Colluding in Evil

The darkest and most difficult times had passed, and a pale golden dawn emerged at the edge of the Old Dunling sky.

Soldiers stood guard outside the underground palace. The war of this night had finally ended; all the corpses were burned on the spot, and the ashes rose continuously, falling like black snowflakes.

Enjoying the long-lost light, Kestrel, among the outermost guards, reached out his hand to gently catch the black snowflakes, only for the falling rain to wash them away.

It was raining.

A light, drizzling rain descended from the gloomy sky, thoroughly purifying the ashes of the demons. The morning was so cold that Officer Press stood to the side, still oblivious to everything. He held the gun Kestrel had given him, and the icy rain soaked through his clothes, causing him to shiver uncontrollably.

The light fell, and the end of the smoke-filled horizon appeared in his field of vision. The morning breeze carried over the smell of scorched earth.

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness."

A weak voice sounded through the communicator, filled with static that made it sound ancient and mysterious. Only when this voice spoke did Kestrel's frozen face finally soften slightly. He spoke into the communicator.

"I thought you were dead."

"Not quite. Galahad pierced my chest with his sword; if it had been slightly off, I would have died, but fortunately, God still protects me."

Robin's voice rang out. It was unexpected that he hadn't died.

"It looks like you need to rest for a while."

"Indeed, though it is a bit of a pity. I thought I could finally go to heaven?" Robin said with a smile. "I had already prepared my final confession, but these people saved me again."

"That goes without saying, Robin. We are all brothers; how could you leave this hell before the rest of us?"

Kestrel finally let out a sigh of relief as he spoke. The sunlight was warm and filled one with hope.

No one had died. It was good.

Lorenzo walked with difficulty along the Thames. His wounds were slowly self-healing, but even so, his vision began to dim until the cold raindrops fell upon him, sharpening his senses a little.

The cold air arrived with the curtain of rain, driving away the scent of blood and scorched earth from his nose.

After walking for an unknown amount of time, he finally saw the small boat. Eve was sitting to one side, leaning against the wall. The girl's face was pale, and the rain had disheveled her hair, making her look incredibly disheveled.

The two looked at each other, then smiled in tacit understanding.

This was truly an unforgettable night. If it didn't involve demons, Eve would have loved to write it all into a novel. Of course, the story would definitely be about a peerless heroine and a weakling detective.

"You look like you're about to die," Eve said, slowly standing up.

"You're not much better."

Lorenzo walked over, and Eve took the initiative to support him. The two leaned on each other, stumbling forward.

"You need a Doctor, Lorenzo."

Looking at Lorenzo's face, pale from blood loss, Eve felt a sense of worry. Although she was also injured, none of her wounds were fatal, but Lorenzo was clearly different; with injuries like his, anyone else would have died long ago.

"I cannot go to the hospital."

Lorenzo rejected the idea outright. He carried Secret Blood within his body—it was not something normal people could come into contact with, not even a Doctor.

"But you need to bandage your wounds!"

Eve insisted again. She roughly understood why Lorenzo refused, but if things continued like this, he might really die.

Lorenzo was also aware of his condition, but it was still impossible. The secret he held was more important than anyone imagined; he himself was a mobile prison, locking these things tightly within his body.

Yet he could not die. Once the jailer died, the things inside the prison would eventually escape. His gaze wandered across the street, and as if the Goddess of Luck were protecting him, Lorenzo saw something and pulled a grim smile.

Amidst Eve's confusion, Lorenzo mustered a bit of strength and raised his Winchester. The gun was essentially a prop at this moment, but it felt quite effective for bluffing.

Thus, Lorenzo stopped in front of a door. The polished doorplate read "147 Hammerling Street."

The loud knocking woke the owner of the house shortly after. Director Buscalo walked downstairs, furious. Ever since he had been threatened by that strange man with a shotgun a few days ago, he had suffered nightmares for several nights. He had finally managed to sleep peacefully, only to be woken up at dawn.

Pushing the door open in a rage, Director Buscalo had a belly full of fire ready to vent, but upon opening the door, he saw that familiar face and a familiar shotgun.

"Good morning, Director Buscalo!"

Lorenzo skillfully pressed the shotgun against his head, his sickly face revealing a warmth as if he were seeing a relative.

"So, are we counting this as breaking and entering?"

"No, this is just staying over at a friend's house."

"You think pointing a gun at someone's head and charging in is 'staying over'?"

"That only goes to show the intimacy of the friendship between Director Buscalo and me."

After less than a minute, Buscalo had recognized the reality of the situation. Lorenzo was now sitting on a comfortable sofa, shirtless, stitching up his own wounds.

Director Buscalo's home had many medical supplies; although not as complete as a hospital, they were enough. He stood to the side, trembling, watching Lorenzo use tweezers to pull piece after piece of metal from his wounds.

His worldview seemed to be shattering. This man had pulled at least two pounds of metal from his body. By all rights, he should have been dead several times over, yet he was still full of vitality, even able to bicker with Eve while performing surgery on himself.

