"The fiends… though we have battled them across ages uncounted, we still know nothing certain. What are they? From where did they crawl into our world? What purpose do they hunger for?"
His voice sank lower, like a secret dragging itself out of the grave.
"Perhaps someone once knew… but those few carried their knowledge into the earth, sealed beneath silence. That is all I can tell you. Yet every thing must bear a name—even a foul abomination. So the saints borrowed from ancient myths, naming them after the enemies of the gods."
As Lloyd murmured the ancient truth, merely hearing it pressed upon the girl's chest like a weight she did not choose to bear.
Eve forced her breath steady, silent, listening—yet refusing to speak.
She understood—these were forbidden matters, and in her current state, her mind could not afford to crack any further.
"Is… that the exit?"
In the heart of despair, the faint glow ahead grew brighter. Eve staggered forward, dazed, her exhausted body grasping at hope.
As if life had returned to her limbs, she broke into a desperate run. The light felt like salvation—freedom from these twisted horrors, a chance for the nightmare to finally end.
But just as she was only steps away, Lloyd tackled her to the ground. Her cry choked beneath his hand.
"Don't make a sound. Something's wrong."
His whisper was razor-thin, yet colder than steel. The excitement in his eyes was dominated—caged—by brutal discipline.
Pinned tight, Eve could only listen as his voice hardened.
"When faced with madness, your only weapon is reason. Absolute reason. Do you understand?"
He had been here before—too many times. After drowning in darkness, people always lost themselves at the first touch of light… like those who lived underground for years, stepping into daylight and rushing to embrace the sun, only to burn blind in its fury.
Sometimes, the light waiting beyond the dark wasn't salvation… but a greater monster.
Under Lloyd's restraint, they crept forward. She finally saw what he feared existed beyond the glow—
There was no doorway.
Only a colossal pit.
The passage beneath their feet clung precariously above the abyss, a narrow staircase spiraling downward along its inner wall.
Eve had believed that lavish ballroom was the grandest space buried beneath the mansion. She had been wrong.
This… was the true heart of the catacombs.
Harsh white radiance poured from above—some kind of powerful electric lights—so fierce that even a glance upward brought stabbing pain to their eyes.
The pit plunged tens of meters deep, lit too bright, too clean. Torches lined the walls redundantly, their flames meaningless beside the cruel glow.
Far below, a red mist swirled, thick enough to swallow sight—nothing but a vague, pulsing crimson.
"A sacrificial chamber," Lloyd murmured. Experience sharpened his wariness, even through the veil of fog.
"So… in Florence, your work was to fight… those things?"
Even speaking of the fiends, Eve flinched. One encounter had already carved terror into her bones.
"Yes… though not completely. We hunt them before the transformation is complete. While they remain men—still killable by steel and bullets."
Like poor Wol. So long as the corruption wasn't finished, the victim remained human—fragile, mortal.
But once the metamorphosis completed… human weapons meant nothing.
"That's why a priest knows swordsmanship?"
Eve blinked. His life suddenly seemed absurdly legendary.
"Bolognese swordsmanship. Mandatory for every Templar knight. And becoming a priest is merely the first step to becoming one."
His tone was plain—but the identity beneath it was not.
Eve recalled how people described Templars: knights blessed by God, noble souls in shining armor, wielders of sacred flame who safeguarded peace and order.
She found it difficult to reconcile that image with him—this foul-mouthed, sharp-tongued man. Yet curiosity still pushed.
"That must be a noble position. Why come all the way to Englewig as a detective?"
Even diminished, the Holy Eclessia still revered its Templars. In the eyes of the faithful, those guardians of the Seven-Hilled City were angels wearing human shapes.
Lloyd shrugged.
"Simple. I had no purpose anymore. Or… to put it bluntly, I was unemployed."
He hesitated, then exhaled, letting the past escape like a reluctant ghost.
"The fiends were exterminated long ago. There was no place left for me there. And—believe it or not—I, Lloyd Holmes… had a dream."
He actually laughed.
"To be a detective?"
What a ridiculous hero's journey.
He nodded fiercely.
"Florence is no place for living men. Unlike Old Dunning—vibrant, open—that city is a dying saint, strangled by faith and rules."
The memories wouldn't stop now.
"The Seven-Hilled City is worse. Only the most devout are permitted to enter. They claim fiends cannot set foot there. Truth is, the Templar Crusade is stationed around it—Englewig would need days to breach its walls."
A reeking stench wafted upward. Something fell from above.
A black shape plummeted, smashing violently against the staircase.
A corpse.
It split on impact—dark blood oozing out like a final accusation.
Lloyd kept talking, striding toward it with cold annoyance.
"If I ever go back, I'd pour cow dung over every street in that sacred city… You know their believers? They celebrate dying there. You could spill a bucket of water and wash over three buried cardinals beneath the pavement."
He kicked the corpse—hard—sending it tumbling into the abyss.
His voice lowered to a growl:
"But that's a story for another time. Right now I intend to learn why the fiends—long extinct—still breathe."
