Masterpiece In Shadow Slave

The water didn't ripple.

Shirou stood at the edge of the shallow spring, staring down at the distorted reflection.

His face looked calm, but that stillness came from something broken-too quiet to be natural. His eyes, glowing faintly in the murk, flickered with a knowledge that didn't belong in the hands of any living creature.

Knowledge that shouldn't be known to anyone in this nightmare except one.

Knowledge that can take away your very own sanity if it's not for you.

Knowledge of SPELL that shouldn't be pry into... Shirou had devoured such knowledge.

Insanity should have found it's way to him, But, sadly. he lost his sanity a long long time ago.

Even after knowing the secret he was still sane.

Behind him, the forest stirred.

Vowalkers emerged, limbs cracking like old bones, but they didn't rush him. They hesitated-trembling. Their instincts screamed, even if their minds couldn't form the thought.

One stepped forward. A mistake.

Shirou didn't even glance back.

He raised a hand, a single finger pointed lazily-and from the finger, a vine slithered up like a serpent. It snaked through the creature's open slit wrapped tight around a throbbing mass of organ-and with a tug, it tore it free.

The Vowalker collapsed.

Silence.

The ones with eyes backed away, their hollow eyes wide with something close to terror. They parted, forming a path. A corridor of fear.

Shirou walked through without a word.

He was no longer human to them.

He was something else.

Their nightmare.

***

By the time he reached the edge of the village, the storage room had begun crying.

Perla was already there, drenched in sweat, leaning against the frame of a collapsed structure. Her breathing was controlled but shallow-exhaustion hiding just under her skin. She didn't hear him approach.

"Just hours ago, you let two of your own die-loosened your grip, let your abilities slip-And now your tired in front of someone else."

In reality, Luna and Liza didn't die due to a mistake while parkouring, Perla had loosened her grip because if she didn't Vowalker would have clawed her.

In return, She got a memory... Called forbidden Love.

She glanced sideways, wiping the sweat from her temple.

"The others treated the Nightmare like some twisted dream... laughed too long, stayed up too late."

Her gaze sharpened

"But this one's different. I didn't slow down for him-he caught up to me."

There was no pride in her voice-just quiet disbelief.

Shirou didn't respond. He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the treeline behind her, as if seeing something no one else could.

Perla stepped closer.

"It's a good thing, isn't it? With him, we actually have a real shot at escaping this place."

Her voice was lighter, like she needed it to be true.

Shirou finally turned to face her. His expression didn't change, but his eyes-his eyes were ancient and cracked and cold.

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly.

Perla stopped. The tone was off. Something about the weight in his voice made her spine tense.

He looked straight at her now. "We're not getting out of here with him."

Perla blinked. "...What?"

He took a slow breath, as if preparing to peel away something she wasn't ready to see.

"You think we're safe because we now have another good teammate?"

A pause.

"But you don't understand the rules, Perla. None of this is chance. The Spell doesn't censor randomly."

Her confusion flickered into dread.

" ...What are you saying?"

Shirou's voice cracked slightly, as if he hated what he had to admit.

"He can't see our names, Perla. He can't access his Status. He called 'Memories' 'Abilities.' He doesn't even know how this world functions."

Perla tried to deny it, But she had similar guesses.

Shirou stepped closer.

"Think about it. Our names-mine, yours, Eichiro's. And the two girls. Luna. Luzi."

Perla's eyes widened, something cold unraveling in her gut.

Shirou whispered the words like a curse:

"Shirou. Perla. Eichiro. Luna. Luzi."

He held her gaze.

"S. P. E. L. L."

Then, softly:

"He could hear Luna and Luzi's names because they're dead. But not ours. Because we're still alive."

Silence.

Perla didn't breathe.

Shirou's voice lowered to a near whisper.

"The moment we're gone... the moment all of us die-he'll get full access. He'll understand the runes. The Spell. Everything."

Perla's mouth was slightly open, but her thoughts were spiraling too fast to form a response. Her eyes, once filled with curiosity, were now sharp-Cautious.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Then we kill him. Right now. When he least expects it."

Shirou didn't flinch. He looked up at the sky, almost in pity.

"You think it's that simple?"

Perla's hands clenched at her sides.

"He's walking right beside us, masking whatever he's planning. If we know he's a threat-why are we still letting him breathe?"

Shirou turned his back to her and began walking.

She followed. "Shirou. Answer me."

He stopped.

