"Time flies…"
Lloyd wandered through the streets of Old Dunling. He had only been away for a few days, yet the city already seemed transformed.
Lanterns and candlelight glowed along every road. Decorations had spread from storefronts to streetlamps, weaving through the city like ribbons of warmth. Everywhere he turned, cheerful songs drifted through the air, mingling with the laughter of children. For once, the cold and unforgiving city felt strangely alive.
"What are you standing around for, Lloyd?"
Redhawk strode past him and glanced at the hunter who had stopped in the middle of the street.
"Nothing," Lloyd replied. "Just feeling a little sentimental. Hard to believe I've already spent seven years in Old Dunling."
His gaze wandered around before he asked,
"Where did everyone else go?"
Only Redhawk remained beside him. The others had vanished almost the moment they stepped off the train.
"They all went home, obviously. Robin's family are believers. Never seen a proper Gospel Church priest in their lives, but they take Nativity Day seriously. He had to get back early."
Redhawk glanced sideways at Lloyd.
Robin had once held Lloyd in genuine admiration. Men like him—properly ordained, respectable priests—were rare these days.
Then Lloyd's numerous misdeeds had taught him a valuable lesson.
The title of priest came with a lot less quality control than one might expect.
"Joey lives farther away. He's probably still on the road. As for Sapphire…" Redhawk shrugged. "No idea. All I know is she lives alone."
Lloyd's expression immediately became suspicious.
"Wait. Since when is being concerned about coworkers a crime?"
"That's not concern anymore—that's practically a background investigation!"
They traded insults for a moment before settling back into silence.
Standing amid the bustling street, Lloyd asked,
"What about you, Redhawk? Where are you heading?"
"Home." Redhawk blinked. "Where else would I go?"
The question struck Lloyd harder than expected.
Only after hearing the answer did he realize what felt wrong.
A laugh escaped him.
"Back when I was scraping by in the Lower District, I never really had a home. Good thing the Purification Bureau assigned housing."
"Assigned housing?"
"Like an employee dormitory."
"That sounds miserable."
"The room is bigger than yours."
"Never mind. That sounds fine."
Their conversation drifted aimlessly from topic to topic. Neither left. They stood there as though waiting for a carriage that would never arrive.
Redhawk's eyes wandered over the crowd.
A young boy emerged from a nearby shop carrying a gift. A girl rushed forward to meet him. The two embraced before disappearing together into the sea of people.
"Jealous?" Lloyd asked at exactly the wrong moment.
"Tch."
Redhawk made his position abundantly clear.
Unfortunately, Lloyd had no intention of stopping.
He stared toward the spot where the couple had vanished.
"It's wonderful, isn't it?" he said, waggling his eyebrows.
"Sweet. Free. And completely idiotic. It's just our brains dumping chemicals into our skulls so we miserable bastards will keep reproducing."
Redhawk rolled his eyes.
"Lloyd, unlike you, I still believe in sacred love."
He pointed accusingly at the detective.
"You, on the other hand, should marry a weapon. Arthur can officiate the ceremony. He gives his blessing, and then you happily slaughter all the guests."
"Why would I kill the guests?"
Of all things, that was the detail Lloyd chose to focus on.
"Because who besides demons would attend that cursed wedding?!"
Redhawk practically howled.
A cursed man.
A cursed conversation.
After some time passed, Redhawk stepped into a shop and returned carrying a pack of cigarettes.
Without explanation, he tossed it toward Lloyd.
Lloyd caught it, visibly surprised.
"You've been missing these," Redhawk said. "Not the same as the garbage you make yourself, but it should satisfy the craving."
He pointed toward Lloyd's hands.
"You keep reaching for empty air. It looks incredibly stupid. Joey and I even made a bet on whether you'd keep doing it on the train."
"And?"
"The cigarettes were paid for by Joey."
For a moment, silence lingered between them.
Then both men burst out laughing.
