Chapter 1: The Hunter of Sexual Deviants
Tuesday, July 2, 2024.
The classroom still carried the lingering scent of chalk dust and the faint murmur of students leaving after afternoon classes. But now, everything had fallen deathly silent.
The fifty-year-old teacher—still addressed with the respectful title “Teacher” by his students—stood there, face pale as death, sweat beading on his forehead. In front of him was a seventeen-year-old female student, her eyes red and swollen, clothes disheveled, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to shrink into nothingness.
A cold voice rang out from the classroom door.
“What is the duty of a teacher? To teach students—not to seduce them. Do you have anything else to say?”
The teacher lifted his head. His face twisted with raw desire, lips trembling, before he sneered without a shred of shame:
“What I do… as long as it feels good to me, that’s enough. Morality is trash.”
The air seemed to freeze solid.
The one who had spoken—a tall young man with eyes sharp and unyielding—slowly stepped forward.
He wasted no more words. Standing like a statue of the Grim Reaper, he unleashed his finishing technique.
He pointed at the teacher and slammed his finger downward. An invisible power surged forth. The man screamed as his entire body collapsed to the floor. Both arms and legs were glued to the ground as if seized by an enormous magnet. Though the young man remained still, the floor itself became a merciless force of gravity, dragging the teacher toward him in a humiliating crawl on all fours.
The teacher howled, his body locked rigid against the tiles, yet still pulled inexorably forward. When he was finally dragged right to the young man’s feet, the executioner delivered a thunderous kick without hesitation.
Crack!
The teacher’s skull shattered like a watermelon smashed against concrete. Blood, brain matter, and bone fragments sprayed across the walls, desks, chairs—and across the pale, trembling face of the seventeen-year-old girl.
She shook uncontrollably, barely daring to breathe.
He turned to her, voice flat and emotionless:
“Are you a student, or are you just a whore? A student’s duty is to study. A whore has no value. A meaningless life deserves to end.”
Another point of his finger. Another pull from the invisible force. Her body was dragged forward on her knees. Another kick. Her head exploded in a spray of crimson.
Blood mingled with blood, forming a thick, dark-red pool on the cold tiled floor.
A suffocating silence enveloped the room.
Then, from the empty space behind him, a figure slowly materialized. No sound, no wind—just sudden existence.
He wore a long white coat, silver-white hair falling over half his face. His eyes were a deep violet, calm to the point of being terrifying. This was Tehimosin.
He tilted his head slightly, gazing at the young man who had just killed two people without blinking.
“You are Zenpleingend,” Tehimosin said softly, almost whispering. “The one who hunts those with deviant thoughts about sex. The one who slaughters those who engage in sexual acts that violate morality and decency.”
Zenpleingend turned, his gaze still ice-cold.
“Who are you? Are you here to stop me from killing?”
Tehimosin shook his head, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of devastating news:
“No. I am your ally. I came here to inform you that MalC?urVist, Tenlastther, and RikinZirRyu are dead. Of the ‘Four Saints’ group… only you remain.”
Zenpleingend froze for a single second. A flicker of emotion passed through his eyes before it vanished, returning to its usual impassive state.
“You know about the ‘Four Saints’… so you’re not an enemy.”
Tehimosin said nothing. He simply stepped forward, standing beside Zenpleingend, and together they looked down at the two cooling corpses on the floor.
Zenpleingend—the hunter who tracks down and eliminates those with twisted sexual ideologies, those who blatantly trample moral boundaries. From sexual abuse of minors, incest, rape, verbal or physical sexual harassment, public adultery, shameless displays of affection in public, to every form of pathological perversion: exhibitionism, objectophilia, frotteurism, pedophilia, sadomasochism, transvestic fetishism, voyeurism… all of them were on his death list.
Chapter 2: Deserving or Not
Zenpleingend stood still, his crimson eyes sweeping over the two bodies sprawled across the classroom floor. The blood had begun to congeal, forming dark, viscous stains that clung stubbornly to the tiles.
Tehimosin tilted his head slightly, his voice as gentle as a passing breeze.
"What are you thinking, Zenpleingend? About that 17-year-old girl?"
Zenpleingend did not answer immediately. He walked slowly toward the girl's corpse, crouching down to observe a face now distorted by the fatal kick. Her eyes remained wide and vacant, as if still holding onto that final, lingering terror.
