Birds of a Feather

The darkest, hardest hours had passed. At the edge of the sky over Old Dunling, a pale golden dawn emerged.

Soldiers stood guard outside the Underground Palace. The night's battle had finally ended. All the bodies were burned where they lay, and ashes billowed into the air, falling like black snowflakes.

Basking in the long-missed light, Kestrel held out his hand among the outermost Imperial Guard and gently caught a black snowflake. Then the rain washed it away.

It was raining.

A drizzle fell from the gloomy sky, thoroughly cleansing the ashes of the Fiends. The morning was bitterly cold. Officer Press still stood off to the side, knowing nothing. He was holding the gun Kestrel had given him, and the cold rain had soaked through his clothes, making him shiver.

Beyond the smoke-filled horizon, the light spread into view. The morning breeze carried the smell of burning toward him.

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness."

A feeble voice sounded through the communicator, its static-laced distortion making it seem ancient and mysterious. Only when he heard that voice did Kestrel's frozen expression finally soften a little. He spoke into the communicator.

"I thought you were dead."

"Luckily, Galahad's sword pierced my chest. If it had gone just a little farther to the side, I'd have died. But God was still watching over me."

Robin's voice came through. To think he had survived after all.

"Looks like you'll need to rest for a while."

"Yeah. Still, it's a little disappointing. I thought I'd finally be going to heaven." Robin chuckled. "I'd even prepared my last confession, but then these people went and saved me."

"Of course, Robin. We're all brothers. How could you leave us in this hell?"

Kestrel finally let out a sigh of relief. The sunlight was warm, filling them with hope.

No one had died. That was wonderful.

Lorenzo trudged along the Thames River. The wounds on his body were slowly healing, but even so, his vision was growing dimmer by the moment. Then cold raindrops fell on him, bringing him back to his senses.

The cold air came with the rain, driving the smell of blood and burning from his nose.

After walking for who knew how long, he finally spotted the little boat. Eve sat to one side, leaning against the wall. The girl's face was deathly pale, and the rain had soaked and tangled her hair. She looked like a complete mess.

They looked at each other, then broke into laughter as if by unspoken agreement.

What an unforgettable night. If Fiends hadn't been involved, Eve would have wanted to turn it all into a novel. Naturally, it would have been about a peerless heroine and a good-for-nothing detective.

"You look like you're about to die." Eve slowly rose to her feet.

"You're not much better."

Lorenzo walked over. Eve helped him up, and the two of them staggered along, leaning on each other.

"You need a doctor, Lorenzo."

Looking at Lorenzo's pale face, drained of blood, Eve grew worried. She was injured too, but none of her wounds were life-threatening. Lorenzo was another matter. With injuries like his, anyone else would already be dead.

"I can't go to a hospital."

Lorenzo immediately refused. Secret Blood was hidden inside him. It wasn't something an ordinary person could be exposed to—not even a doctor.

"But you need your wounds stitched up!"

Eve pressed him again. She had some idea why Lorenzo was refusing, but if he carried on like this, he really might die.

Lorenzo knew how bad his condition was, but it still wasn't an option. The secrets he carried were more important than anyone could imagine. He was a walking prison, keeping everything locked up inside his body.

But he couldn't die, either. If the jailer died, the things in the prison would eventually escape. His gaze wandered down the street. As if the Goddess of Luck were watching over him, Lorenzo spotted something and gave a lopsided smile.

With Eve staring at him in confusion, Lorenzo mustered a little strength and raised the Winchester. At the moment, the gun was only for show, but it seemed useful for intimidating people.

Then Lorenzo stopped in front of a door. Its gleaming plaque read, "147 Hammerling Street."

The loud knocking soon woke the owner of the house. Director Buscalo came downstairs in a fury. Ever since that strange man had threatened him with a Shotgun a few days ago, he'd suffered nightmares for days. He'd finally managed to sleep peacefully, only to be woken at dawn.

Flinging the door open in anger, Director Buscalo had a whole load of fury ready to unleash. But when the door opened, he found himself facing a familiar face—and a familiar Shotgun.

"Good morning, Director Buscalo!"

Lorenzo casually pressed the Shotgun against his head. His sickly face lit up with the warmth of someone greeting a loved one.

"So, are we calling this breaking and entering?"

"No. We're just borrowing a friend's place for the night."

"You think putting a gun to someone's head and barging in counts as 'borrowing a place'?"

"It only goes to show how close Director Buscalo and I are."

Buscalo had grasped the situation in less than a minute. Lorenzo was now sitting on a comfortable sofa, bare-chested and stitching up his own wounds.

Director Buscalo's house had plenty of medical supplies. It wasn't as well-equipped as a hospital, but it was enough. He stood trembling off to one side, watching Lorenzo use tweezers to pull one metal fragment after another from his wounds.

