The air screamed with the shrill cry of steel cleaving through the wind, as though countless needles were driving into Lloyd's ears. Even the Pope's simplest swing carried crushing force. The pressure weighed upon Lloyd's chest until every breath became a struggle.
His vision vanished beneath a surging sea of Purifying Flame. White fire roared toward him like a tidal wave, and for one fleeting moment his thoughts went utterly blank. He had only just uncovered the dreadful truth hidden within the Gap, only to be met with the Pope's devastating assault.
Yet even that was overshadowed by something far more impossible.
He knew those eyes.
He could never mistake them.
Behind the iron mask, blazing irises burned only inches away.
A Demon Hunter.
The new Pope... was a Demon Hunter.
Seni Lothaire was a Demon Hunter.
How was that possible?
Lloyd knew better than anyone how suspicious the Gospel Church had always been of Demon Hunters. Lawrence had reached his former station only through what could only be called a miracle. So how had this man ascended to the Holy See? What had happened within the Church after the Night of Divine Descent?
Questions flooded his mind.
None would be answered.
Almost by instinct, Lloyd raised the rusted Nail Sword before him. Bathed in those sacred flames, he found himself incapable of even entertaining the thought of resistance. He could only retreat desperately—yet the pursuing blade still carved into him.
Fire erupted across the weathered sword. The boiling flames seared deep into Lloyd—or rather, the Gravekeeper's—body, tearing open a hideous wound. Flesh blackened beneath unbearable heat. Strangely, little blood flowed from the burn.
He staggered backward.
Perhaps because he was merely occupying this body, controlling it felt agonizingly unnatural. His consciousness and the Gravekeeper's flesh refused to synchronize.
But the Pope granted him no time to recover.
The blade swept forward once more, dragging a hurricane behind it. Crimson-white fire rolled across the flower field, scattering countless petals through blinding radiance before the Nail Sword descended again.
No one would ever witness this duel.
It unfolded in silence...
...within the cemetery of the Demon Hunters.
Lloyd threw himself sideways. As death drew nearer, his consciousness slowly gained firmer control over the Gravekeeper's body.
Yet something else awakened alongside it.
Memories.
Fragments.
Voices.
GET OUT! GET OUT!
Someone screamed beside his ear with desperate madness, pouring every ounce of hatred into those words.
The Gravekeeper was crying.
Howling.
His remaining consciousness, cornered by extinction, had begun its final counterattack.
His memories.
His voice.
His instincts.
His very existence crashed against Lloyd's invading mind, desperately trying to drive the intruder from his own body.
Lloyd's thoughts descended into chaos.
Before him waited the Pope's fatal sword.
Within his mind raged endless curses and violent resistance.
So this...
This is what Lawrence endured every single day?
Such forbidden, unnatural power.
Every gift demanded a price.
Lloyd could scarcely imagine how Lawrence had ever mastered it.
He abandoned the thought of fighting altogether and stumbled into a frantic run. The Gravekeeper's interference distorted his vision until the endless white flowers split into overlapping phantoms, as though he had been drowned in hallucinogens.
Then, without warning, he swung.
The battered Nail Sword was chipped from countless battles, worn by years of neglect, as though no hand had cared for it since some forgotten war.
Yet it was the only weapon he possessed.
The Gravekeeper was no Demon Hunter.
This was nothing more than an ordinary human body...
...standing against an unknown Pope forged of iron.
His blade moved almost on instinct, intercepting the strike from behind.
The instant steel collided, overwhelming force exploded through the hilt.
His entire arm went numb.
Only by clenching his teeth did Lloyd keep hold of the weapon—
—and then came the sound of breaking metal.
The ancient Nail Sword shattered.
The impact hurled him across the flower field, plowing through the blossoms for several meters before he finally came to rest. Damp earth overturned beneath him as he lay there, battered and bleeding.
The new Pope did not pursue.
Holding his burning Nail Sword, the masked pontiff remained motionless.
He hesitated.
There was something... strange.
The thing before him differed from the creatures he had encountered before.
It was...
Weak.
Awkward.
Clumsy.
