Harold barely saw the change. One moment Manoach was reaching for Lucy's hand, his features still discernible thanks to the remaining demon, the next the demon was gone, absorbed into Lucy to leave Manoarch's form to be held up only by his own spirit, and no mortal has the power to do that.
The man was so old there was neither skin nor muscle to hold his skeleton together, only the cloth of his suit to keep the bones from scattering. Lucy looked down at the skeletal hand she held, turned her nose up at it and dropped it on the pile. She looked at Harold as he approached. “Didn't he know, Daddy? Didn't he see me gathering up the demons?”
“I thought he did, love.” Harold sheathed his sword and squatted next to the pile of cloth and bone. He leaned forward to extract the pistol and wallet, though Manoach seemed to have no need for the latter. “I thought he knew you'd absorb the last of them but he looked so surprised at the end I have to wonder.”
“Didn't he realise he'd stop being alive?”
“I don't think he did.” Harold debated arranging the bones as a mark of respect for the last man touched by Iesu, but couldn't be bothered. “Perhaps he thought he could just go back to being the man he was once, before Legion ever possessed him.”