This was a nightmare without end.
No matter which door he forced open, beyond it lay yet another corridor—stretching endlessly forward, with no terminus, no promise of escape.
The two of them were trapped within a colossal labyrinth, left with no choice but to charge blindly through its veins, hoping—desperately—to find a path that led out.
The secret blood surged and boiled within him.
Yet Lloyd did not unleash its full force.
This moment was unlike any before. Cradled in his arms was Celyu—her body nearly robbed of all strength, barely capable of movement.
Even after years of slaughter against demons, humanity's understanding of them remained pitifully shallow—no more than a fragile grasp at the surface of something far deeper and more terrible.
Within the records of the Demon-Hunting Order, demons possessed no fixed form. Their appearances were grotesquely varied, though most commonly they emerged in twisted, distorted humanoid shapes—the kind most frequently encountered by hunters.
But there were others.
Creatures far removed from any human resemblance—each with its own alien nature and ability.
Like the plant-like Mawgrass.
Or the thing Lloyd now faced—
The Phantasm of the Nightmare.
Strictly speaking, it was less a creature and more an anomaly.
Any human caught within its domain would be eroded—drawn into hallucinations, dragged into sleep, and ultimately transformed within their dreams into something no longer human.
The demon that birthed this phenomenon was known as the Dreamweaver.
Only by killing it could this grotesque illusion be brought to an end.
"There are no hounds. No curses."
Lloyd's voice was low, resolute.
"This is nothing but a demon at work."
Ordinary people would never grasp the existence of such things. Like ignorant devotees, they would attribute every "abnormality" to unseen gods—or to curses whispered in fear.
Celyu let out a faint, meaningless sound.
Her arms clung loosely around Lloyd's neck, her breathing shallow and uneven.
He could feel the warmth of her breath against his jaw.
She curled into him like a small animal—fragile, instinctively seeking warmth.
It was like finding a stray cat in the middle of a snowstorm.
Except—
Neither of them had a home to return to.
And they might very well die here, within this false and treacherous illusion.
There was no comfort in it.
Only suffocating anxiety—and a rising, burning anger.
Though he was a demon hunter, there were creatures he had rarely encountered.
The Dreamweaver was one of them.
His knowledge of it came only from the Order's archives—and from a single past mission in Ender Town. Back then, he had merely fallen into a dream, awakening without lingering distortion.
But now—
The illusion had crossed the boundary of dreams.
It had seeped into reality.
This… had never been recorded.
To Lloyd, it was something entirely unknown.
And dangerously so.
Yet even this was not the worst of it.
With his strength, the illusion alone could not kill him.
At worst, he would be trapped—unable to find a way out.
But the erosion here was constant.
Relentless.
A hunter with secret blood might endure it—
But Celyu could not.
Once the Florend Elixir wore off, she would be in mortal danger.
"Stay awake, Celyu! Don't fall asleep!"
He shook her hard.
"I only had one dose of that damned potion!"
Her eyes fluttered, half-lidded, on the edge of unconsciousness.
A desperate situation.
He ran—carrying her—through a path with no end.
And suddenly, a thought surfaced in his mind.
The so-called world after death.
Was it like this as well?
No matter which direction one chose—there was no end.
Only eternal wandering.
Endless struggle.
No rest.
No release.
A quiet, bitter realization.
Celyu let out a weak, pained whimper.
She was reaching her limit.
Then—
A bark.
Sharp. Sudden.
At the far end of the corridor, a pair of crimson eyes fixed upon him.
Footsteps approached from the darkness.
A hound emerged.
Its presence carried something deeply wrong. Something ominous.
"The Hound of the Baskervilles…"
Lloyd murmured the cursed name, tightening his grip on the sword.
But it did not attack.
It simply watched.
Then—
Noise.
Something was coming.
Voices. Footsteps. Urgent, chaotic.
Like a storm of crows descending upon the world.
The sound grew louder—swelling into a shrill, overwhelming tide.
Barking.
Countless hounds.
Their voices merged into a roaring ocean.
Every door in the endless corridor burst open at once.
Footsteps thundered.
From every direction, the hounds came—pouring out in waves.
There was no escape.
Forward or back—it made no difference.
Only the hounds.
Lloyd tightened his hold on the girl as his thoughts raced.
This… was not how the Nightmare Phantasm was supposed to behave.
The dream had ended—
Yet the hallucination remained.
Or—
Had he never left the dream at all?
