As the man caught his breath, he continued his journey with unwavering determination, igniting even fiercer flames. His resolve was so intense that it could have made even God wince with embarrassment, imagining hiding away. Blackie, indulging in the flames like a banquet laid out just for him, gleamed with delight and greed in his eyes.

Maila sensed a violent streak about to emerge from his fiery figure. She held her forehead, sighed deeply, and advised the man, "I think you should try another approach."

A smile almost appeared on the man's lips, but as Blackie expanded larger than life itself, it quickly faded. The oppressive heat rose higher, scorching the tips of the nearest blades of grass. The man shed his cloak so swiftly that a fashion show would have eagerly recruited him. Maila moved to pull Blackie away when suddenly the man let out a roar so powerful that the nearby mountains trembled in their nascent roots, and Maila felt it in her feet. From his outstretched hands materialized the head of a dragon, its body as thick as a snake's, teeth sharper than a saber-toothed tiger's, its colors so vivid even a dandelion would envy them. The dragon bellowed in unison with the man, froth dripping from their mouths, thick and glistening. It lunged towards Blackie and opened its maw, vast as the deepest sea, more unsettling than the most grotesque deep-sea creature. From its depths shot a fireball, larger than the moon, hotter than the sun, its sole target Maila.

Blackie swooped in front of her like a knight in black armor, and the fireball struck him, vanishing instantly. A rumble emanated from his belly, and he belched so loudly the man grimaced, contorted enough to rival a shrunken head. Blackie flew toward the man, hovering before him, and despite his imposing stature, he suddenly felt overwhelming fear. His body froze as grass entwined around his feet, rooting him in place. Just as Blackie was poised to unleash his fiery wrath, Maila noticed a tiny spot, so small that even a pin would struggle to discern it, forming a miniature sunflower pattern. "Stop!" she commanded in a voice so cold it made the man's blood run cold.

Blackie halted in his tracks, waiting as Maila gracefully tiptoed through the grass towards the man. Her fingers directed Blackie's flames, molding them into ropes as dark as tar, thick enough to make vines coil in anticipation. The ropes tightened around the man's neck, his struggles only intensifying the constricting grip around his helpless throat. From a distance that Maila could almost feel his breath, she noticed the blot on his forehead. Its once delicate floral pattern now resembled a sadly smeared mess, not something one would wish to reuse.

"You are not him but only his puppet," said Maila, biting her lower lip with disappointment that coiled around her throat, bringing forth bitterness. "Where is he?"

The man's silence spoke volumes. Finally, his voice emerged. "Your threats don't touch me."

"I'm not threatening. It was just a simple question," said Maila, irritation bubbling up.

"Kill him!" she commanded so harshly that even Blackie felt it in his flames, which could normally engulf everything, but not this severity.

Suddenly, a laugh escaped the man's mouth, its toxicity potent enough that even the deadliest spider would admire. But Blackie's vines tightened harder, and the man’s once superior grin was now choked by malice. Yet his voice persisted, dipped in corrosive acid.

"Death is just a new door for me. God will send me back to you. When it happens, you will never sleep peacefully again. Mark my words. Sleep tight..."

"I doubt God has anything to do with someone like you. I might as well sleep on a stone, your words won't shake me," interrupted Maila, her tone icy enough to freeze the grass beneath them, silencing the wind and halting the Grassflies from nibbling on the detectives' cheeks.

"Get it over with quickly, Blackie!" she continued, her eyes blazing intensely.

With a sharp snap of her fingers, darkness began to recede slowly, while Kudah's gentle light arrived, followed by a proud storm. Blackie's mouth, once a streak of glowing fire, split into two, darkness so deep that even Lord Hell might question his own abilities. The fiery maw engulfed the man's formerly elegant figure with a sizzle. With a suppressed scream, his skin opened, revealing inner flesh, threads, and seeping liquid. Amidst it emerged a gleaming ivory. It turned to dust, scattering onto the bare grass, where the earth lay untouched by merciless pebbles.

Maila's three right fingers began a graceful dance, starting with the index finger, one by one. The wind arrived and whisked away the now dusty remnants of ivory that had settled in a neat pile. Silence lingered, accompanied by the gentle evening that hadn't quite completed its work.

Maila's eyes mirrored the wind's dance, and a murmur escaped her lips. "My forgiveness for you will only come when God admits His mistakes."

She bent down on the bare earth, which greeted her touch with the remaining dust, colors muted like a cloudy day. Sorrow flowed through her fingertips, warming the earth that embraced it willingly. Sprouts, delicate as the first shoots of spring, burst forth joyously, their symphony audible to those nearest. Their glow rivaled the most beautiful emerald, proud as they swayed with new leaves. Looking at the blades of grass, Maila was certain not even the keenest observer could see a difference. If so, God or the spirits must feel deep shame. After Blackie's fiery departure, her gaze fell on Liam, now curled into a peaceful ball.