Without looking over his shoulder, he said.

"Because it's better to keep the wolf in sight. You don't know him, Perla. But I do. I knew him before the Nightmare. Even if it's not his body, it's still his mind."

Perla narrowed her eyes.

"Even if he escapes, won't that be better than letting him roam free-while we sleep beside our enemy?"

Shirou's voice turned brittle.

"You'd rather be stalked in the dark than know what's already watching you?"

No answer.

Then, after a moment:

"We can't let him out of our sight. Stay close to him. Eat near him. Pretend to rest when he does. Watch everything-everything-he does. He won't eat the organs. He won't sleep... But I want you to sleep, Be on the best shape possible, Never let your guard down."

Perla hesitated, then asked softly,

"What did you mean before... 'not his bo-'?"

But Shirou spun fast.

He raised a single finger and pressed it to his lips. His eyes weren't cold now. They were hurt.

"Don't finish that sentence" he said.

Perla froze.

He leaned in just enough for her to hear the whisper:

"I lost my sanity years ago... in something far brighter yet darker than this. But you-yours is still intact. Hold onto it. With everything you have."

Then, Shirou turned and walked toward the storage house. The wind behind him was still.

He left a single peice of advice.

"You shouldn't go digging into the secrets of gods. I never meant to either... but some truths were just lying there-too close, too obvious to ignore."

That was a lie, For other people ignorance might be blissful... But for people Like Ayanokouji and Shirou... Who knows more about Worst than people know about good... For them...

Ignorance is not blissful but... Rather.. the calm before the storm.

Perla remained rooted to the spot, hand trembling, the air around her suddenly feeling too thin.

Something was wrong.

Terribly, impossibly wrong.

And it had been... for a very long time...

For Shirou, Perla and Eichiro were never comrades. They were pawns-strategically placed burdens to wear Ayanokouji down. Not enemies, not allies...

just weight. Tools to slow him, to chip away at his precision. Because Shirou knew: only when the masterpiece was tired-even in a body not his own-would he stand a chance.

That was his method.

Shirou's special of....

How to defeat the masterpiece.

But Ayanokouji already knew. He always knew. The moment their eyes met again in that ruined house, he understood. He recognized Shirou's vision, his manipulation, the way he peeled apart the Nightmare's systems with a single glance and turned its rules into weapons.

And Shirou knew that he knew.

They weren't allies. Not truly. Not even enemies. They were inevitabilities-two final pieces sliding toward the endgame of something neither could walk away from.

Only one would remain.

Either him...

Or Ayanokouji.

***

"Shirou saw through you from the very beginning."

Perla said it coldly — with the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Ayanokouji didn't respond. He just stared at her. One foot slightly forward. Arms loose at his sides. The dying light of the forest cut through the canopy and painted his silhouette like a silent monument.

He responded.

The village was behind him.

She couldn't reach it unless she went through him.

Perla's eyes flicked past his shoulder, scanning for a way around — but he shifted half a step, subtly. Deliberate. Calculated. He was guarding the path like it was a sacred boundary. Like crossing it meant death.

She tilted her head, still smiling.

"You forgot? I'm really good at parkour."

She took a pair of gloves from her cloth and wore them.

"And let's not forget my ability."

Ayanokouji soon replied.

"I am gonna make it painless—"

Before he could finish she ran.

She moved — fast, violently, sharp to the left.

Ayanokouji finished it anyway.

"—Remember you chose this way

Ayanokouji didn't flinch. He turned, tracking her silently as she exploded into motion.

Her boots slammed into the moss-slick ground as she ran perpendicular to the main path, weaving through tree trunks with terrifying agility.

She vaulted over a split boulder. Rolled into a crouch. Spun around a gnarled root like a gymnast on bars. Her body bent, twisted, sprang like it had been designed for this forest.

The woods themselves couldn't slow her. Everything was a stepping stone. A launch pad. She climbed a tree like a cat, ran along a horizontal branch, and leapt thirty feet to another with a thump and a twist.

But when she landed—

Crunch.

He was already behind her.

Ayanokouji stepped through a low cluster of vines without breaking them. The leaves shivered where he'd passed. His breathing was perfectly even.

"You're using too much vertical momentum," he said softly. "Your landings are impressive, but they waste energy."

She didn't look back.

She launched herself sideways, off the tree's trunk and into a downhill slope.

Her body flipped and twisted to absorb the fall, boots gliding over moss and loose rock. She reached the bottom — and sprinted again.