Though their exchange had lasted only seconds, the Pope sensed the truth.
It fought like a child taking its first steps.
As though it had only just inherited this power and had no idea how to wield it.
The feeling unsettled him.
Yet caution outweighed curiosity.
He would not lower his guard.
He would spare none.
Slowly, he advanced.
"Be quiet!"
Lloyd's furious shout shattered the silence.
Supporting himself with the broken blade, he forced himself upright while roaring at the resisting consciousness within.
The Gravekeeper clawed wildly at his invading mind.
Lloyd answered with merciless brutality.
He tore the lingering consciousness apart piece by piece.
Blood streamed from the corners of his eyes as dreadful corruption poured through his will, devouring every trace of resistance until the desperate cries weakened...
...and finally disappeared.
At last Lloyd stood once more.
Faced with death, he had successfully crushed the frail consciousness beneath his own.
His hand brushed through the flowers.
Another Nail Sword lay hidden there.
Still rusted.
Still ancient.
But whole.
He lifted it into the same stance as the new Pope.
Every Demon Hunter knew this posture.
The opening form of the Bologna Sword Style.
He inhaled deeply, forcing the agony and exhaustion back beneath his heartbeat.
The Pope had been right.
Lloyd truly was a child taking his first steps.
He knew almost nothing about using the Gap.
Everything was trial.
Everything was instinct.
Oddly enough...
He found himself missing Watson.
For all her unknowable malice, the mysterious devil had never truly deceived him. She had only ever offered choices.
It was Lloyd himself who had walked willingly toward damnation.
Reliable, in her own twisted way.
If he were shameless enough to kneel and kiss her feet now, perhaps the False Holy Grail within him might grant enough strength to bring down this new Pope outright.
Of course, she would never answer.
Whatever Watson truly was, she was undoubtedly plotting something far beyond his understanding.
And besides...
Lloyd still possessed something as inconvenient as pride.
Kissing someone's feet?
Never.
Crushed beneath overwhelming pressure, his thoughts wandered further and further.
The Gravekeeper's mortal body trembled beneath the weight of his soul.
Yet somehow...
It remained standing.
Lloyd tightened his grip upon the Nail Sword and leveled it toward the Pope.
A strange thought entered his mind.
What happens if I die here?
He was nothing but a wandering spirit now.
Ordinary steel shouldn't be capable of killing something like him...
Should it?
But what if it could?
What if his consciousness vanished completely?
Would his true body aboard the Black Angel simply become an empty shell... lying forever like a living corpse?
There was no teacher to answer him.
No guide.
Only endless experimentation.
Across the flower field, the Pope watched as the Gravekeeper unexpectedly smiled.
Blood spilled from his lips.
He wiped the crimson from his eyes.
His fighting spirit blazed brighter than before.
Or perhaps...
Death was merely another way home.
Lloyd suddenly realized how recklessly he had embarked upon this journey. He had absolutely no idea how to return to the Black Angel. If memory served him correctly, Old Dunling lay unimaginably far from the Seven Hills.
Still...
There would be opportunities to test that theory.
Provided he survived long enough.
Or rather—
Until the Pope's sword finally cut him down.
Before that moment came, Lloyd intended to learn everything he could.
The new Pope's authority.
His power.
His identity.
A Demon Hunter.
One whose allegiance was unknown.
One who might already have been corrupted beyond salvation.
Perhaps...
The entire Gospel Church had already become nothing more than a magnificent lie.
"Come on."
Lloyd grinned.
"Show me."
The new Pope offered neither reply nor unnecessary movement.
Today's intruder puzzled him.
The others had always been silent.
They never answered.
They merely carried out their assassinations.
"...You are different."
"Of course I am."
Lloyd was speaking of the False Holy Grail.
Even now, he had no idea what the relic was truly capable of.
Another mystery.
Another unanswered question.
Their conversation ended there.
The instant Lloyd's words faded, the Pope moved.
His white robes erupted into blazing fire.
Like a bolt of pure white lightning, he crossed the distance in an instant.
The pressure that followed was like an entire mountain crashing down.