"So much for Mr. Mahn's talisman. Who would've thought the old goat still breathes," she muttered, tasting the bitter irony laced with sweetness.

Her fingertips brushed lightly against Liam's cheek, the first to stir. He opened his eyes, their brightness undimmed by the darkness he had faced.

"Where is he? Did he flee with his tail between his legs?" Liam asked, his voice rough, punctuated by a cough.

A long sigh escaped Maila, her gaze turning to the now beautiful sky, the smiling moon casting a gentle glow on her cheeks. Her smile broke through softly, feeling the warmth.

"The universe reclaimed him. Hopefully, he's found peace," she replied, expecting more questions from Liam, but they didn't come.

Instead, he asked, "Will he come back to us?"

She shook her head, a shadow passing over her thoughts. "If he does, I'll ensure he never sees the light again."

At that moment, the Grassflies began a mournful dance over the woman resting peacefully, her eyes forever closed, a reminder of her presence.

With determined strides, they had covered half the distance to the woman when Liam's reminder sparked a realization: they had forgotten someone—Ezekiel.

They turned back, but suddenly Liam felt a searing sensation, as if invisible teeth were sinking into his flesh.

"It burns," he exclaimed, his knees buckling.

Maila swiftly knelt beside him, her fingers gently tracing his legs, channeling her energy and concluding with a tap on his knee.

"Can your legs handle it now?" she asked, her tone tinged with concern.

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Liam nodded, and his legs began to move again.

Next, Maila approached Ezekiel, giving him a firmer tap that caused his eyes to twitch but not open.

Quickly scanning his body, Maila noticed small blockages under his skin and in his veins.

"He has blockages inhibiting the flow of energy," she informed Liam, who knelt by Ezekiel's face with worry etched on his features.

"Can you help him?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Maila's lips curved in a reassuring smile, resembling a juicy orange slice. She nodded confidently.

"Luckily, clearing blockages is my specialty. It's a more advanced version of what I did for you."

Upon hearing this, Liam eagerly urged her to begin treatment, offering ancient books from the Holy Church if needed, but Maila assured him she had enough resources.

"He's my only partner," Liam emphasized, his concern palpable.

"I never said I wouldn't help him," Maila replied, rolling up her sleeves. Her fingers conjured small, delicate ribbons of bright energy that danced around her wrists, finishing in a graceful bow like a finely wrapped Christmas gift.

Maila proceeded to tap various points on Ezekiel's body, directing her energy through her fingers. She repeated the method multiple times, taking breaks as needed. Later, as exhaustion set in, Maila paused and realized sweat had gathered on her skin. Adjusting her clothes, she welcomed the cooling air that embraced her. Meanwhile, Liam completed the treatment with a firm slap on both of Ezekiel's cheeks, gently encouraging him back to consciousness. Maila sought refuge under a linen tree, a rare specimen, her back leaning against it with relief. Her eyes closed, granting them the rest they had longed for. Gradually, her body joined in relaxation, assuming a lotus position as her breaths ended in tranquil exhales. Ezekiel's eyes fluttered open, darting around like a startled fawn's. They settled on Maila, who sat in a serene silence.

"Marry me!" he blurted out gruffly, his voice cracking as though it were his first time speaking.

A furrow formed on Maila's forehead as she remarked, "Detective Liam, why is he speaking to you? He's your partner through and through."

Liam attempted to respond, his voice gravelly like Ezekiel's, when suddenly he felt a sharp slap on his head. Their attention shifted to the resting woman, now surrounded by dancing Grassflies, resembling a maiden heading towards Rainbow Falls—beautiful yet hauntingly sorrowful, a sentiment Maila herself felt deeply.

With a swift call, the team arrived in full gear—white space suits, rubber gloves, and various tools that might repel the faint-hearted. They meticulously cleaned every corner, leaving no trace behind, even carrying off innocent straw to an undisclosed location.

As Maila caught a glimpse of Kudah's shimmering light, her earlier concerns resurfaced. Would anyone notice something amiss here? After a collective scrutiny, they concluded unanimously: to their awareness, not even the keenest observer would detect any difference.

The white-clad figures marched solemnly towards their base with a damsel in distress but soulless, leaving Maila to bid farewell to the detectives. However, they interrupted her with an offer to join the local police force. Despite their insistence, Maila declined repeatedly until they finally relented with their unnecessary proposal.

As minutes slipped away like hopping stones, Maila found herself back in her Space, resting in a pond with water so clear it mirrored the sky. The soothing water made her smile, wishing time could halt forever. Dipping her fingers into the water, Maila encountered a bump beneath her, bringing it to the surface. Its shape, uneven like the most unpolished gemstone, held profound value—a Core from Blacksmith Kjeld.