The forest rose and fell in folds of natural traps — deadfall branches, hidden streams, loose stone beds. The light was fading. Shadows stretched like claws across her path.

But Perla didn't falter.

Her hand caught a vine mid-sprint. She swung around a tree and used that spin to propel herself into a double-step off two rocks stacked like teeth.

Her foot touched down on a fallen tree and she used it like a bridge, sprinting across the narrow beam with arms spread for balance.

Behind her — the steady sound of footfalls.

Padded. Clean. Quiet.

Like something pacing her breath.

"I've always admired this technique,"

Ayanokouji said, casually. "Persistence hunting. Used by humans before spears. Before tools. They chased prey until the prey simply... collapsed."

A pause. Only the crackle of leaves.

"Their muscles burned out. Their lungs broke down. The human wouldn't even have to strike. The prey would just fall. Shaking. And then—"

He let the word hang in the air like fog.

Perla gritted her teeth. Her breaths came faster. Not because she was tired. Not yet. But because her body thought it should be.

Because the trees weren't just trees anymore — they were obstacles with an audience.

He was watching everything.

"You've got a good stride," he continued calmly.

"Shortened since last jump. Knees absorbing better. But you're overusing your upper body for balance. That'll cost you in an hour."

She exploded sideways again — launched off a slanted tree trunk into a reverse vault off a stone slab. Bark scratched her gloves. Her breath hitched but she didn't let it out — she controlled it.

And for a moment — just a single heartbeat — there was silence.

Then—

Step.

Step.

Step.

His rhythm didn't change.

"You're too used to short bursts," he said.

"Trick-based escapes. Urban environments. This forest is different. It feeds on rhythm. It wears you down the longer you dance in it."

She clenched her jaw.

A fallen log ahead — four meters thick, partially rotted. She ducked under it mid-run, scraping her back against bark. Came up again into a tight thicket — barely any room to move.

She dove forward, sliding under the foliage.

Behind her: the faint rustle of the log shifting. She knew without looking. He'd stepped over it cleanly.

"No wasted motion," he said. "That's the key."

Her hands burned. Fingers scraped tree trunks, nails splintering against bark. She grunted as she swung off a branch, using her momentum to whip herself back into a run.

The trees grew closer now. Thicker. The Nightmare itself seemed to tighten.

Roots moved. Bark cracked.

The environment warped the longer they fought through it.

And Ayanokouji spoke through it all.

"I've read that wild dogs do this. In Africa, mostly. They don't maul. They don't scream. They just follow. One foot at a time. Always the same pace. Until the animal drops."

Perla let out a breath — part laugh, part growl. "You talk too much."

Ayanokouji didn't reply.

Just footsteps.

Unshaken. Unchanging.

She spun off a high branch, ricocheted off two trunks, and sprinted up a hill so steep she had to use her hands. Dirt coated her gloves. Her back arched with the effort. She reached the top and didn't even pause.

Below — a ravine. Ten meters wide. A stream ran through it.

She didn't stop.

She jumped.

And mid-air — she twisted.

Her heel just barely caught a vine overhead and yanked herself further, flipping forward, slamming into the opposite edge of the ravine on her forearms, scraping her skin raw before pulling herself up and diving into a roll.

She didn't look back.

But she heard it.

No splash.

Just a soft impact.

He had followed her. No hesitation. No scream. No grunt.

Like gravity meant nothing to him.

"You're losing moisture," he said.

Her heart thundered.

"The sweat on your neck. The breath you're wasting talking to yourself. You're dying one drop at a time."

Perla tore through the next stretch of forest like a demon.

But it was getting harder.

Not impossible — but tight. She had to cut sharper. Vault faster. Her calves ached on landing. Her arms shook from repeated catches.

The forest was endless. The village was still far.

And Ayanokouji was still behind her. Not running faster. Just… there. Always just there.

"You don't believe I'll kill you," he said, almost gently. "That's the mistake."

She stumbled slightly.

Not a fall. Just a crack in the rhythm.

She caught herself, snarled, kicked off the next tree harder — but something in her chest "stung".

A stitch.

No.

She shook her head. She couldn't afford that. She was built for this. She had survived worse.

But her lungs begged for air now. And her foot placement was less perfect. She grazed her shin once on a knotted branch — nothing deep. Just a warning.

Meanwhile—

Step.

Step.

Step.

"You'll feel it soon," he said.

