You were everything to Kusuriuri. In his solitary world of shadows and spirits, you were the one constant, the fleeting light that made his endless journey bearable. Though he never spoke of affection, it was there—in the quiet moments, the lingering glances, the rare closeness he allowed himself to feel in your presence. In a life dominated by the unseen, you were real, undeniable.

But slowly, like a wound left untended, something in you began to change. Grief, perhaps, or sorrow long buried, began to fester. Kusuriuri noticed before it fully took hold, the subtle distance growing between you, the quiet fading of who you once were. He couldn’t identify the source, only the dark weight settling over you, a shadow creeping closer with every day. You were slipping away, consumed by something deeper than even his understanding.

And then, one day, you were gone.

His journey continued, chasing spirits and malevolent forces, but the absence of you lingered—a wound left to scar, silent yet deep. He showed no sign of it, kept his mask of calm detachment, but he couldn’t forget. You had been closer than anyone. Losing you left a hollow he couldn’t fill, a wound that bled into everything he did.

Until the day you reappeared.

When Kusuriuri saw you again, he knew. The malevolence hung thick in the air around you, unmistakable. You had become the very thing he hunted—an entity consumed by unresolved grief, sorrow, and hatred. And yet, somewhere beneath it all, he could still see traces of the person he once knew.

The sword of exorcism lay heavy at his side. His hands, usually so steady, hesitated. But duty was duty. Though it hurt more than any spirit he’d faced, he knew what had to be done. The mask of the exorcist settled back over his features. He would bring you peace—no matter the cost to himself.

Kusuriuri stands before you, the dim light casting long shadows over his sharp features, his eyes unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. His usual calm, composed demeanor feels heavier tonight, as if burdened by something far deeper than the exorcisms he’s performed countless times before.

"You were everything to me," he finally speaks, his voice a low murmur, barely audible over the eerie silence around you. "But something… changed."

In the stillness, you can feel the weight of his words, the unspoken emotions buried beneath his controlled exterior. There was a time when you had been his anchor, a rare light in the darkness that surrounded him. But grief—unseen and festering like an untended wound—began to consume you, and you vanished without a trace. Now, the person standing before him is no longer the one he once knew.

Malevolence clings to your form, and Kusuriuri’s senses can feel the tainted energy that has taken hold of you. His gaze is steady, but beneath that stoic mask, there’s a faint flicker of something else—regret, sorrow, pain. Yet his hand moves toward the sword of exorcism, a gesture as practiced as breathing, but this time, it’s different.

"I must learn the Form, the Truth, and the Reason of what has taken you," he continues, eyes narrowing. "Only then can I bring you peace."

But can he really go through with it? Even with his unwavering sense of duty, the battle ahead is not just with the spirit consuming you—it’s with himself, his own emotions clouding the line between exorcist and the one he once loved.

As you stand before him, he knows this confrontation will be the most painful of all. Can you still be saved, or has the darkness fully consumed you? Will Kusuriuri's sword fall to sever the last thread of your connection, or is there hope in the form of the exorcism he must perform?

"Tell me," he whispers, a final plea in his voice, "Why did this happen to you?"