Though their battle had only begun moments ago, Lloyd could already tell—
This man was younger than Lawrence.
Stronger than Lawrence.
Not merely in body...
But in desire.
Human beings burned according to the intensity of their desires.
The greater the longing...
The brighter the flame.
This man's soul blazed like the sun itself.
Without hesitation, Lloyd ducked beneath the sweeping strike.
The blade screamed past overhead, filling his ears with an unbearable metallic shriek.
He could never block that attack.
Not with the Gravekeeper's mortal flesh.
Had he tried to meet it head-on again, it would not merely have shattered another sword.
It would have split apart his bones.
His flesh.
His entire body.
The Pope's follow-up arrived almost instantly.
A Demon Hunter's reflexes far surpassed those of any ordinary human.
Lloyd could do nothing except search desperately for a single opening within that relentless storm of death.
Escape had already become impossible.
The Gravekeeper's body was his greatest weakness.
Even if Lloyd wounded the Pope countless times, the Secret Blood would heal every injury.
But Lloyd...
Needed only a single mistake.
One clean strike...
...and this fragile human body would perish.
He still didn't know what would happen to his wandering soul afterward.
Before learning the answer—
He would first uncover the Pope's true authority.
Instead of retreating, the mortal body lunged forward.
Charging directly into certain death.
The Nail Sword thrust straight ahead.
A technique every Demon Hunter knew.
The Pope recognized it instantly.
If ignored, the thrust would pierce clean through his guard and into his heart.
Against ordinary men...
It was a killing blow.
But he was no ordinary man.
Secret Blood flowed through his veins.
He had no reason to evade.
His own sword descended.
The Gravekeeper's body split open.
From shoulder to waist.
One arm flew free.
Blood drenched his robes and stained the endless white blossoms crimson.
The agony crashed directly into Lloyd's consciousness.
He felt every wound as though it were his own.
Yet he had once been a Demon Hunter.
Pain no longer ruled him.
His thrust never wavered.
The Nail Sword continued forward.
Like the powerless punch of a child.
Even if it struck...
It could accomplish nothing.
Meanwhile, the Pope's blade had already risen once more.
White fire surged upward, carrying flower petals into the sky where they burned into drifting ash.
This strike came diagonally.
From above.
It would remove the Gravekeeper's head.
Perhaps split him entirely in two.
Lloyd smiled.
He didn't care.
He had already come close enough.
Suddenly...
His control over the body collapsed.
Synchronization failed.
Like a machine whose systems shut down one after another, the Gravekeeper's flesh ceased responding.
At the same time, a ghostly silhouette peeled away from the ruined corpse like a departing soul.
The Pope could see it.
The distorted spirit.
Blurred.
Twisted.
Impossible to define.
Like some nameless horror that had wandered out of a forgotten black fairy tale.
Lloyd remained astonishingly calm.
Or perhaps...
He had been insane for so long that madness itself now resembled sanity.
This journey home had brought him far too many surprises.
Too many to process.
There was no longer time to consider consequences.
So he embraced the most reckless decision imaginable.
Why not seize the Pope's body instead?
His spectral form burst free from the flesh.
At such close range, there was nowhere for the Pope to escape.
Lloyd reached out.
His hand touched the Pope...
...and passed effortlessly through him.
Had he succeeded?
There was no time to think.
The Pope's body dissolved into the air like the fading glow of a dying sunset.
Like molten wax.
Like petals vanishing into light.
Then—
"I've caught you."
The voice was cold.
Lloyd spun around.
The iron mask filled his vision.
Within its endless darkness burned blazing fire.
The flames seemed to pierce through dimensions themselves, scorching his very soul.
Amid unbearable agony...
Within that boundless white radiance...
He saw something.
His strength vanished in an instant.
His eyes lost focus.
Slowly, the new Pope extended his hand.
He knew ordinary steel could never kill a will.
But...
A weaker will could always be replaced...
...by a stronger one.
Then hell unfolded before Lloyd's eyes.
A realm of writhing chaos and impossible madness.
A living nightmare...
...where twisted illusions feasted upon lost souls.