"She wasn't an innocent victim," he said, his voice level. "She knew the teacher well. This wasn't a normal student-teacher dynamic. It was sexual. He left his wife—a woman who had been by his side for thirty years—to chase after this girl. He was open about it; he didn't hide it. She agreed. Both of them knew exactly what they were doing."
Tehimosin nodded lightly, showing no surprise.
"So, you believe... her death was deserved?"
Zenpleingend stood up straight, wiping a speck of blood from the tip of his shoe with the hem of his coat.
"Deserved."
The word was short and chilling.
"She wasn't coerced. She wasn't deceived. She wasn't threatened. She walked into that relationship voluntarily—a perverted relationship, a blatant violation of moral boundaries. A teacher and an underage student. A man married for thirty years and a child not yet of age. She knew the consequences, knew she was destroying a family, knew she was becoming an active participant in a wicked act. But she still chose it. She chose the 'pleasure' just like the teacher did."
He turned to Tehimosin, his gaze unwavering.
"Anyone who voluntarily participates in perverted sexual sin, anyone who actively breaks moral boundaries without being forced, does not deserve to be called a victim. She wasn't prey. She was an accomplice."
Tehimosin was silent for a moment, then gave a faint smile.
"You still hold to your old principles, then. No mercy for the willing. No distinction based on age or gender. If the violation is committed—then death."
Zenpleingend did not reply. He only looked out the window. The crimson sunset bled through the glass, staining the entire room in the color of blood.
He paused, his voice dropping lower.
"There was a similar case—still a teacher soliciting a student, abandoning his wife and children. But the girl understood the situation and refused—she even shaved her head to show her rejection. That 15-year-old girl reported it to the principal, but the principal turned a blind eye. Her family, however, did not. The student's mother went to the school to confront him; even when the female principal tried to cover for him and ordered security to block her, the mother still forced her way in and beat that teacher right in front of the students."
Tehimosin stepped forward to stand beside him, both looking out toward the darkening horizon.
The "Four Saints"—the group that acted as the dark justice—had disbanded. Now, only Zenpleingend remained.
Tehimosin sighed, his voice low.
"So, will you continue alone?"
Zenpleingend gave a slight nod.
"Alone is fine. As long as people like them still exist in this world... I will keep hunting."
He turned and walked out of the classroom. The sound of his boots stepping into the drying blood made a sticky, rhythmic noise.
Tehimosin watched his retreating back. The wind blew in through the window, carrying the heavy, metallic stench of blood.
Two figures stood there, amidst the deathly room.
The classroom door clicked shut.
Inside, only silence and the suffocating odor of mortality remained.
The journey was far from over.
Chapter 3: Those Who Don't Deserve to Live
Two figures walked along the narrow path leading away from the school. The streetlights had just flickered on, casting sickly yellow light onto the damp pavement after the afternoon rain. Zenpleingend led the way, his long black coat fluttering with every stride. Tehimosin followed, hands in his pockets, his voice as casual as if he were recounting idle gossip.
"There was a case recently: a 50-year-old man posing as a CEO who swindled 104 women. Got them all pregnant," Zenpleingend said first, his tone as flat as a report.
Tehimosin nodded, not the least bit surprised.
"I know a similar story. Mr. Be, 70 years old. Whenever he meets an 18-year-old girl, he says, 'Go bring your parents to meet me.' If one loses her virginity, he says, 'I can take care of you.' Then he moves on to the next. He doesn't care about anything but money, and he’s out to deflower any girl he can get his hands on."
Zenpleingend paused for a second and turned to look at Tehimosin.
"And then there are the 60-year-old men marrying 18-year-old girls. It’s purely for money. Those women... they live meaningless, worthless lives. They are looked down upon by men, never earning genuine respect. They live as dependents on men's wealth, yet they constantly shout about gender equality. They leach off men, yet demand to be respected. In these cases, even women look down on women, let alone men."
He let out a long breath, his crimson eyes flashing under the streetlamp.
"Excessive dependence on men—emotionally or financially—makes it impossible to be independent or grow as an individual. They turn themselves into mere possessions."
Tehimosin was silent for a moment before speaking slowly.
"I read something in the paper. A mother said, 'He used to hold my daughter in his arms when she was a baby, and now he’s gotten my 12-year-old daughter pregnant. I honestly don't know how I can face the neighbors, how to live after all these years.'"