"This young lady, are you a friend of his?"

Looking at Eve on the other side, the girl was also bandaging her own wounds. Compared to Lorenzo, hers were only flesh wounds; the worst was on her arm, which only needed a simple stitch.

Hearing Director Buscalo's words, Eve looked at the unlucky man, unsure of what he was planning.

"I suppose so."

Eve thought for a moment before answering.

"Miss, you've chosen your company poorly; you can't do this!"

Buscalo remembered Eve. She had been the one pestering him while he performed the autopsy on Wall's corpse, but how had that detective ended up mixed up with a madman like Lorenzo? Could she be an undercover agent from Suaran Hall?

Thinking of this, Buscalo's composure crumbled even further. The more one knew, the faster one died. His brain wouldn't stop racing, and the various corpses he had processed flashed through his mind in a frantic loop. Even though Lorenzo hadn't done anything, in Buscalo's mind, he had already died a thousand times over.

Just as he was contemplating how to write his last will and testament, Lorenzo suddenly spoke.

"Director Buscalo, would you mind coming over to help me stitch this up?"

Lorenzo exposed his back. He couldn't reach it himself and had no choice but to rely on the doctor.

Could Buscalo refuse? He was terrified to his core; in his eyes, Lorenzo was nothing but a haunting, malevolent spirit.

But at that moment, Eve picked up a shotgun. Looking at her cold, slightly cunning gaze, the girl wasn't just keeping bad company—she was in cahoots with the devil!

Where had that enthusiastic detective who wouldn't let a single clue slip by gone? How could she have changed so much in just a few days?

Ignoring Director Buscalo's rapidly shifting psychological state, Lorenzo simply bared his back to him. It was a deep wound, and as Lorenzo's Secret Blood calmed, his superhuman regenerative abilities were also fading; he needed someone to help him suture it.

"Don't look at it."

Buscalo reluctantly took the needle and thread. He hadn't understood what Lorenzo meant by "don't look"—they were both men, what was there to be shy about?—but he understood immediately after.

It was that bizarre tattoo. It seemed to squirm with a life of its own in his vision. Buscalo was intrigued and tried to focus on its form, but the result was a piercing pain in his eyes. The Falcon, as if coming to life, had pecked his eyes blind in an instant.

"I told you not to look."

Lorenzo said flatly, struggling to pull the blanket up to cover most of his back.

"Wh-what is going on?"

Cold sweat suddenly drenched Buscalo. He gasped for air as if he had just finished a marathon, feeling an unprecedented exhaustion in both his mind and body.

"Cognitive pressure. It's like looking at a densely packed book; the sheer volume of information from so many words impacts your brain instantly. It's like a leak in a dam—even the sturdiest wall will crack under a massive tidal wave. Your brain is protecting itself by forcing a state of near-fainting to help you forget that overwhelming information."

Lorenzo spoke coldly, but Eve knew clearly that he was saying this for her benefit. After tonight, Eve had formed a connection with the dark side of the world. Such things were inherently eerie; like a swamp, once you stepped into it, you would only sink deeper.

Buscalo's expression was heavy. He picked up the needle and thread and began to stitch the wound. Although he didn't try to look at the tattoo again, it felt as if a strange, seductive force was drawing him in, like a serpent tempting someone to pluck the forbidden fruit.

"What on earth are you people..."

Finally finished, Buscalo wiped the sweat from his forehead. In his eyes, Lorenzo was no longer just a simple criminal. Although he was an ordinary man, he was a doctor, and during the suturing, he had already discovered the abnormalities in Lorenzo's body—this was not something a normal person possessed.

"Doctor, it would be best if you didn't know so much."

Lorenzo said, picking up a piece of paper. It was a list he had written after coming in, the handwriting somewhat distorted due to his injury.

"According to the time, you should be on shift. As the director, you should be able to get these. I hope you can bring them over in a while."

It was a list of medical supplies. Buscalo looked at the list and asked, "Aren't you afraid I'll call the police once I leave?"

Lorenzo shook his head and said, "You can feel that... indescribable eeriness, right? The ones who deal with me won't be the police, but another group entirely. From what I understand, their way of dealing with 'anomalies' is to dispose of everyone involved. We are already on the same side."

A simple threat, but a very effective one. Buscalo glared at Lorenzo before slamming the door and leaving. In the end, only he and Eve remained in the room.

"I remember he had a daughter, though it looks like his wife took her away. Life is truly difficult."

Lorenzo said casually, looking at a family photo on the cabinet. Beside him, Eve sat down across from him.

"Mr. Lorenzo Holmes, I think we can have a proper talk now, don't you?"

"Talk about what?"

The girl's expression was complex. She looked at Lorenzo for a long time before saying, "About why you saved me, and... these..."

Eve held out her hand. She tore away the bandage, revealing that the wounds had already mostly healed. The girl's eyes were filled with terror and confusion.