Perforante

"Man, looks like he lost again…"

Perched high on the branch of a towering tree, a man observed the scene below. From his vantage point, he could see a crimson-leaved tree desperately struggling to douse the flames consuming its body, using its own branches to spray water over itself.

He was dressed entirely in white—a long, pristine coat draped over matching pants, with white sandals idly swaying in the air. A hood covered most of his head, and a smooth silk cloth, also white, concealed his eyes.

This mysterious figure was Immemorvis Obscuritas, one of the ten Low Corrupted Spirits of the Wicked.

"Heh… looks like I owe you one, Afilada."

Standing beside Immemorvis on the same branch was a man with long gray hair, gently swaying in the wind. He wore a long black coat, matching pants, and black military boots. Scars ran along both sides of his eyes, and his intense gray gaze burned with a quiet fierceness.

"Why did you call me here just to watch a weakling struggle in vain, Obscuritas?" he said coldly.

Immemorvis sighed lazily, scratching his arm over his head before replying in his usual tone.

"Because my shadow told me something interesting is happening with that spirit. Trust me, at first, I thought he wasn't worth our time either. But believe me, Afilada—if Oblivion thinks something is worth his interest, then it probably is."

Afilada continued gazing at the crimson-leaved tree before pulling a gray hip flask from his pocket and taking a drink.

Immemorvis turned his gaze toward him, letting out a tired giggle.

"You know, it's not healthy to drink alcohol every day, right?"

Afilada finished drinking, letting out a satisfied sigh before wiping his mouth and slipping the flask back into his pocket. He spoke in the same cold tone, though there was a slight teasing edge to his words.

"Stop with your nonsense, Obscuritas… If we Corrupted Spirits could die from alcohol poisoning, I would've drunk myself to death a long time ago."

Immemorvis chuckled, shifting his gaze to nowhere in particular, simply staring at the burning tree.

"You're a funny one, Afilada. That's why I prefer you over all the others, you know…"

Afilada remained silent for a while, his gray hair swaying gently with the wind. Then, slipping his hand into his pocket, he finally spoke.

"Well, I trust you—and that shadow's call… You know why I decided to work for you, Immemorvis. It's because our goals are intertwined. By following you, I can achieve my dream. So if I have to, I'll follow you to the deepest part of hell and back."

Immemorvis placed his hands behind his head and spoke in a playful tone.

"Stop, you're going to make me blush with all this praise."

Afilada didn't respond. Instead, he simply jumped off the branch and began walking downward.

Immemorvis let himself fall to the ground, landing in a bush with a rustle. As he emerged, brushing dirt and twigs off his coat, he spoke in a nonchalant tone.

"Where are you going?"

Afilada stopped in his tracks, his voice cold as he replied, "I'm going for a walk. We still have time before the brat drags us to the meeting."

Immemorvis hurried to catch up, shoving his hands into his pockets. His tone was laced with curiosity as he asked, "What meeting?"

Afilada sighed, pushing aside a branch blocking his path.

"The first meeting of the Low Corrupted Spirits… It's probably because of the brat's death. I mean, it's the first time one of us has died, so it's understandable they'd call for some kind of gathering. Not that I see the point."

Immemorvis lingered for a moment before speaking with sudden clarity.

"Oh! Now I remember!"

Afilada shot him a cold look.

"We were just informed about the meeting a couple of hours ago. How could you forget that fast?"

Immemorvis placed his hands behind his head as he walked down the mountain, his tone casual.

"You know… forgetting things—and being forgotten in return—is basically my whole thing."

As they walked, Afilada suddenly stopped, causing Immemorvis to halt as well. He looked at him with curiosity.

"What's the matter?"

Afilada turned his head slightly, glancing behind them.

"We're being followed," he said.

Immemorvis sighed and attempted to pat Afilada on the shoulder, only to realize the height difference made it impossible—Afilada stood at six-foot-five, while he was only five-foot-seven. Giving up, he let out a playful sigh.

"You worry way too much. Whatever's following us is weak. If something truly strong enough to kill us was after us… we'd already be dead before we even realized it."

As they watched the path behind them, waiting to see who—or what—was following them, a figure emerged from the woods.