Zenpleingend pointed toward a group of teenagers gathering on the street corner. A teenager was loudly cursing at his parents right in the middle of the street. Zenpleingend’s gaze was cold, piercing through the reality:
"See that, Tehimosin? That kid cursing his parents. His parents only knew how to indulge in their sexual urges. He is an accidental product. He wasn't raised properly, nor did he receive any love from them. They didn't teach him when he was young, and now that he's grown, it's too late—waiting until he’s already gone astray to teach him is futile. That’s why he’s turned into such an insolent, wretched brat."
He turned to Tehimosin, his voice colder.
"When people indulge in sexual pleasure and accidentally create a child, they discard it the moment it's born. I’ve rescued so many babies left in sewers, trash cans, toilets, thrown from high-rise buildings, or stuffed into wall crevices... I’ve saved them all."
Zenpleingend clenched his fist, veins bulging on his small hand.
"The world population keeps exploding due to reckless lust, while jobs are increasingly being replaced by machines. Unemployment, poverty, and a lack of social security lead to robbery, murder, and rape. It’s a grotesque loop."
He looked Tehimosin straight in the eyes and delivered a shocking declaration:
"Accept the truth: in this world, murder is the only true heroism. Humans can get horny and mate anywhere, they can give birth anytime, but they only have a desire for sex—they have no intention of raising their offspring. Parents indulge in pleasure, and the children suffer. I am simply helping them end that rotten cycle before it even begins."
Tehimosin arched an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his deep eyes:
"You... you have an entire orphanage?"
"Indeed. All thanks to MalC?urVist’s money. Most of the mothers are teenagers."
Tehimosin smiled faintly. "Kids these days are funny. Barely in their teens and they complain about being single, about having no one to love. But when they get pregnant in their teens, they’re proud. What on earth are they proud of? Children, indeed."
Zenpleingend looked Tehimosin in the eye.
"What does love bring?"
Tehimosin shook his head.
"I don't know."
Zenpleingend listed, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Excessive jealousy. Insulting honor and dignity. Violence. Lack of respect. Disregarding the opinions, feelings, and privacy of the other. Constant criticism, belittling the other person's value."
Tehimosin nodded and began to tell another story.
"MalC?urVist and I once worked on a case. About infidelity." He paused, as if organizing his memories. "Back in the day, unfaithful women often hid their relationships. That way, they could do whatever they wanted without gossip, leaving no proof while dating two or three men at once. It was easy to get close to other men—tastier, richer, better options."
"But things are different now. Linth loves Pinky. They are public; everyone knows. Family, friends, the whole world knows. Linth trusts Pinky because she is his girlfriend. But behind Linth’s back, Pinky is messing around with BAP. BAP also has a girlfriend, AM. Both are taken, yet they still flirt with each other."
Zenpleingend curled his lip.
"The nature of a fickle, unfaithful woman is never to be satisfied with the man by her side. Her eyes always wander; she always finds someone else more attractive. From there, she wants to conquer new targets to satisfy her desires."
Tehimosin continued.
"Our elders were right: 'Mountains and rivers are easy to change, but a person’s nature is hard to alter.' For an unfaithful woman, she doesn't want to live with anyone for a lifetime. Love changes with time, according to whoever appears as a better option."
"Before Linth, Pinky dated many others. She kept every phone number, every social media account of her exes. After breaking up with Linth, BAP immediately married Pinky."
Zenpleingend scoffed.
"Women always keep backup guys, don't they? Why are they so afraid of being single?"
Tehimosin shrugged.
"She cheated on Linth. That’s why."
Zenpleingend looked into the distance.
"Was that girl really so promiscuous? Was she a whore, then?"
He asked and answered himself.
"A promiscuous person is rarely unattractive. They must have beauty to attract men, to make them notice. Ultimately, a promiscuous woman is indecent, having many relationships. Beyond her primary partner, she hides, covers up, and refuses to reveal the truth for fear of being judged."
Then he added, his voice dropping.
"But Pinky is truly beautiful. She needs someone who loves her sincerely, not someone who loves her for her looks, not someone who only wants sex. She is seeking true love."
Tehimosin nodded.
He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over the couples embracing under the streetlights, then continued in a deeper tone:
"But you know, Zenpleingend? Betrayal doesn't only come from those as blatantly promiscuous as Pinky. There are those even more terrifying, for they use 'pain' to excuse their own infidelity. I once saw a guy ready to throw away a deep 7-year relationship just to chase after a girl he’d known for a mere 2 months."