Eventually, Redhawk decided he had waited long enough.
He slapped Lloyd on the shoulder and turned toward the crowd.
"Get home, Lloyd."
His voice drifted away with the evening wind.
"Happy Nativity Day."
Moments later, he was gone.
Yet Lloyd remained where he stood.
He pulled a cigarette from the pack and stuck it between his lips before realizing he had no lighter. With a sigh, he tucked it away again.
Suddenly, he had no idea what to do.
Standing in one forgotten corner of the enormous city, Lloyd Holmes found himself completely lost.
It was true.
Everyone was a real person, not a prop in someone else's story.
After work, people went home.
Robin had a family waiting for him.
Joey had a long road ahead.
Even Lloyd himself, after a satisfying day of chopping demons into pieces, would eventually crawl back to Cork Street and collapse onto his bed.
Yet ever since his return from death—or perhaps because of it—something had changed.
His emotions had begun overwhelming his reason.
Little by little, he had started becoming human again.
That should have been a good thing.
Lloyd was still human.
No matter how deeply the Secret Blood had corrupted him, no matter that Watson dwelled within him, he remained human.
But humanity came at a cost.
It made him weaker.
He could feel fear.
He could feel mercy.
And worst of all, he could suffer countless worries that had never existed before.
With a long sigh, Lloyd stepped into the crowd.
For a brief moment, he looked no different from anyone else.
Perhaps that was the cruel thing about people.
You forge your will into iron.
You carry your purpose like a blade.
But the moment you lower it, even for an instant, emptiness rushes in.
An abyss opens beneath your feet.
As though life itself has suddenly lost direction.
Lloyd was precisely that sort of man.
His existence had always been fueled by anger.
On days when there were no demons to kill, he simply became a door-kicking detective and found other people to hit instead.
One way or another, Lloyd Holmes could never stop moving.
He had to do something.
Anything.
Otherwise he would no longer feel alive.
Like a machine prone to rust, the moment it stopped turning, death would quietly begin its work.
The thought unexpectedly reminded him of Watson and Medanzo.
Ever since his resurrection, Watson had vanished completely.
The troublesome spirit that normally haunted every corner of his life had disappeared as though she had gone on holiday.
Worse still, Lloyd had no way to find her.
A strange loneliness settled over him.
Demon hunters did not belong among ordinary people.
Nor did they live ordinary lives.
Festivals like this one—filled with family reunions and warm lights—had never truly been meant for them.
At this point, Lloyd was so bored he almost wanted to have a conversation with a devil.
Unfortunately, even the devils seemed busy.
Then again, perhaps devils had corporations of their own.
Maybe they were spending the holiday filing annual reports, boasting about how many unfortunate souls they had collected this year.
When viewed that way, being a devil sounded exhausting.
The thought amused him.
Lloyd chuckled to himself.
It was something he did often—laughing at thoughts nobody else could hear, leaving strangers thoroughly confused.
Occupational hazard.
A man who spent every day hacking apart monsters eventually needed some method of entertaining himself.
And so, almost without realizing it, he arrived at the end of the road.
The sign above the doorway read:
121A Cork Street.
Cheap decorations covered the entrance from top to bottom. They were gaudy, mismatched, and undoubtedly inexpensive.
Yet through the windows spilled warm golden light.
The place looked impossibly welcoming.
Lloyd had spent so many nights away recently that even this familiar sight felt oddly foreign.
His hand settled upon the doorknob.
Slowly, he turned it.
There was nothing special about tonight.
He had celebrated this holiday many times before.
This year should have been no different.
The only change was himself.
A practiced smile appeared on his face.
Every possible conversation with Mrs. Van Rude had already been rehearsed countless times during the walk home.
Everything was under control.
Everything was exactly as planned.
Confident, Lloyd pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Then he froze.
A heartbeat later, the detective released a scream that shook the entire house.
"Sweet Mother of God!"