A wolf.

Immemorvis gazed at it with curiosity, tilting his head slightly.

"A wolf…?" he muttered.

Then, after a brief chuckle, his amused tone deepened as he looked closer at the creature.

"No… it's not an ordinary wolf. It's an Okuri-Inu."

Afilada looked down at Immemorvis.

"How different is that thing from a normal wolf, Obscuritas?"

Immemorvis responded in a nonchalant tone, "Well, they're not that different from normal wolves… except they're far more dangerous than their mortal counterparts. But don't worry, Afilada—we don't have to exhaust ourselves over something so pointless."

As the wolf stepped closer, Afilada kept his gaze fixed on it.

"How so?" he asked, his voice calm but watchful.

Immemorvis lingered for a moment before answering, "There's an old tale. If you encounter an Okuri-Inu on the road and want to make it out of the mountain safely, you need to pretend to fall to the ground. It'll be tricked into thinking you're just taking a quick rest, so it won't attack you right away.

"As soon as you hit the ground, you should say Dokkoisho! or Shindoi wa!—something that makes it seem like you're just catching your breath. Then, quickly fix yourself into a sitting position. After that, we sigh a bit, get back up, and continue walking.

"If we do this, the Okuri-Inu should simply wait for us instead of attacking. And when we finally leave the mountain, we just have to say, 'Thanks for seeing me off!' or something along those lines. After that, it'll never follow us again—no matter how many times we return."

Afilada sighed and began walking toward the wolf.

"What a stupid tale. And I was stupid for wasting my time listening to you for this long… So, basically, it won't leave us until we leave the mountain?"

He continued walking closer, the wolf mirroring his movements. Both the man and the wolf's eyes burned with murderous intensity. Immemorvis extended his hand toward Afilada, his tone neutral.

"Um, yes… that's basically it. But like I said, we don't need to waste our energy on a pointless fight. Haven't you been listening to me at all?"

Afilada shifted his stance, raising his hand in a gun-like pose and pointing it at the wolf. He spoke in a cold, detached tone.

"I did listen, but sorry… I'm not familiar with Japanese culture."

Then, without a hint of hesitation, he said coldly,

"Perforante."

Something invisible, impossible to perceive, came crashing down toward the wolf at incredible speed. Trees, bushes, and all the surrounding vegetation—anything in its path—was completely destroyed.

As the wolf sensed the chaos closing in, it leaped from tree to tree, its movements swift and erratic, before finally pouncing toward Afilada, crashing down through the branches with wild intensity.

Immemorvis sighed lazily, continuing his descent down the mountain. Then, in a casual, almost uninterested tone, he muttered:

"I don't like fighting things that aren't worth my interest... or watching them. I'll be waiting for you at the end of the mountain."

The wolf's maw snapped shut on Afilada's shoulder, biting with an intensity that defied logic for such a creature. Afilada looked down at the wolf and spoke coldly:

"I've never killed that type of spirit before... Well... let's get started, shall we? You've caught my interest. My name is Bala Afilada Cortante, but you can just call me Afilada... and I'll be your murderer."

He raised his arm, pointing it directly at the wolf's head, still caught in its futile bite. The wolf couldn't even break through his skin. Afilada held his arm in a gun-like pose, ready to strike.

The wolf's eyes twitched before it released its grip on Afilada's shoulder, leaping backward several times, then halting to stare intensely at the man.

Afilada walked forward, causing the wolf to retreat even further. Then, in an unusual display of amusement, he let out a small giggle.

"Good, good. Your instincts are sharp... better than most of my victims."

He pointed his hand at the wolf again, holding the same gun-like pose. His voice was cold, yet laced with a murderous edge as he uttered one word:

"Perforante."

chapter seventy-one end

{after chapter poem}

To kill is to be alive.

The art of killing—

the purest form of living.

Though ignorant souls believe

the two are opposites,

they are but reflections of the same truth.

To kill to preserve,

to kill to fulfill an ideal—

that is the highest rush,

the essence of existence itself.

But to me,

the purest bond between two souls

is forged not in mercy,

but in the moment they try to kill each other.