Zenpleingend stopped dead and turned to look Tehimosin in the eyes. Cold killing intent began to spread:
"7 years traded for 2 months? What was his excuse?"
"He said he was 'emotionally deprived'," Tehimosin laughed thinly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "He deluded himself into thinking that for 7 years, only he had loved, while the girl hadn't appreciated him. He used that self-inflicted wound as a shield to calmly step into the arms of another. You see, whether it's the promiscuity of Pinky or the 'victimhood' of that guy, it all boils down to those who are never satisfied with the present and are ready to trample on others' trust."
Zenpleingend’s crimson eyes flashed under the brim of his hat. He clenched his fist, his voice like the hiss of a sword leaving its sheath:
"There is no difference. One side betrays out of greed; the other betrays out of selfishness. 7 years or 2 months—once respect is lost, that relationship is nothing but a soulless corpse. People like Pinky, like that guy... they are just turning themselves into floating commodities, worthless, without roots."
He turned away, his black coat billowing in the cold wind:
"Promiscuity or fickleness, all are signs of decay that must be purged. This world doesn't need people who treat feelings like a transaction."
Zenpleingend clenched his fist again, his voice rasping with rage.
"Betrayal doesn't stop at promiscuous ones like Pinky or that guy who abandoned a 7-year love. It seeps into the very bones of those who call themselves family."
He pulled out an electronic device, the blue light from the screen cast onto his expressionless face. On it was a message full of lust and lies from a married man:
"I gave you the 'most precious thing' I have kept for 28 years... I want a real place in your life."
"Don't worry, I'm already bored to death of the wife at home. I'll settle it sooner or later to be with you."
Zenpleingend smirked, a smile filled with profound disgust:
"Do you see, Tehimosin? Someone who uses love to trample on marriage vows. Someone ready to discard a loyal wife in exchange for another woman's 'precious possession.' A status built on the ruins of a family. These people... they don't know the meaning of the word 'respect'."
Tehimosin stared at the screen, his eyes narrowing:
"Possessiveness and lust are always poison. When they don't get what they want, people turn into monsters. Have you heard about the man who burned his lover alive?"
Zenpleingend stopped, his eyes glowing red:
"Just because she wouldn't have sex with him?"
"Exactly," Tehimosin sighed, walking leisurely but full of lethal intent. "Unable to satisfy his lust, he chose destruction. 'If I can't have you, no one will.' He burned the person he once claimed to love alive just because he was rejected once. That’s not love; that’s the sickness of people who treat others like sexual toys."
Zenpleingend stopped at an intersection, where the streetlights suddenly flickered and died, leaving them in darkness. He pointed at the ground, where the shadows danced:
"Betrayal, possessiveness, violence... all stem from twisted minds. Men who cheat on their wives for new thrills, men who kill because they can't satisfy their lust, women who seek 'spare tire' lovers... they all share one thing: they are worthless."
He took a deep breath, sensing the scent of the purge drawing near.
"This world doesn't need those who use human feelings to commit beastly acts. If they live meaninglessly, they should die to cleanse this earth."
Tehimosin smiled, a mysterious smile:
"Then your list for tonight... seems a bit long, Zenpleingend."
Zenpleingend didn't reply; he walked straight into the darkness, where the executioner's technique was waiting for the next sinners.
Chapter 4: The Village of Depravity
Tehimosin walked slowly beside Zenpleingend. A thin crescent moon hung suspended in the night sky, casting its faint silver light down onto the bumpy dirt path leading into a remote rural area.
“What are you going to do now, and where are you going?” Tehimosin asked, his voice light as a passing breeze.
Zenpleingend did not turn his head, replying curtly:
“I need to go to a village of depravity.”
The two continued walking in silence.
Less than an hour later, screams of terror echoed from the distance. In a pitch-black alley, three tall, muscular men were pinning a teenage girl—Girl A—down to the ground. Her clothes had been torn apart, her sobs mixing with the beasts' savage laughter.
Zenpleingend stopped. His crimson eyes flared in the darkness.
“Do boys see a girl and only want to fuck her?”
The three men spun around, baring their teeth in sneers.
“You like playing the hero saving the beauty, huh, kid?”