Low. Calm. So close.

"Your mind will notice it first. A flicker of fear. The question — why hasn't he stopped? Then the body follows. Your legs will scream. Your arms will twitch. You'll want to bargain. That's when the prey gives up."

She roared and spun midair — hurled herself through a cluster of thorns and leapt to another tree.

But the thorns didn't slow him. They never did.

She wanted to scream back — to curse him, to say something sharp and vicious and final.

But her lungs didn't have the spare air.

And deep down, something crawled behind her ribs:

He wasn't slowing down.

And she was.

***

The wind snatched her breath like a thief as she burst through a lattice of thorns and brush, her shoulder narrowly missing a protruding branch.

Her eyes stung from sweat, bark dust, and pure survival instinct. Every jump, every roll, every twist through the terrain carved seconds from her body like small, invisible blades.

The forest was growing denser now, greedy in its silence — no birds, no wind.

Only the rhythmic percussion of his steps.

She dove into a downhill slope, arms out, shoulder rolling with practiced control as she tucked through the fall.

Her feet slapped wet earth, and she sprang again, catching a branch midair and flinging herself around it.

She landed—

Only to hear it again.

Step.

Step.

Soft. Purposeful. Patient.

"Your heart rate's elevated,"

Ayanokouji murmured, not even pretending to speak to himself anymore.

"I hear it in the way your breath shortens. One minute ago you were inhaling for two-point-four seconds. Now it's closer to one."

A branch cracked behind her. Not loud. Not clumsy.

Just acknowledgment.

"You've still got time. But your mind is slipping. It's not your fault. We were never designed to outrun inevitability."

Perla didn't answer. Couldn't. She grabbed a protruding branch overhead and used it to change direction mid-leap, flipping sideways into a wall-run against the bark of a crooked, diagonal tree, before springing off of it to vault over a rocky ledge.

Her landing was flawless.

Her breathing was not.

And he followed.

Not at the same angles, not at the same velocity — but at perfect efficiency.

Where she jumped, he stepped. Where she flipped, he redirected. Like he knew the entire map, every contour of her decisions.

"Three hours," he said.

"That's what this kind of hunt takes. On average. You're built better than most prey, so I accounted for four."

Perla grit her teeth, sucked in breath through clenched jaws. Her lungs burned now. Her thighs trembled just slightly on impact — not failure, but fatigue. Her palms were slick with sweat, her fingers just beginning to slip when she gripped bark.

She hadn't miscalculated.

He was just... too much.

She veered sharply into the thicker brush, twisting through tight gaps between trees where only someone of her frame could fit. Vines whipped at her arms. She took a corner hard, scraping her shoulder, but didn't slow.

A creek lay ahead — shallow, slick rocks and fast-flowing water.

She didn't hesitate.

She slammed into the current, slipping, catching herself with a hand on a half-submerged branch, and ran downstream, boots half-submerged, splashing like she was kicking through blood.

The cold water stung her ankles, numbed her feet.

She turned a corner—

Nothing.

No footsteps.

No voice.

Just the water and her own gasps.

For a moment, her heart dared to hope.

But then—

A shadow shifted in the trees ahead. Not behind. Ahead.

He dropped down from a branch in front of her, blocking the shallow stream, landing in a crouch so soft it made no splash.

Her legs skidded to a halt. Momentum flared behind her knees. She turned, preparing to run—

But his voice came before her movement did.

"You're adapting slower than I thought."

She bolted back the way she came, leaping out of the stream onto a rock, using her soaked gloves to grip a mossy overhang and drag herself upward. Her boots slipped, caught, and shoved her up through the undergrowth.

He didn't chase.

She felt him wait a second. Just enough to make her wonder why.

Then: Step.

Again. The beat of death on two legs.

Perla panted now. She could feel her ribs pull at each inhale. Her shoulders twitched from overuse.

Still, she climbed.

Up into the broken ridgeline. Jagged cliffs, loose stone, cracked stumps where lightning had once split a tree like a scream. She leapt across a ravine no wider than her body and barely landed on the opposite side — one foot slipping, nearly tumbling, but her fingers snagged a rock root and pulled herself up.

Everything ached.

And behind her?

Step.

Step.

"The animal always makes mistakes at this point,"

Ayanokouji said.

"It thinks exhaustion is an error. But it's a feature. It's the countdown to inevitability."