His grip tightened around the knight's sword.
Within the Order, he had trained for this.
If one could recognize a dream—
Escaping it was simple.
Kill yourself.
Yet he hesitated.
Was this truly a dream?
What was real?
What was illusion?
He remembered the hallucinations after leaving the Perpetual Pump—
The way his mind had fractured despite no direct corruption.
Reality itself had become unreliable.
If this was still a dream, then death would wake him.
But if it wasn't—
If this was hallucination within reality—
Then that same act would doom him.
Or…
A dream within a dream?
Cold seeped into his bones.
No—
Something was wrong.
Celyu had fallen into the dream.
He had not.
Unless—
Lloyd looked down at the girl in his arms.
What if this had been a dream from the very beginning?
From the very first moment—
From their very first exchange—
He had already been trapped.
Then everything here…
Was false.
But the girl in his arms—
Was she real?
Or not?
Doubt crept in.
Reality and illusion twisted together into something indistinguishable.
"Then think differently, Lloyd."
He muttered to himself, as if the words alone could anchor his mind.
"You can figure this out."
The hounds were closing in.
Time was running out.
If this was not a dream—
Then this was hallucination within reality.
Hallucinations could distort perception—
But not matter itself.
Which meant—
This corridor was not truly endless.
Its end existed.
He simply could not perceive it.
Perhaps—
He had been running in place this entire time.
"Celyu… whether we live or die—this decides it."
No answer.
Her forehead burned with fever.
The hounds were upon him.
Hundreds of them.
Hungry.
Lloyd could incinerate them with rising Cleansing Flame—
But then he would lose the ability to protect her.
So—
He made a choice.
"I'll kill you."
He glared at the red-eyed hound in the distance.
And in the next instant—
He leapt.
Through the window.
Shattered glass fractured the world into countless pieces.
Below them—
An endless abyss.
Gravity seized them, dragging them downward—
Falling, plunging, toward an unreachable bottom—
Until—
Steel struck.
The knight's sword drove deep into solid ground.
The vibration surged through his arm.
He knew.
He had guessed correctly.
Not a dream.
A hallucination within reality.
Everything he saw—
Was deception of perception.
Not alteration of the world.
The abyss had never been real.
Only a painted illusion.
But to leap into it—
That required something else entirely.
When he raised his head—
He stood in a street.
Lamps flickered to life, their glow diffusing through a rising mist.
Above, airships drifted like whales through the night sky, releasing slow breaths of steam.
Faint silhouettes moved in the cold streets—
Unaware of him.
Behind him stood Stuart's manor.
One window shattered.
That was where he had leapt.
No battle.
No clash.
Just a single decision—
Made in an instant.
Then—
The aftershock.
If he had been wrong—
If he had chosen to kill himself—
He exhaled heavily.
And beneath that breath—
A deeper unease emerged.
Doubt.
Not of the world—
But of himself.
In that moment of hesitation—
He had questioned everything.
Reality.
Judgment.
Even the girl in his arms.
And that—
Was the most terrifying thing of all.
Because doubt fractures the dam that holds back fear.
And once cracked—
It becomes a fatal weakness.
"I am…"
He repeated the words, again and again.
Like an incantation.
A beacon.
A lighthouse in falsehood.
"I am Lloyd."
"Lloyd Holmes."
Again.
And again.
Until something reignited behind his ash-blue eyes—
A burning clarity.
"Lloyd…?"
Celyu lifted her head weakly, her gaze soft as water.
"Celyu… do you remember what you were doing the first time I saw you?"
She blinked, confused.
And then—
Lloyd smiled.
Shaking his head.
"What an exquisite design…"
He looked down at the sword embedded in the ground.
Its blade reflected his face—
And behind him—
Another figure.
Medanzo.
So similar to Lloyd.
Smiling.
As though summoned by that repeated incantation.
"So this isn't a dream… or a hallucination. Is it?"
He asked.
The reflection nodded.
Their faces overlapped—
Perfectly aligned.
As if they were one.
Then—
The world collapsed.
A force born of the False Holy Grail shattered everything.
Snow swept across existence—
And Celyu vanished from his arms.
He stood upon a frozen wasteland.
A man sat upon a bench, watching him—
But before he could speak—
The sea surged.
The ice shattered.
And Lloyd was swallowed whole.
As the deep, distant song of whales echoed through the abyss—
The Gap that had been eroding him—Collapsed.