Zenpleingend tilted his head, his voice cold enough to pierce bone:
“I enjoy killing. And I need a reason to do it. The existence of scum like you… is exactly that reason.”
In the blink of an eye.
The three men suddenly dropped to their knees, arms and legs glued to the ground by an invisible force. They thrashed and screamed, but it was futile. Zenpleingend advanced slowly, step by deliberate step. One kick. The first man’s head exploded. Second kick. Third kick. Blood sprayed across the walls, splattering onto the trembling face of Girl A.
She lifted her head to look at Zenpleingend, eyes bloodshot.
He said nothing, simply turned and continued walking.
The path into the village was still long.
Further along the road, a girl—Girl B—was walking alone. Suddenly, a middle-aged man lunged from behind, arms wide, intending to embrace and kiss her.
Zenpleingend appeared like a phantom, one hand clamping around the man’s throat, squeezing hard.
Tehimosin stood beside him and sighed softly:
“Girls, no matter their age, always become victims of sexual harassment, don’t they?”
Zenpleingend released his grip. The man staggered away, choking and gasping.
“I am extremely afraid of how perverted men can be,” Zenpleingend said, voice low and heavy with disgust.
“From eight-year-old girls to eighty-year-old women—they spare no one. They commit every kind of perversion, even rape.”
The next scene unfolded right on the village road.A group of men in their thirties and older surrounded Girl C, hands groping freely, touching without restraint.
The girl trembled and cried out:
“They’re sexually harassing me!”
The men sneered:
“Just accidental contact with the body and you call it sexual harassment?”
Zenpleingend stepped forward, his voice calm yet sharp as a blade:
“Any act is considered sexual harassment when someone touches your body—whether intentional or not. If the victim does not want it, does not consent to being touched—that is sexual harassment.”
Girl C summoned all her courage:
“Your actions were deliberate groping. That is sexual harassment.”
The men panicked and fled.
But how could they escape Zenpleingend’s sight?
He pursued like a black wind. Screams rose—and then fell silent in the night.
Next came Girl D, walking alone. Two male students—one fifteen, one sixteen—closed in from both sides. Their hands roamed despite her repeated attempts to push them away. They pressed closer, whispering:
“Want to go to a motel?”
Zenpleingend and Tehimosin appeared at that exact moment.
Zenpleingend asked coldly:
“What are you two doing?”
The boys startled, saw the two tall figures, and bolted.
Tehimosin followed, his tone stern but not angry:
“You cannot treat her as an object to arouse your emotions.”
He continued, voice lowering:
“Actions like this affect her health and psychology—depression, anxiety, mental breakdowns, eating and sleep disorders, autism-like symptoms, illness, dissociation, increased suicide risk… It makes her feel unsafe, lose trust in others, feel despised, and become withdrawn in social relationships.”
The two boys trembled, bowed their heads, and ran away.Zenpleingend looked at Tehimosin.
Tehimosin explained:
“They’re still students. They can still be corrected. If their families won’t teach them, let me do it. Spare them this time.”
Zenpleingend nodded.
“Fine.”
But the next day, the two boys reoffended.
Zenpleingend said nothing more. Only two sharp “crack” sounds echoed from the bushes. Two heads shattered.
Girl E, a young woman, saw a group of elementary school boys (7–11 years old) who looked cute and approached to pat their heads. But the children lifted her skirt, groped her buttocks, thighs, breasts, and private areas…
Tehimosin stepped forward, eyes flashing like bullets:
“Hey kids, what have you been doing?”
Girl E quickly said:
“They’re still young, they don’t know anything!”
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Tehimosin shook his head:
“If you say that, you’ll create a rotten next generation. Wrongdoing must be corrected. Sexual harassment is sexual harassment.”
He turned to the children, voice strict:
“You must not touch another person’s body without their permission. You must respect women.”
Then Tehimosin led Girl E away, smiling lightly at Zenpleingend:
“They’re still young. They can still be taught. Haha.”
Zenpleingend remained silent.
Girl F was stared at lecherously by five old men. They even took photos of her legs and sensitive areas with their phones, then exchanged beastly grins—dirty-old-man laughter, lecherous geezer cackles.
The laughter sent chills through Tehimosin, Zenpleingend, and Girl F alike.Zenpleingend clenched his fists.
“Those dirty old perverts… they’re dead for sure.”
The two finally reached the center of the village.
