They came like a sea of enemies—rows without end—bearing fangs and claws, rising from the deepest darkness with ill omens clinging to them.
Ed stood upon the high ground like a god made manifest, purifying flame roaring across his body.
The sigils of alchemy were named after the angels recorded in the Gospels. Different inscriptions, when paired with secret blood, produced vastly different effects. The power born from the union of alchemy and secret blood was called by alchemists a single word:
Authority.
What Ed wielded was the authority granted by the Sigil of Michael—the ultimate conflagration, the burning angel that reduced all things to ash.
As Ed burned, the entire world grew restless. From stiffened flesh the demons surged forth, hoarse with hunger, craving blood and meat. They crashed toward Lloyd like a rising tide, sweeping onward toward the Radiant Dawn far in the distance.
They must have been the people of Ende Town—still trapped in that cursed dream, now wholly corroded, transformed into demons at last.
They moved as though they were Ed's soldiers, racing past his searing light, roaring as they advanced.
"How sorrowful…"
Lloyd watched in silence. He felt no fear toward the endless demons, nor awe at Ed's overwhelming power. What filled him was only grief.
Neither the demons' resurgence nor Ed's hatred could truly move him.
Only this tragic betrayal.
Hunters and demons had always been locked in a struggle of mutual annihilation. Yet now Ed stood among them—unharmed, unopposed. Lloyd did not know what technique could achieve such a thing, but one truth was certain: the demons had returned, and every sacrifice made on the Night of Sacred Descent now seemed meaningless.
That thought filled him with sorrow—and with rage.
"I am not a traitor! From beginning to end, my war with demons has been one without end!"
Lloyd roared back, flames bursting forth.
He gripped his burning blade and charged. A searing white arc split the black tide, and dark ash scattered like falling snow upon the wind.
His blade tore through the massed wave of demons. Twisted forms filled his vision entirely as Lloyd hacked and cleaved, advancing step by step, losing himself in the slaughter.
He was going to kill Ed.
Ed had crossed a line Lloyd would never allow to be crossed.
Those who crossed it had only one fate.
But then—pure white light descended, like a falling meteor.
Ed's burning blade came down with unbearable heat. Sacred silver boiled within the pure cleansing flame, deadly radiance surging outward.
"You—the one who stands with them—you are the true traitor!"
Winchester growled. At point-blank range, the bullets struck Ed—only to melt instantly, dripping down as molten iron.
Such was the authority of Michael: heat at its absolute extreme, like a walking sun.
Under that blinding brilliance, Lloyd's vision began to blur. Still, he swung his sword stubbornly. The secret blood within him was awakening, little by little.
He could do this.
But then a blazing hand clamped around his throat.
The violent heat stole his breath in an instant.
"No. You have no idea what I've lived through."
The burning demon whispered, ignoring the blows striking his body.
"Everyone celebrated the end of the demon age. But after the Night of Sacred Descent, the Pope signed the Thirteenth Secret Decree… Can you even imagine how that felt? We thought we were heroes. We returned to the Seven Hills full of hope—only to be met by the encirclement of the Templar Order."
Endless fire baptized Lloyd. He whimpered in agony, trying to lift his blade and strike Ed, but under such extreme heat, the nailed sword glowed red and shattered like melting ice-stone.
"It was a nightmare. Everyone died. We were trapped within the Seven Hills while they poured fire oil and artillery down from the walls."
Crimson eyes stared into Lloyd's as Ed whispered into his ear.
"Do you know how Michael died?"
The words struck like a hammer, shaking Lloyd's soul.
Of course he knew who Michael was. The strongest hunter of the Order would inherit an angel's name—both a codename and a supreme honor.
"He burned his secret blood beyond the critical threshold. It was like daylight crashing upon the earth. He was the reason I escaped the Seven Hills. But he died where he stood when the silver-binding bolts melted. Molten metal coated every inch of his bones—like a statue cast in agony."
Ed tightened his grip. Flesh sizzled and burned. This was a slow execution, a venting of hatred long restrained.
"We were once hunters. Now we became prey. They burned every captured hunter alive. Only I escaped. Everyone else died—died without meaning!"
With his fury, Lloyd's nailed blade flared once more. In the final instant, he wrenched himself free, clutching the broken hilt as white steam rose from his body. He coughed violently—another moment and he would have been reduced to ash.
He staggered backward, slashing through intangible flames, drawing rippling light in the air.
More demons surged forward. Under the weight of continuous wounds, Lloyd found himself unable to counterattack. He drove the broken blade into a demon's skull, then reversed his grip and stabbed downward through its gaping maw.
Watching Lloyd's battered form, Ed advanced slowly. With every step, the burning continued. Any demon that came near him turned to ash in an instant.
"I will make you feel their pain," Ed said coldly. "I will purify you completely with holy flame."
The Templar Order possessed no secret blood, but their numbers were endless. Many hunters died of exhaustion, only to be thrown into blazing pyres—bodies and secret blood burning together until nothing remained.
"Or…" Ed continued softly, "…tell me what truly happened. And perhaps I will grant you a gentler death."
Within that unbearable flame, Lloyd sensed something unexpected—
A trace of pleading.
He laughed.
Ed had always been like this. Everything he did was in pursuit of a single answer—an answer about the Night of Sacred Descent.
Why had those who bore glory become enemies of the Church?
Why had his friends died without reason?
And why would the hunter before him refuse to speak the truth?
Like a stubborn child, Ed desired only that answer—the one that would make him stop.
Just one answer, and everything would end.
But Lloyd knew he could never speak it.
Like the demons' twisted corruption, that thing could only exist within his own memories. If he spoke it aloud, his memories would no longer be its only prison.
It would take root in Ed's mind—and spread like a virus.
This was a deadlock.
Only death could end it.
And so, amid a roar of hatred, everything blurred.
Lloyd felt warmth—not the furnace-like heat of flame, but a gentle calm, like sinking into warm water. It reminded him of his bathroom at home.
Then, suddenly, he snapped alert.
An illusion of nightmare.
That cursed dream was still affecting him. Somewhere during the battle with Ed, his will had been eroded.
The burning battlefield vanished. The surging demons were gone.
Lloyd shuddered—and fell from a chair.
He looked up.
A clear night sky stretched above him. Countless stars shimmered brilliantly. He stood alone on a frozen plain swept by bitter wind, with nothing beside him but a damned chair.
Damn it. Damn it!
After a moment of shock, he slammed his fist against the ice, brushing away snow. Reflected in the dark-blue surface was Lloyd's own pitiful face.
How could he let the dream take him at a moment like this?
He had to wake up—now.
This time, Lloyd was truly afraid. Perhaps while he was pounding the ground, Ed had already killed him.
Wake up.
With that thought, Lloyd reached for his blade to kill himself—
But the familiar weight was gone.
No sword.
What was happening?
During his time with the Order, Lloyd had undergone special training for dream anomalies. In dreams, hunters held an advantage—because it was their dream. With enough willpower, you became the creator. That was why, in earlier dreams, Lloyd could easily obtain weapons.
If none existed—he would imagine one.
But now he couldn't.
Everything felt rigid. Frozen.
He stood alone in this desolate world.
"You look miserable."
A familiar voice rang out.
Lloyd spun around. At the far end of the ice plain, beneath a vast full moon, a man walked slowly toward him.
Lloyd froze—then understood.
"This isn't a dream… Where am I?"
The man smiled, spreading his arms as if in welcome.
"Welcome to the Interstice."