Chương 51: Chapter 47- Numb

Baraquiel was not oblivious to Igor's hesitation with isolating himself in the time chamber. The boy had strong motivation, but what if that motivation included bringing his mother back to life? [I wonder how far Valerie has gotten.]... … |DxD|- Chapter 47- Numb …... Four Months Later, 29 November 1996, Remote Region, Australia. Heaven and the Underworld were two realms native to Earth, layers that existed as independent worlds. Both environments were different. Both were considered a paradise by the denizens.

Then came the realms of gods. Olympus of the Greeks, Svargaloka of the Hindu, Asgard of the Norse—these realms were not native to Earth, but were nonetheless connected to it. There were realms that existed directly on Earth too. The Night Realm of the Vampires, the Fairhaven of the Fairfolk—each were obscured locations that could be found on Earth, hidden only by powerful illusion magic or barriers. Then there were small worlds and secret enclaves. Powerful existences could create tiny worlds that linked to Earth.

The fallen Principality of Ariya fell into this category. Secret enclaves were no different from small worlds, just far smaller. The Time Chamber fell here. There were many places to explore on Earth, many sights and discoveries to see. The world truly was large and the number of hidden races and species was larger. Igor sat on the edge of a rocky cliff. The skies were clear and a massive forest lay before him for as far as the eye could see. He had a diary open that recorded his journeys and his personal thoughts.

It was a small orange book and already, over half its pages were filled with his scribbles. [I wish I could bring Akeno here to see this. Maybe she'd be awed or bored. You never know with children. But enough of my rambling. The old man and I have a mission. I can already sense our target ahead. It's an escaped exorcist who killed multiple people contracted with devils. Why would he do this? I don't think I'll understand, nor do I really care… not anymore. Some people are too far gone to talk to. And I will be honest here. I'm becoming numb to this. I don't know how to explain the feeling, and a part of me is worried at how fine I am. Am I fine? The old man says I'm fine, but I'm not sure anymore. I believe I've lost a part of myself. Though maybe that's a good thing. If I can make the world a good place for my family, then it's fine. I don't mind if it's for them.] Igor continued writing even when Baraquiel suddenly appeared. The man peered over his shoulder and shook his head in resignation.

"I know I've said it before, but I will never cease to be amazed at how these scribbles mean anything to you."

"I'm built different, old man." Igor closed the diary and stood up. Both book and pen vanished in white light. It was time for business.

"Any requests from the client?" He asked with a casual calm. He wanted to get it over and done with before noon.

"They want his head." Baraquiel replied with crossed arms. The exorcist was a mid-class, but Igor was strong enough to handle it. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"Be careful, boy."

"Mn." Igor pulled his glaive from the time chamber. It appeared in his grasp in a flash of white. Their target, a middle-aged man in coarse robes, was deep in the forest several kilometres away. Igor couldn't see him, but he could sense his energy and smell the ashes from burnt firewood. That was more than enough for him.

"I'll make it quick." Igor pulled the glaive back and prepared to throw it. He was strong, but not enough to quickly end opponents of the same class as him. Precise one-shot assassinations like this saved a lot of time and were far cleaner. He took aim. Vital energy reinforced the blade and shaft. Exorcists rarely trained their durability beyond conventional weaponry. If his throw was too strong, he risked obliterating the body. Sharpness and control were needed more than showing off his brute strength.

Igor took a step forward. His foot grazed the edge, scattering sand over the cliff. With a grunt and lasered focus, he threw his glaive. It flew from his grasp in a quiet golden glow. The glaive was quiet. It barely made a whistle, and that was important. The less disturbance in the air, the less time the target had to react. The exorcist certainly did not have that time. The glaive disappeared into the trees. It shred through branches like a hot knife through butter. It didn't just shred.

It melted its way through, leaving grotesque charred holes in thick trunks. The exorcist was sitting on a rock by a put-out campfire. A dried loaf of bread was in his hand. He was lost in thought, his current situation glaring at him like the mocking laughter of the devil. Just days ago, he lived in a palace of gold. His fall was too rapid. And all because he killed a bunch of scum who contracted devils. [I wasn't wrong!] He crushed the loaf beneath his grip.

His thought was defiant, and it was the last thought he ever had. It began with his left arm, the one that held his chin in thought. Time slowed… A burning acid sensation slowly corroded the skin from his shoulder blades to his elbow, a corruption that steadily spread from where a pointed tip just barely touched him. The blade touched his skin, and the flesh parted like the Red Sea. The blade itself was almost as long as an arm. It tore its way through his arm, came out the other side, and pierced through his side.

His ribs were nothing in front of that overwhelming force. They weren't crushed. They were melted through like a finger poking through wet clay. The blade touched his heart. It bubbled and exploded. His left lung was charred to a crisp, then his right… until the blade escaped through the other side and only just nicked his right arm. The exorcist finally reacted… by widening his eyes. The pain only just registered along with the cracking sound of trees.

The force of the glaive pulled him off his seat and his limp form flew into the ground. His body plowed through dirt until sturdy roots stopped him with a snap. He was dead. His eyes lay open, never knowing nor understanding how it happened. Moments later, sandalled feet stood next to his corpse. His body jiggled until the glaive was pulled out with a squelch. In one swift slash, his head was cut off.... … |DxD| …... Igor was seated on a rock.

He cradled his glaive on his lap, wiping away the blood and molten sludge of bone from the blade. He was silent in thought, reflecting on his series of actions. The list of lives he took grew longer. He felt very little, sometimes nothing. The most he felt was mild annoyance when blood splattered on his sandal straps. His glaive, a gift from Baraquiel, hadn't seen the second week before it lopped off someone's head. Violence was an option. And often times, a permanent end to that violence became a necessity.

Igor's only bottom line was—no innocents, not if he could help it. He wiped away the last of the blade until he could see his reflection. His eyes were cold. Or perhaps they had always been this dull? [Not important.] Igor covered the glaive with vitality, incinerating whatever splots of blood and flesh he missed. He stood up and both weapon and cloth vanished back into the time chamber. Baraquiel walked over with the severed head and sealed it into his own inventory space.

The bounty was completed cleanly and no other information was found.

"Another tick for your log, Igor. Are you ready for another one?"

"Not today, old man. I was planning on picking up Akeno after this. It's been a while." From morning 'til dusk, Igor spent his days either on missions or training with Baraquiel. Only would he see Akeno at night, sometimes when she was asleep. So he dedicated the odd days in a month to pick her up from school and spend the day with her and Shuri.

"Alright, Igor. But you better hurry. If you move now, you might just make it before school comes out for the day."

"Mn. What time is it?"

"In Japan? Just past eleven. Or do you want to help me clean up so I can teleport you?" Igor shivered.

"No need, old man." Igor hated teleporting anywhere. The revulsion his body had for any other energy source coating him only grew stronger with his strength. In truth, Baraquiel could send him back to Kuoh without teleportation, but both knew he just wanted some time alone.

"I'll make do by flying."

"Then don't get seen. Now get out of here. I'll see you at dinner."

"Alright, old man." Golden energy slowly burned to life around Igor. He shot up into the skies and once high enough, he burst away into the horizon, leaving only a long golden trail as proof he was ever there..

END