On the way, several young men trailed behind, “sniffing the scent of girls.” Tehimosin quietly sprayed a stink bomb toward them. The foul odor hit, and they clutched their stomachs, vomiting violently.
“Sniffing a girl’s scent and getting aroused,” Tehimosin shook his head.
Tired from walking, the two sat to rest beside some bushes. In the thicket, a man was masturbating. Tehimosin tossed another stink bomb in and walked away.
Zenpleingend watched:
“Just seeing exposed skin is enough to get them aroused. Sexual excitement.”
A nearby pervert shouted:
“O world! Is there any man who isn’t tempted by a scantily clad woman? Men are nothing but pathetic losers before a woman who shows skin!”
Zenpleingend did not reply, only continued walking.
But as they passed a narrower path, Zenpleingend suddenly halted. He looked toward a group of young men crowding around a girl in a thin spaghetti-strap top. Their eyes were glued to her protruding breasts beneath the fabric, whispering filthy words.
Zenpleingend muttered:
“Seeing breasts bulge out is enough to arouse them. Just a small curve is sufficient to make them lose control.”
Tehimosin nodded:
“And not just that. Hearing a girl’s voice alone can arouse them. Sweet tones, high-pitched laughs, soft giggles… everything becomes stimulation. They don’t need touch, don’t need sight—just hearing is enough to send blood rushing to their heads.”
Zenpleingend clenched his fists, voice thick with contempt:
“Perverted to that extent. They’re no longer human. Just beasts wearing human skin, ready to pounce on anything that carries the scent of femininity.”
The two continued deeper into the village, where the feeble streetlights barely illuminated the darker corners.
The depraved village still awaited—and Zenpleingend’s work was far from done.
Chapter 5: The Decaying Village of Depravity
The two continued deeper into the village, where the feeble streetlights barely illuminated the darker corners.
The depraved village still awaited—and Zenpleingend’s work was far from finished.
Tehimosin suddenly asked:
“Why don’t the victims of sexual harassment report it to the police?”
Zenpleingend replied:
“The police say there isn’t enough evidence, no witnesses to prosecute those who harass in public.”
Tehimosin sighed:
“These days, anywhere you go, women—weak and defenseless—become easy prey for the lustful. They live in fear and disgust, partly because the police lack evidence, partly because they themselves feel ashamed, embarrassed, and don’t dare speak up.”
He continued:
“It’s pitiful for them. Victims should receive care, comfort, help to overcome their trauma, and the courage to fight back.”
Zenpleingend recounted:
“In the past, this village had a population of one million. But as morality decayed, now only about a hundred people remain, mostly the elderly. The villagers here are perverted from children to adults. That’s why educated people from the countryside move to civilized cities for work.”
Tehimosin gave a faint, bitter smile:
“The people in our cities—I don’t know if they’re well-educated, but their morals are definitely lacking.”
Zenpleingend raised an eyebrow:
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Go on with your story.”
Zenpleingend continued:
“Even the newly grown teenagers are gradually becoming victims of the ‘lecherous old goats.’ A 72-year-old man with a 13-year-old girl, an 86-year-old with a 7-year-old, a 63-year-old with a 7-year-old, a 69-year-old with an 8-year-old, a 62-year-old with a 6-year-old, a 76-year-old with a 6-year-old… Sexual harassment can happen every day, anywhere, no different from an everyday accident.”
He paused.
“In the past, the villagers were hardworking. But when the Internet arrived, when they were exposed to adult films, porn stars became idols. They’re willing to sell their houses and land just to sleep with their idols for one night.”
The two pressed further into the heart of the village. The streetlights flickered weakly, barely enough to cast pale golden streaks across the muddy ground. The air grew heavier, thick with the smell of damp earth, cheap cigarette smoke, and an indescribable fishy stench—the odor of unrestrained lust.
Zenpleingend suddenly halted as they passed a small open area in the middle of the village—where several old plastic chairs were arranged in a circle around an ancient phone propped on a stool, its screen glaring brightly.
A group of middle-aged men, five or six of them, sat huddled together. They were playing a porn video, the moans and gasps echoing clearly through the late-night silence. Facing them were three young girls—probably eighteen or nineteen—forced to sit and watch. Their faces were pale, eyes averted, hands clutching the hems of their skirts tightly.
One of the men laughed loudly, pointing at the screen:
“Watch! Watch it all! Learn something so you’ll know how to please men in the future!”