She screamed — more fury than fear — and launched herself up the final ledge with the last of her strength, finding a deer path she hadn't seen before. A straight shot toward the village.

She ran.

Her feet pounded earth.

The canopy cracked above.

The wind howled.

But in her mind, something whispered:

He's not chasing you anymore.

He's guiding you.

***

She kept running.

Not by instinct anymore, not even by strategy—she ran because stopping meant letting the shape of him settle into the dark behind her, like a shadow that had grown tired of pretending to be human.

Each breath scorched her throat. Her legs, sculpted by years of parkour discipline, screamed with every stretch and landing, and yet she didn't stop.

Not yet.

Branches whipped her face.

The ground dropped beneath her heels.

Still, she ran.

Through a fallen log. Over a jagged slope. Across a near-vertical incline where she scraped with knees and elbows and climbed with all the grace of a desperate animal.

She didn't dare look back.

She knew he wasn't far.

Because she could still hear his voice. Not close. Not loud. But threaded into the air like the hum of something primeval.

"You trained for speed. Precision. Heightened reflexes. I trained to erase resistance."

The trees began to thin.

A faint light—

The edge of the forest.

The last two kilometers.

The beginning of the final sprint.

She broke through a curtain of wet vines and caught a glimpse of it: a distant glimpse between the branches, past a field of uneven stones and flickering fog.

The village.

Still far.

Still unreachable.

Her knees buckled slightly.

She caught herself, hissed through her teeth, kept going.

There was a brief incline of gravel ahead, treacherous footing—she pivoted, ran sideways along the edge, then turned back down, flinging herself into a parallel trail.

She could feel it now.

The pressure behind her.

Like gravity that had taken the shape of a man.

Ayanokouji was walking again.

She knew it.

And it was the most terrifying thing of all.

"Running is noble," he called, voice barely above a whisper but piercing through the trees like a scalpel. "But even the noble rot when they run too long."

She broke left.

A quick climb into an outcropping of fallen trees, leapt to the top, turned, and kept going.

He was trying to herd her.

No, not trying.

He was.

Always ahead of her path. Always blocking the most optimal routes.

He was controlling the angles.

Controlling her.

Still she didn't stop. Still she ran.

Still she believed—deep in her furious, bleeding, gasping soul—that there was a sliver of escape if she could just get there first.

"Why won't you shut up!?" she screamed behind her, not slowing down.

No answer.

Just silence again.

Silence, and the sound of her own faltering breath.

She felt herself slipping—not physically, but mentally. Like the exhaustion was beginning to chew into her judgment, like her certainty was cracking just enough to let the fear crawl in.

She leapt over a twisted root.

Landed.

Foot buckled.

Caught herself. Keep going.

Another glance toward the village.

Still far.

Still so far.

Her heart felt like a hammer now, thundering against her ribs. She'd been running for what felt like forever.

The trees spun sometimes. Her feet no longer obeyed her instantly. The burns on her palms from bark friction pulsed with heat.

But she kept going.

Kept fighting.

She had to reach it.

She was almost there—

And then—

A sudden shape dropped in front of her.

Him.

Quite literally.

Perla skidded to a halt—mud spraying outward, a stone catching under her boot—and stared.

He wasn't breathing hard.

His cloth, tattered in places, clung to his skin, but there wasn't a scratch on him.

His eyes were like pits. No fire. No thrill of the hunt.

Just an observation machine.

"Three hours," he said softly, almost with disappointment. "And I didn't have to touch you once."

Her chest heaved.

Her legs trembled.

And her vision flickered at the edges.

Still, she raised her arms. Not in surrender—she had no delusions left—but in bitter defiance.

"I'll make you bleed," she rasped.

"I know."

A beat passed between them.

Then Ayanokouji took a step forward.

One.

She flinched.

Then he tilted his head—not out of curiosity, but out of analytical recalibration.

"You're collapsing now. Twitch in the right leg—calf spasms from lateral stress. Your peripheral's lagging by half a second. You know what that means?"

She didn't answer.

But he did.

"It means you've got three more dodges left."

He took another step.

Perla's eyes darted sideways—calculating distance, speed, terrain.

Nowhere to run.

No high ground.

And she couldn't reach the village.

She was still fast.

Still deadly.

But in that moment, she understood it.

She was prey.

And he had made her run in circles until even her instincts betrayed her.

***

Perla's grip on reality began to slip.

