Seirei Exorcist

Zeyrix Veynith was pinned against the theater wall, razor-sharp cards digging into his flesh. His once-charismatic grin twisted into an expression of pain as blood oozed from his body. Despite the situation, he remained eerily calm. His violet eyes flicked toward Jack and Vanessa, who were busy freeing the live audience from their chains. The terrified spectators stumbled toward the exit, desperate to escape the chaos.

Mark stepped forward with injuries of his own, his gaze cold and unyielding. He spoke firmly. "It's over, Zeyrix. Give it up."

Zeyrix coughed, blood staining his lips, but the familiar psychopathic smile crept back onto his face. "Give it up?" His voice was a mixture of amusement and despair. "Give what up? You've already taken everything from me. What else do I have to give?"

His words carried an eerie weight, and Mark hesitated. Zeyrix's tone wasn't directed at him or anyone in the room. It was as if he were addressing someone from his past. A faraway look clouded his eyes as memories surged to the surface.

He whispered, almost to himself, "I've already lost everything."

(The Flashback Begins)

I've always just wanted to be an entertainer.

Zeyrix's thoughts pulled him into his past. As a child, he had adored theater performances and circus acts. He spent countless hours watching performers juggle fire, contort their bodies, and captivate audiences with their art. It was magical. It was inspiring. He promised himself that one day, he too would perform on stage and dazzle the world.

Determined, Zeyrix began uploading videos of his acts—his dances, his tricks, his comedy routines. He even auditioned to be a host for local shows. For two long years, no one noticed him. But then, at last, a prominent theater reached out, offering him a chance to perform on stage.

"It's finally happening," Zeyrix had thought, overwhelmed with joy. His dreams were coming true.

On the day of his first rehearsal, he worked tirelessly with the cast. But something strange began to happen. The people around him started complaining of feeling weak and dizzy. At first, it was brushed off as nerves or exhaustion, but then one of the performers collapsed.

The doctors ran tests, and the truth emerged—a truth that shattered Zeyrix's life. His ability, his "Standz," was unique and dangerous. It drained the life force of those around him if they stayed near him for too long.

When this became public, everything fell apart. His fellow performers avoided him. The theater revoked his contract. Even his parents grew afraid, treating him like a curse. They fed him from a distance, refusing to approach. Eventually, they handed him over to the authorities, calling him a mistake—a freak.

Locked away in a cold, dark cell, Zeyrix spent six agonizing years in isolation. No human contact. No hope. His dreams faded, replaced by despair.

Then after six years, two men arrived. They claimed to be his saviors, offering him freedom. Desperate, Zeyrix believed them. But their intentions were far from noble.

The men worked for a chemical company conducting illegal experiments. They needed someone expendable to mix toxic gases for a new weapon. Zeyrix, abandoned by society, was the perfect candidate. Refusing wasn't an option—returning to his cell was the only alternative.

And so, he became their pawn. Day after day, he mixed chemicals, inhaling toxic fumes, his dreams of performing buried beneath the weight of survival.

One fateful day, during a rare break, Zeyrix overheard two guards discussing a rogue seirei (spirit) they planned to hunt. They joked about not knowing the exorcism chant and decided to use brute force instead. Zeyrix ignored them—until the seirei appeared.

She was terrified, cornered, and desperate. She fled up the stairs and stumbled into the chemical lab, where Zeyrix worked. Grabbing his hand, she begged for help.

Before Zeyrix could respond, the seirei aura unstable the structure beneath them . They both plummeted into a vat of chemical fluid. The guards panicked and fled, leaving them to their fate.

As the fluid consumed him, Zeyrix thought he would die. His life flashed before his eyes—his childhood dreams, his rejection, his suffering. But amidst the despair, a spark of defiance ignited.

I can't die here, he thought. I must perform. I must show the world who I am.

The chemical mixture, combined with the seirei's energy, transformed him. When Zeyrix emerged, his appearance was monstrous, his laugh uncontrollable. But he was alive. He was free.

From that day forward, Zeyrix vowed to force the world to see him. If they wouldn't give him an audience, he would take it. He orchestrated events, manipulated lives, and turned his pain into twisted performances that captivated and horrified.

(Back to the Present)

Zeyrix's flashback ended, and his cold, furious gaze focused on Mark. "And now you want to take more from me?"

Mark didn't flinch under the weight of Zeyrix's anger, but the others hesitated, unnerved by the raw emotion in his voice.

Zeyrix clenched his fists, a manic grin spreading across his face. With a burst of energy, he broke free from the razor cards pinning him. "I won't let you!" he roared, charging toward Mark and the others.

Miwafe, still regaining her strength, summoned her ice Standz ability and launched a freezing blast. The ice struck Zeyrix, sending him crashing through the theater wall and into the street below.

Mark turned to the others. "Stay here and recover. We'll handle him," he said before leaping through the hole, followed by Smith.

Outside, Zeyrix struggled to his feet, his breathing ragged but his determination unbroken. He pulled out a concealed pistol, aiming it at Mark.

Before he could fire, Smith's string-like Standz ability knocked the weapon from Zeyrix's hand.

Mark wasted no time, closing the distance and slamming Zeyrix to the ground. But Zeyrix wasn't finished. With a sinister laugh, he twisted the flower-shaped brooch on his chest, releasing a cloud of poisonous gas.

Mark instinctively stepped back, holding his breath. Zeyrix saw his chance and lunged, but Rin, after recovering a bit, used her sand-based Standz to trap Zeyrix in place.

Zeyrix struggled against the sand, but it was futile. Surrounded, he slumped in defeat, breathing heavily.

Mark, instead of gloating, began to laugh—a genuine, hearty laugh that caught everyone off guard.

Zeyrix glared at him. "What's so funny?"

Mark grinned. "You put on a good show."

Zeyrix's eyes widened in surprise. For the first time, a single tear rolled down his cheek. He smiled faintly. "You're a strange one, Mark."

Mark extended a hand. "You wanted to perform, didn't you? If you're willing to pay for your crimes, you could work with the Seirei Exorcist Group. You've got talent, Zeyrix. It doesn't have to end here."

The others stared at Mark in disbelief. Zeyrix had tried to kill them moments ago, yet Mark spoke to him with understanding and respect.

Zeyrix chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're insane and the call me crazy."

"Maybe," Mark admitted. "But the world's still watching."

Zeyrix looked around at the live audience and cameras still broadcasting their battle. For the first time in years, he felt something other than anger—a sliver of hope.

"All right," he said, allowing himself to be restrained. "I'll play along. But stay alive, Mark. I want to see what you can do next."

Mark smiled as they handed Zeyrix over to the authorities. The live audience erupted in applause, cheering for the Seirei Exorcist Group.

As the cameras panned to Mark and his team, Zeyrix whispered, "The world's still watching. Don't let them down."

Mark nodded, his gaze resolute. The battle was over, but the journey was far from finished.