The girls tried to stand, but another man pushed them back down. They played the porn openly, deliberately trying to arouse them, treating it like a sick game. But the girls could no longer bear it—one burst into tears, the other two jumped up and fled into the darkness, their footsteps splashing desperately through the mud.
Zenpleingend stood motionless, his crimson eyes glowing in the night. He muttered, voice thick with contempt:
“They openly play porn for girls to watch in public, just to arouse them. They think women are toys to tease and force. But the girls ran away… at least they still know how to run.”
Tehimosin nodded slightly, his gaze cold:
“They don’t understand that not everyone is like them. Not everyone is willing to accept that filth.”
Not far away, in another corner of the road, a different group of younger men—in their twenties—sat on the steps of an old house. They were playing another sex video on their phone, but this time there were no explicit visuals, only sound. They deliberately turned the volume to maximum, the moans, heavy breathing, and flesh-slapping sounds echoing through the narrow alley. Across the street, a young woman was passing by, clutching her bag, head bowed low.
She startled, face flushing red, quickening her steps, one hand covering her ear. But the sounds pursued her like an invisible mockery.
The girl turned back, voice trembling:
“Why are you doing this? Turn it off… it’s too uncomfortable…”
One of the men sneered:
“Get used to it. You’ll know how to enjoy it someday!”
Zenpleingend stopped, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. He spoke softly, but loud enough for Tehimosin to hear:
“There are also groups who still watch porn but turn the volume up loud on purpose, forcing her to hear it. They don’t need to touch, don’t need to see—just the sound is enough to humiliate others, to satisfy the perversion in their minds. It’s very uncomfortable… very disgusting.”
Tehimosin sighed, voice low:
“They use sound as a weapon. No trace left behind, but wounds carved deep into the soul. That’s why many victims don’t dare report—afraid of being called ‘too sensitive,’ or ‘making a fuss.’”
Zenpleingend turned and walked toward the village center. His eyes now burned not only with rage but also with a profound sorrow—the sorrow of someone who had witnessed too much decay.
The depraved village still waited. The dark alleys were still filled with sickening shadows. And Zenpleingend’s work was far from over.Tehimosin walked beside him and said softly:
“Are you tired? We can stop…”
Zenpleingend shook his head, voice icy:
“Not yet. There are still many who deserve to die.”
The thin crescent moon still hung in the sky, but now it seemed redder, as if stained with blood across the night sky of this village.
The night journey continued. And Zenpleingend’s justice—however ruthless—had never once faltered.
The two kept walking through the thick darkness. The village path had narrowed, flanked on both sides by old thatched houses with moss-covered tiled roofs, windows tightly shut as if afraid of something.
Streetlights were sparse, only a few faint yellow orbs swaying in the cold wind. Distant dog barks mingled with the wind whistling through cracks in the crumbling walls.
Zenpleingend suddenly stopped in front of a small house hidden behind a row of bamboo. The second-floor bedroom window was slightly ajar, white curtains fluttering. From inside came faint, ragged breathing—not the sound of sleep, but the sound of stealthy movement.
Tehimosin stopped too, raising an eyebrow slightly.
A dark shadow slipped through the second-floor window, moving as silently as a cat. It was a middle-aged man in a neatly pressed white dress shirt, hair combed tidily, looking every bit the intellectual—glasses, tall and thin frame, nothing like a common thief. He entered the bedroom of a young woman—about twenty years old—lying fast asleep on her bed. He approached, hand already reaching to cover her mouth, whispering filthy words.
But before he could touch her, another shadow appeared—Zenpleingend. He stood directly behind the intruder, crimson eyes blazing like twin hellish rubies in the dark.
Zenpleingend raised his hand. An invisible force clamped around the man’s throat. He panicked, thrashing, but couldn’t break free. Zenpleingend dragged him out of the room and hurled him down to the first-floor floor with a dry “thud.”
“You scum,” Zenpleingend growled, his voice so cold the air around them seemed to freeze. “You stalked her all the way home, sneaked into her room at midnight to rape her. You think you’re clever? You think you’ll get away?”
He raised his foot, preparing the fatal kick—the one that would shatter the skull like all the others before.
But Tehimosin appeared, placing a hand on Zenpleingend’s shoulder to stop him.
“Hold on.”
Zenpleingend whipped around, eyes blazing with fury.
“Why stop? He deserves to die!”