The body crashed into the pit's floor. The impact scattered the red mist—and what lurked beneath the veil finally revealed its face.
"A sacrifice… Someone is feeding these things."
His tone was colder than death.
Tonight was no accident.
This was a conspiracy, plotted in darkness.
And at its center lay the so-called Holy Coffin—a relic entwined with the fiends themselves.
This was only the tip of an iceberg submerged in hell.
Eve leaned over the edge—then gagged.
Horror crawled up from her stomach, wrenching her forward.
The ground below was carpeted with bones and raw flesh—just like the blood tide that hunted them earlier.
On that rancid mass of meat squirmed fine, crimson filaments.
When the corpse landed, the flesh responded—the fibers coiling like living silk, winding layer upon layer around the body.
Soft chewing noises rose.
Within mere breaths, nothing remained but stripped white bones.
"It's Mawroot—an abomination that mimics a plant. It barely moves, but don't let that deceive you. Its danger lies in its predatory nature. Once those fur-like tendrils seize you, they pierce through flesh and feast upon your body."
Lloyd stood at the edge of the stairwell. Being forced to return to old habits… truly a wretched feeling.
"Be cautious. This thing can't move on its own. But life evolves for the sake of hunting—so it will develop symbiotic partners to aid it. Creatures that can move. They hunt, while Mawroot's lethal nature shelters them in return."
Eve struggled to gather what courage she could. Fear coiled in her chest, but as Lloyd said—if she wished to live, she had to force herself to remain strong.
"What do we do… now?"
Looking down, there seemed no path forward. The only option was to retreat the way they came.
Lloyd didn't answer. He only observed the terrain below. A creeping sense of dread rose inside Eve; she asked in a trembling whisper:
"You're not… thinking of killing it, are you?"
She was terrified—this thing was called a demon for a reason. A single glance had nearly crushed her with a spiritual terror unlike anything she'd known. Attacking it head-on? Even if she found the courage to swing a blade… would blades or bullets even work against something so grotesque and warped?
An entire pit, carpeted in blood-red demon-grass.
"Most demons share certain traits—you should know this. They loathe light… and fear fire and silver."
Centuries of knowledge, passed down by the Church of the Gospel—Lloyd knew them all by heart. But so what? They had neither fire nor silver—only a few torches struggling to illuminate the dark.
"Eve… this thing has been penned in. Look at the pit's edges. It churns and boils, yet never spills over. Records say a single Mawroot once devoured an entire town. The Church contained it by burning the whole settlement to ash."
"You mean… something is restraining its movement?"
Eve finally caught on. The detective's insight was frighteningly sharp. If it were up to her alone, she would think of nothing but escape.
"Yes. And I think… I finally understand what will unfold tonight."
Fragmented clues clicked into place inside Lloyd's mind. Every detail from this cursed night aligned at last.
"Sabo is planning a calculated assault—one aimed at all of Old Dunling."
Lloyd's expression darkened. How many people lived here? One million? Two? Given enough flesh, Mawroot would overrun the entire city. It was only a matter of time.
"That's why he said no one would survive tonight. Once these things break loose—it won't just be the catacombs. The whole lower district will fall."
Sabo's chilling words echoed. Every death, every step taken tonight—all under the guidance of that mysterious 'mentor'. The Holy Coffin was the key. Every corpse had contact with it.
A realization struck Lloyd.
The Holy Coffin had been here.
Sabo eliminated every trace connected to it. And now he would destroy this place as well—simply because the Coffin had once passed through.
"Berau… just what in the hell have you been transporting?"
Lloyd whispered to himself. If he survived this night—he would demand answers from Berau. Serious ones.
Then, within the unnatural silence… another sound emerged. Metal scraping metal, gears dragging against rusted chains. Piercing. Harsh.
Eve looked upward. The once-blinding lights above had dimmed enough for her eyes to finally adjust.
At the top of the pit was a funnel-shaped iron lattice. Rows of daylight lamps lined the ceiling. Though the light had weakened, she could now make out a massive, twisting shadow above it—countless hands writhing at its edges, as though a hundred bodies had melded into pitch-black horror.
Suddenly, droplets fell from the darkness above, splashing onto Eve's face—warm.
She wiped it instinctively… and stared at the red smeared across her palm.
"I think… I know what that is," Lloyd murmured beside her.
"That is the shackle restraining the demon."
The dense array of daylight lamps—its radiant cage—had been suppressing the Mawroot. But with the lights dying and the iron net coming loose… the truth became horribly clear.
Corpses. Too many to count.
The one that fell earlier had only been the beginning. Now they were all tumbling down into the pit.
The last light flickered out.
Darkness swallowed the world.
Their breathing grew shallow… until a chorus of wet, ravenous chewing filled the void. For the demon below, this was a banquet beyond imagination.
"What… what's happening?" Eve choked out.
No answer came. Lloyd simply took her hand and guided her toward the passage behind them. Because he understood perfectly.
This was feeding.
Once the Mawroot fed, it would expand—rapidly. And with its restraints now gone…
The true "no survivors" was only beginning.
Just as Sabo promised.