The sealed carriage was thick with viscous flesh and blood. They stretched and intertwined into a web-like structure, like the nest of some colossal spider.
Bailao was trapped in a corner. He lay curled up like an infant, layers of sanguine webs coiling tightly around his body. Thin strands of living flesh had even crept into his mouth and nostrils.
He, too, had sunk into that endless dream.
Then, within the darkness of the carriage, a beam of light suddenly flared to life. A figure stepped forward, swinging a folding knife, slicing through the layers of blood-webs. When she looked at the sleeping Bailao, she seemed momentarily surprised that this man could possess such a childlike posture. A soft, mocking chuckle escaped her lips. She took out an injector and drove it hard into his neck.
Minutes passed as the drug took effect, and Bailao slowly emerged from the depths of the dream.
"Looks like you slept well."
Blue Emerald stood over him, the lamp mounted on her iron helmet blazing in the pitch-black carriage. The light was so harsh that Bailao had to avert his eyes.
"What… happened?"
"According to the Abnormality Protocols of the Purification Authority, we can preliminarily conclude that we just experienced a large-scale mental anomaly."
She searched her memory for the precise terminology. The Purification Authority—an organization that relied on technology to combat demons—believed in stripping the mysterious of its mystique, then exploiting what was known. As a result, nearly every demonic phenomenon had been categorized, named, and analyzed.
Compared to the Demon-Hunting Orders that insisted on tying everything back to gods and religion, the Authority's rationality was almost frightening.
They were, quite simply, fanatical materialists.
"So… it was a dream?"
Recalling how real it had all felt, a chill crept down Bailao's spine. Without Blue Emerald, he might never have awakened at all.
"Yes. You know my evaluation scores—my willpower is unusually high. I was the first to wake. To pull you out faster, I injected you with Florend Serum. It temporarily increases resistance to corruption."
Her calmness was unsettling. She tossed Bailao a gun, then swept the lamp around the carriage. Blood and flesh were everywhere.
"We've already entered End Town."
"End Town?"
Bailao found that hard to believe. According to the map, the train should have only just reached the outer boundary.
"Clearly, this town doesn't conform to our usual understanding of one. It's more accurate to call it a mental anomaly zone. All of this is likely demonic byproduct. For all we know, the moment we open that door, we'll be greeted by hundreds of demons."
At such a moment, Blue Emerald was actually joking.
Bailao didn't find it funny at all.
He raised the communicator. All he heard was chaotic static. Every channel was silent—as if they had been completely cut off from the world.
"What a disastrous start."
After several minutes of monitoring, the communicator remained a dead sea. Bailao slumped against the wall, forcing out a bitter smile.
They hadn't even seen the so-called Sacred Coffin yet, and the delaying force had already been devastated. Taking a breath, Bailao straightened himself and turned toward the weapon rack, beginning to arm himself.
"So… are we going to our deaths now?" Blue Emerald asked.
She watched him load up, weapons hanging all over him as if he intended to fight a hundred enemies alone.
"More or less. You can stay behind, though."
As he spoke, Bailao fed bullets into the weapon. They were special rounds from the Mechanical Institute—expensive, but highly effective against demons. Normally, each person was allotted only a small number. In this widespread mental anomaly, however, only Bailao could still use them properly.
"Blue Emerald, you don't need to come die with me. Stay here and try to wake the others. If you manage to gather enough strength, maybe you can come save me."
He spoke lightly, as if he had already come to terms with it.
"Why?" she asked. "Trying to paint yourself as a noble sacrifice?"
She wasn't moved in the slightest. Instead, like an older sister who saw straight through him, she smiled knowingly.
"No. First, someone really does need to stay behind and wake the others. Second—unlike me—you're someone with a wish. Haven't you always wanted a good life?"
That light above her helmet was blinding as she spoke.
"This is your chance. If you survive this mission, Arthur might even approve your resignation. You could go find some unlucky bastard and live in comfort for the rest of your life."
"Is this you giving last rites?" Bailao asked.
The mood had turned unbearably heavy, like a funeral—one where the deceased was still walking toward his grave, offering final farewells.
"Something like that. I don't want to die either. But I'm the commander. Some things have to be done by someone. So it might as well be me."
"Sigh… If you'd said you were dying for me, I might've been tempted."
Under the harsh light, Blue Emerald wore a sly smile—one Bailao couldn't see.
"Huh?"
His face flushed. The carefully built atmosphere of heroic self-sacrifice collapsed instantly.
"Relax. Just a joke," she said. "Whether we're dying or not—we should worry about getting out of here first."
She turned her gaze toward the opposite side. The beam illuminated the carriage door.
"Compared to dying, I think we don't even have a chance to escape."
Fleshy growths had wrapped themselves around the machinery. The door was sealed tight. No matter how hard she pushed, even prying at it with the folding knife, it wouldn't budge.
"What's going on…?"
It was over. Completely over. He had finally managed to look heroic in front of a woman—only for it all to fall apart because the door wouldn't open.
"It's this damn flesh."
The blade cut into it, but after barely sinking in, it refused to go any deeper. Worse still, the flesh slowly regenerated. Slowly—but fast enough to stop them.
That was precisely why anti-demon weapons were plated with holy silver. Only then could demonic vitality be restrained, even slightly.
"What about the thermite rifle?" Bailao said, pulling one from the rack. The igniter flared, a small flame dancing in the darkness.
"You planning to weld the door shut?" Blue Emerald asked.
For the first time, she wondered if Bailao was slightly unhinged.
A thermite rifle could melt the door—but once it cooled, the metal would fuse solidly together. Worse, it consumed vast amounts of oxygen. They might suffocate before the door ever opened.
"Damn it! So I can't even die properly?"
Bailao slammed into the door in frustration. With all his strength, he forced the knife into a crack, prying it open just enough to create a tiny gap.
Behind it—more flesh.
The armored carriage had been reinforced to withstand demonic assault. Now, it had become their tomb.
"We need to get out," Blue Emerald said, sitting down as she regulated her breathing. "We don't have much time."
For reasons unknown, the Radiance had completely shut down. The oxygen in the sealed carriage was steadily diminishing.
What a cursed beginning.
Bailao rummaged through the weapons again. Everything the Mechanical Institute had supplied was designed for massive destruction. Using any of it here would kill them long before any demon arrived—torn apart by ricocheting shrapnel.
"The pressure is rising," Blue Emerald said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling.
Then she looked at Bailao, her gaze grim.
"We're still inside a massive contamination source. If we keep delaying, we'll be fully corrupted sooner or later."
A contamination source.
Bailao remembered. As consciousness faded, Lloyd's voice had come through the communicator—the Radiance was entering an enormous contamination zone, so intense that the Geiger counter shattered the moment it detected it.
He reached for the counter hanging from his shoulder strap.
Just as Lloyd had said—the needle was already spinning wildly, twitching in chaos.
"Looks like there's only one path left."
Bailao turned toward the darkness at the far end of the carriage. This unit had been manufactured by the Berhans Armory. The layers of armor weren't meant to protect those inside—but to seal off what lay beyond.
Hidden there was a weapon from the Industrial District.
The mission's trump card.
As commander, Bailao knew exactly what it was.
And he knew the price of using it.
"Let's go, Blue Emerald," he said, pushing aside scattered debris. Beneath it lay a small door, locked under layer upon layer of restraints—like something demonic imprisoned behind it.