She wasn't tired in the traditional sense. Her body was conditioned for punishment, and she'd survived far worse terrain. Her heart still pounded, lungs still filled and emptied on command, but—

But nothing around her changed.

The trees repeated.

The moss on the rocks repeated.

Even her escape routes—upward vaults through split branches, twisting drops into ravines—led her back to where he was.

Not chasing. Never chasing.

Just standing.

Watching.

Blocking.

"You're not even trying!"

she yelled, somewhere between desperation and madness.

She dropped low and rolled to the left, kicking herself off a boulder and launching onto a narrow trunk. She backflipped from the tree and landed on higher ground. Out of his line of sight now—

Crunch.

The moment she landed, she spun to the side, elbow-first.

He was there.

Ayanokouji's palm caught her elbow mid-spin, gently stopping her momentum.

She felt the cold stillness of his hand just for a second—until something sharp pressed against the inside of her wrist.

What—

She jumped back reflexively. Her legs launched her meters away, hand already gripping the side of a trunk as she flung herself between trees again. She had distance. Height. Direction.

But something felt off.

Her right hand.

It tingled.

She flexed her fingers. Still moving. Still fine. But a strange numbness began to crawl upward. It felt… warm. Like she'd dipped her hand into syrup.

What did he do?

No blade. No strike. Just a tap. A tap.

She gritted her teeth, ignoring it, flipping across a shallow riverbed and planting both feet on the ledge—only to feel her grip slip.

Not from the moss.

But from her own hand.

Her fingers missed.

No sensation.

She dropped three meters and rolled, landing on her shoulder. Pain surged. She bit down and turned the roll into a sideways leap, twisting mid-air toward the next safe zone.

But he was there again.

In front of her.

Still.

Silent.

Right hand slightly lowered, fingers relaxed, the same hand that had brushed hers.

"You're using something," she accused, voice fraying. "Some kind of drug—paralytic—what did you

do to me?!"

He didn't respond.

She charged. Fast. Low. Desperate.

She wasn't going to be toyed with anymore.

Perla feinted left, spun low with a leg sweep that shattered bark, and leapt up with a reverse roundhouse—aiming straight for his neck.

He ducked with lazy precision. No counter. No motion to retaliate. Just evasion. She continued the sequence—a jab to the throat, knee to the ribs, two spinning strikes to the head.

Every attack missed.

He wasn't fast.

He just wasn't there where she struck.

Perla stepped back, breath sharp and raw now, eyes flicking down.

Her arm.

Her right arm—

Wasn't moving anymore.

The tingling had risen past her elbow, into her shoulder now. It wasn't numbness. It was death. Not blood-loss, not a toxin—something else.

Her pulse was steady. But her body was not listening.

She backed up a step.

Ayanokouji didn't follow.

He tilted his head.

"Do you remember when I touched your wrist?"

Perla's eyes widened.

"No… No, that wasn't—!"

"It was enough."

She tried to scream. Tried to rush him again—just one more hit. Anything.

But her legs locked mid-sprint. The rest of her body flung forward, momentum collapsing over joints that had stopped obeying her.

She hit the ground hard, cheek pressed to dirt. Her arms wouldn't move.

Get up.

Nothing happened.

She gritted her teeth.

Get up.

Still nothing.

Ayanokouji crouched near her. No blade. No tool.

Just those unreadable eyes.

"You thought you needed pain to know something was wrong," he said calmly. "But you never realized your body was shutting down in silence."

She blinked.

Her vision lagged.

She tried to spit, but her jaw wouldn't open.

Her thoughts began to scatter.

"W-why... when..."

"I severed a nerve cluster," he said. "Precise. No damage. No bleeding. Just a whisper into your spine."

His voice dropped low.

"Death that waits until your instincts admit you've lost."

Tears brimmed in her eyes, not from pain—there wasn't any—but from understanding.

He didn't kill her with violence.

He killed her by touching one place. At one time.

Her brain just hadn't believed it yet.

And now it did.

Her vision dimmed.

And with that final acceptance, her lungs gave their last breath.

Her chest didn't rise again.

Ayanokouji stood.

Not victorious. Just done.

The forest said nothing.

Perla's body remained in the dirt, frozen in a position of resistance—face forward, as if trying to lunge past him.

But she never had a chance.

The body just didn't know it.

Until now.

She should have let it happen when Ayanokouji pulled her... It was painless either ways.

Ayanokouji walked towards The village... Towards eichiro.

He looked back once.

"Goodbye Perla."