His entire worldview seemed to be crumbling. The man had removed at least two pounds of metal from his body, and by all rights, he should have been well and truly dead. Yet he was full of energy, even arguing with Eve while performing surgery on himself.

"Miss, are you his friend?"

Buscalo looked over at Eve. The girl was sitting on the other side, bandaging her own wounds. Compared with Lorenzo's, hers were only superficial. The worst was on her arm, and a few stitches would take care of it.

At Director Buscalo's question, Eve looked at the unfortunate man, unsure what he was after.

"I suppose I am."

Eve thought for a moment before answering.

"Miss, you've chosen your friends poorly. You can't go on like this!"

Buscalo remembered Eve. She'd been pestering him nonstop when he was examining Wall's corpse. How had that detective ended up with a madman like Lorenzo? Could she be a Suaran Hall undercover agent?

The thought sent Buscalo spiraling into even greater despair. The more you knew, the sooner you died. His mind raced uncontrollably, and the corpses he'd examined flashed through his thoughts one after another. Lorenzo hadn't even done anything, yet in Buscalo's mind, he'd already died countless times.

Just as he was wondering how to write his will, Lorenzo suddenly spoke up.

"Director Buscalo, could you come over and stitch this part for me?"

Lorenzo showed him his back. He couldn't reach the wound there, so the doctor would have to do it.

Could Buscalo really go over? He was terrified. To him, Lorenzo was nothing less than a relentless evil spirit.

But just then, Eve picked up the Shotgun. Looking at her cool gaze, touched with a hint of slyness, Buscalo realized the girl hadn't merely chosen her friends poorly. They were partners in crime!

Where had the detective who'd been so eager to solve cases and follow every clue gone? How could she have changed so much in just a few days?

Paying no attention to the rapid shifts in Director Buscalo's thoughts, Lorenzo turned around and showed him his back. A deep wound ran across it. As the Secret Blood inside Lorenzo settled, his superhuman healing ability began to fade. He needed someone to stitch him up.

"Don't look at it."

Buscalo reluctantly took the needle and thread. He didn't know what Lorenzo meant by "don't look." They were both men, so what was there to be embarrassed about? But then he understood.

It was that strange tattoo. It seemed to writhe with a life of its own in his eyes. Intrigued, Buscalo tried to make out its shape, but pain stabbed through his eyes. The Falcon seemed to come alive and pecked his eyes blind in an instant.

"I told you not to look."

Lorenzo said it calmly, then laboriously picked up a blanket and covered most of his back.

"W-what happened?"

Cold sweat suddenly broke out all over Buscalo. He panted heavily, as if he'd just run a marathon. His mind and body were overcome by an exhaustion unlike anything he'd ever felt.

"It's the strain on your mind from trying to comprehend it. It's like looking at a densely packed book. The sheer amount of information can overwhelm your brain in an instant. Like a crack in a dam, even a sturdy barrier can break beneath a massive surge. Faced with that onslaught, your brain tries to protect itself by slipping into a state like unconsciousness, so it can forget all that overwhelming information."

Lorenzo spoke indifferently, but Eve knew he was saying this for her sake. After tonight, Eve had become connected to the dark side of that world. That was how things like this worked. Like a swamp, once you got involved, you only sank deeper.

Buscalo's expression grew grave as he picked up the needle and thread and began stitching the wound. He didn't try to look at the tattoo, but some strange force seemed to tempt him, like a serpent luring people into picking the forbidden fruit.

"What exactly is going on with you people...?"

At last, he finished. Buscalo wiped the sweat from his forehead. Lorenzo was clearly more than just a criminal. Buscalo might be an ordinary man, but he was still a doctor. While stitching Lorenzo's wound, he'd already noticed how strange his body was. No ordinary person could be like that.

"Doctor, you're better off not knowing too much."

Lorenzo picked up a sheet of paper. It was a list he'd written after coming in, though his injuries had made the handwriting crooked.

"You should be at work by now. As the director, you should be able to get these. I'd like you to bring them over in a little while."

It was a list of medicines. Buscalo looked at it 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 strangeness, can't you? It won't be the police who deal with me, but another group of people. From what I understand, their way of dealing with the 'unnatural' is to dispose of everyone connected to it. We're already on the same side."

It was a simple threat, but it worked. Buscalo shot Lorenzo a furious look, then slammed the door on his way out. In the end, only Lorenzo and Eve remained in the house.

"I remember he had a daughter. Looks like his wife took her away, though. Life's tough."

Lorenzo spoke casually as he looked at the family portrait on the cabinet. Eve sat opposite him.

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

"About what?"

Eve's expression was complicated. She studied Lorenzo for a long while before speaking.

"About why you saved me, and... all this..."

Eve held out her hand and tore off the bandage. Most of her wounds had already healed. Fear and confusion filled the girl's eyes.