When beings of potent spiritual energy passed away, they left behind a Core, signifying their fusion with nature while their soul wandered elsewhere—a mystery Maila pondered. The Core served many purposes, yet she focused on one that would widen High Priest Gustir's eyes beyond measure.

Her gaze drifted over the grass, settling on the katana whose name was so dry that Maila could taste it on her tongue. Something for something.

"I need to find Monk John soon." Her gaze then turned to her clothes, scattered worse than a dumpsite.

"I promised Blackie my panties if he did his job."

In the same part of Gurinl Forest where Maila had once walked, two male priests stood, dressed in the simplest and most unremarkable attire imaginable. Around their necks gleamed golden crosses so radiant that it seemed as if God Himself blessed them with a smile.

Both priests diligently put their noses to work, sniffing around until they finally paused. One of them summoned a cross so golden that it could blind the sun, large enough to dwarf an elephant yet fitting perfectly in the priest's otherworldly hand, clad in gloves brighter than the clearest sky. With a spread of his fingers, the cross began its task: it descended onto a carpet of new sprouts, blending seamlessly with the grass to confound even the sharpest eye. Pressing down with its sharp edges, it marked its dominion multiple times. Satisfied, it lifted back into the air, shaking off the grass with a violent twist before floating toward the priests, who awaited with anticipation. The cross suddenly glowed, taking on a hue akin to a very ripe tomato.

"Someone has performed an exorcism without the Church's permission. It's a violation of the law. Who in the Lord's name is so amateurish?" spoke the priest, who possessed the hard-working cross now relegated to a dark pocket. In response, it glowed in protest, uncertain when it would shine with glory again.

Smiling tightly, the two priests moved on to their next task: reporting the amateur to the Church. Yet, beneath their façade, nervousness gnawed at their thoughts. Their tongues subtly began to roll after each other, bearing a hidden message: Who among them would be the one to report the transgressor?

Just as Gurinl Forest believed it had seen enough visitors for the day, five figures emerged from the Onmyoji Council, all clad in identical uniforms so warm, bright, and pure that even the moon would proudly embrace them at night. The five individuals fixed their gaze on the exact spot where the priest's cross had asserted its influence.

"Is this where your senses detected the energy, Anming?" asked one man, bending over to inspect the sprouts.

In response, the sprouts seemed to shy away in a bending motion. They had clearly endured enough—after all, that cross had committed vandalism. Can you imagine? Vandalism.

A straight line formed on Anming's lips, the one whose nose never seemed to rest. "Look, even the grass suggests they've experienced something profound. I have no doubt now."

A charming smile spread across Anming's face, so captivating that some might mistake him for a woman, especially with his elegant ponytail that rivaled the fashion sense of any trendsetter. Leaning in next to his friend, he lightly brushed his nose over the grass, tickling his senses.

"I sense something sacred here, purer than Lady Lucifilia Avelia. Someone has performed an exorcism," he declared, rejoining his group to share his findings. "But only authorized Onmyoji are permitted to do so. The Council keeps a strict record of all our members. Who could it be?"

Before anyone could respond, Anming's fingers spread, and the air in front of them shimmered open—a bright, horizontal line. Out fluttered a silkmoth named An, so white it could rival a moonstone, its furry body draped in a frozen blanket of snow that shimmered like stars on a winter night. Its antennae, delicate yet sturdy, were covered in a fine fur, its glow sharper than a swarm of Grassflies combined, illuminating the darkness around them.

Anming gently plucked a protesting tuft of grass and held it before An's face, instructing the moth to track. But An shook his charming furry head, his snowy blanket sprinkling onto the grass as he turned away.

"Are you sure it's here, Anming? An doesn't seem convinced," remarked a woman, gently stroking An with her fingers. In response, An purred louder than a cat.

"An can be a bit finicky. You might need to bribe him, unless the target is a woman," Anming quipped, rising to his feet and brushing grass off his knees.

The woman tilted her head, studying An again. "He's a silkmoth. What if the trail belongs to a man? That could be why he's refusing."

"There's definitely something here," interrupted another man, bending down to lift a white cloth. Inside was a strand of hair, so dark it outshone ebony.

An's antennae quivered suddenly. Floating over to the hair, he delicately touched it several times. His body trembled, and from his tiny, garlic-shaped mouth emitted a soft squeak. Spreading his wings in an elegant flap, his excitement matched his sounds. An set off in a specific direction, away from Gurinl Forest, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

"Look! He's not hiding that it's a woman. It's definitely someone special," exclaimed Anming, his broad toothy smile now radiant as the moon's rays.

And so the five Onmyojis embarked on their journey towards an unknown person, their only lingering uncertainty compared to the priests being the person's gender: Is she extraordinary?