Lloyd's chest open. Blood flew. A brutal exchange—wounds for wounds—driven by a feverish hunger to kill.
More gunfire thundered. The distance stretched between them again—just enough to breathe.
"Mr. Holmes… I thought you would understand."
Slimy, wounded hands brushed across Sabo's torn abdomen—yet no organs remained, only writhing meat. The flesh pulsed, healing—or worse—growing wild, unrestrained.
He stared at Lloyd with a mournful expression—distorted voice trembling.
"Since the day I was born… I had nothing. A fugitive with no past, no future. No one loved me. No gods spared me a glance.
All I have… is whatever I can seize in this moment."
Blood filled the cracks of his crushed eye—red tears leaking like sorrow itself.
"So tell me, for someone with nothing… does it matter what lies inside that damned box?"
A demon questioned a slayer—darkness against fire.
Silence followed. Then—
"It doesn't matter at all, Mr. Holmes."
Something cracked. A sickening sound—bone splitting. New blades burst from his chest—slick with blood and mucus.
"Endless calamity… a sliver of hope… It's like a traveler freezing to death—only to see a sea of flames ahead.
Even if those flames devour him…
is it not worth it, for one last moment of warmth?"
The words coiled like curses—whispering doubt into even the strongest will.
"None of it matters anymore… right?"
He laughed—a broken, bitter sound.
Lloyd stared across the flames, an unreadable chill on his face… and perhaps, just a subtle curve of the lips.
"Yes. For those with nothing left to lose… nothing matters anymore."
Justice or sin—hope or despair—
only the survivor earns the right to decide.
No more words were needed.
Lightning and steel clashed as one.
Four blades slashed toward him. Lloyd's sword-staff parried—seeking an opening. His blood drenched Sabo's skin—and the moment it touched, the white flames roared to life.
Under that blazing corona, the two figures tore at each other like moths hurling themselves into an eternal fire.
Bone blades came crashing down with savage force—yet Lloyd caught one in his bare hand. His grip tightened, veins bulging, and with a fierce pull he wrenched the blade upward. His staff-sword cleaved through it in the same heartbeat, snapping that iron-hard bone. But the second blade fell immediately after, carving bleeding furrows across his body.
Lloyd did not flinch. The pitch-black markings across his skin pulsed with heat, a disturbing transformation unraveling within him. Sabo's ankle suddenly lifted—and a brutal kick hammered into Lloyd's chest. His body was hurled backward, and before he could even touch the ground, another bone blade shot forth like a spear, impaling his shoulder and nailing him to the cavern wall.
In that instant Sabo lunged again, his two bone blades crossing like a descending guillotine.
A shrieking roar echoed through the suffocating dark. Sabo's face—no longer recognizable as human—pressed close to Lloyd's. The staff-sword snapped under the strike, and the remaining blades drove in like giant nails, crucifying him against stone.
"So we're the same after all… Mr. Holmes."
The final blade descended like a ritual execution, piercing Lloyd's chest and ripping downward. The wound was ghastly—yet beneath torn flesh gleamed silver bone. Blood soaked its surface, but in the flickering firelight one could see holy script etched upon the metal. The flesh writhed, wounded and healing all at once.
"You're a fugitive from death too. Otherwise—why drink the Sacred Blood?"
It was that cursed blood shielding him. Lloyd despised it—yet it was becoming him. Sabo's laughter burst forth, triumphant and wild. In the end, Lloyd was just another monster like him.
"There is always a reason."
Lloyd's voice remained cold as winter stone—untouched by agony or fear.
Sabo hesitated… then, as if desperate to shatter that calm, he drove the blade down once more.
The sword tip widened in Lloyd's pupils—aimed straight for his heart. Demon or man, beast or other… the mortal vessel all shares these fatal points: the heart and the brain.
Lloyd tried to raise his shotgun, but the bone blades pinned his joints in place. He still pulled the trigger—though the shot could not halt the demon's strength.
The blade struck home—piercing his heart.
Pain burst—and then faded. His vision hazed as Sabo leaned close, whispering with a rasp that scraped the soul:
"Then what's your reason for swallowing Sacred Blood?"
A tide of ancient memories surged through Lloyd like a drowning sea.
He had spoken defiance aloud—yet faced with death, he finally questioned himself. Sabo sought life. Purely, desperately. To live was the only thing he possessed—his sole treasure. And for Lloyd…?
Demonic corruption gnawed his nerves. Countless unseen wretches shrieked at his ears. Phantom pain tore his flesh as maggots devoured him to bone.
His mind unraveled—until clarity burst like lightning.
He remembered.
Six years in Old Dunlin. Not long, not short. Long enough to build a new life… long enough to forget the old.
Yes. He remembered.
[Sacred Blood Awakening: 9.7%. Stability threshold exceeded. Silver Bindings melting.]
Frost flooded his gaze, and beneath it a fury brewed—poised to break its cage.
The endless wails vanished. The maggots turned to ash within cleansing flame.
Muscle tore from bone with a sickening grind as Lloyd forced himself free of the impaling blade. Blood and fire rained down as he seized Sabo's sword in his own hand—crushing its advance.
"To live."
His snarl twisted into a feral grin. Then, ripping himself from the wall, he broke free of the bone stakes. His body split—then regenerated. Corrupted power surged through his blood, warping and strengthening, turning him into a monster no different from Sabo.
"Only… I live for someone else, Sabo."
The heat in his gray-blue eyes burned brighter, the black markings expanding like living armor. Layer upon layer of sacred plating burst from beneath his skin—a divine iron carapace clinking with the harsh rasp of steel wings unfurling.
Like the wings of an angel.
[Sacred Blood Awakening: 9.9%. Stability threshold exceeded. Silver Bindings melting.]
[Attempting connection: Sanctuary of Stasis…]
[Connection failed.]
Voices rose around him—prayers whispered by unseen congregations.
Sabo had never believed in gods. Even when he joined the Gospel Church, it was only for the free holy meals on Sundays. Yet here, buried beneath the earth where no light dared reach—he witnessed a miracle.
Steel was reborn. The broken staff-sword grew anew, metal blooming like living flame—becoming the very sword described in the Gospel, the blazing blade that guards the gates of Heaven.
The Sword of Heavenly Fire descended into the mortal realm—
and all evil would burn.