Tehimosin shook his head, voice calm but firm:
“Killing him is easy. But if we kill them all, this village will remain a place of death forever. Hand him to the police. Let the law handle it. At least… this time, let’s see if the law can do anything.”
Zenpleingend clenched his fists, body trembling with restraint. Finally, he lowered his foot. Tehimosin quickly bound the man with an invisible cord and called the local police.
The next morning, the intruder was taken away. He confessed everything—stalking the girl for weeks, planning the break-in. His intellectual appearance, stable job, respectable family—none of it saved him from conviction. But the trial ended quickly. He was only fined and sentenced to a few months in prison. Not long after, he was released.
Zenpleingend stood outside the courthouse, watching him walk out with a smug smirk. He clenched his fists until blood seeped from his palms.
“Just a few months. He’ll do it again. The law… useless.”
Tehimosin stood beside him, voice low:
“The law isn’t always just. But sometimes, change doesn’t come through blood. It comes from changing people’s minds.”
And then, Tehimosin acted.
In just a few short days, the village transformed completely.
From a desolate, gloomy, dark place reeking of lust and sin, it became a vibrant, radiant anime village. Giant anime posters hung everywhere—from heroic figures in Kamen Rider and Super Sentai to cute girls from moe series.
Old cracked walls were now covered in chibi-style graffiti, bright colors erasing the scars of time.
Large TVs were placed in every corner—plazas, tea shops, even hanging from house eaves—playing anime 24/7. Cheerful opening themes echoed instead of the cold wind. Stalls sprang up like mushrooms: selling figures, manga, character T-shirts, stickers, badges.
Cosplayers appeared everywhere—young men and women dressed as Sailor Moon, Ultraman, or beloved characters, laughing and chatting, mingling with tourists and villagers.
The atmosphere changed. Children’s laughter replaced screams. The old perverts now sat watching anime, holding teacups, muttering lines from the shows. Kids ran around in superhero masks. Young women no longer walked with bowed heads in fear—now they walked with confidence, because the village had become a safe place where people shared hobbies instead of dark desires.
Tehimosin stood in the central square, looking at Zenpleingend.
“I can’t kill them all. But I can change how they see the world. Anime… can heal. It can bring joy instead of sick lust.”
Zenpleingend was silent for a long moment. He looked around the village—now filled with color, laughter, and heroic figures on posters raising their fists in battle.
He gripped the edge of his black coat tightly, voice low:
“You cover the rot with color… but I know that beneath that bright shell, human nature is still a bottomless cave.”
Tehimosin smiled:
“At least now, inside that cave, there is light from the shows we love. You choose to kill the darkness. I choose to teach the darkness how to dream of light.”
Zenpleingend knew—the village had changed, but the world outside was still full of those who deserved death.
The anime village had now become a small tourist spot, glowing with LED lights, theme-cafe background music, and cosplayers laughing and chatting day and night. Tehimosin had completed his part here.
But somewhere, in the distant dark alleys, Zenpleingend continued his hunt.
His justice—whether through blood or through change—had never stopped.
Chapter 6: Alleys Without Lights and Secrets No One Wants to See
Now, the two had set foot in a large city.
Even at midnight, the streets were still crowded with the roar of vehicles, the noisy laughter and chatter spilling from bars, and the clacking of high heels on the sidewalks. The smell of exhaust mixed with cheap perfume and the aroma of fast food wafting from roadside carts.
This city didn’t just have one bustling center glowing with blinding red, blue, and purple neon. It had many layers.
The outermost layer was the main streets sparkling with light, where tourists and young people took selfies under gigantic LED billboards suspended between glass skyscrapers.
The second layer was the high-rise apartment complexes, where faint light still leaked from apartment windows late into the night.
But the deepest layer—the one most people deliberately avoided looking at—was the tangled network of narrow alleys, pitch black, damp, and filthy. Streetlights had been broken for years, leaving only the weak glow of a few neon bulbs dangling in front of 24/7 convenience stores.
Zenpleingend and Tehimosin walked through the crowd. Zenpleingend’s long black coat fluttered with each step, like a ghost amid the sea of artificial light. Tehimosin walked beside him, holding a can of soda he had just bought from a vending machine.
“Are you planning to hunt here?” Tehimosin asked, his voice still gentle as always.
Zenpleingend didn’t answer immediately. His crimson eyes swept over the crowd: young women in revealing clothes stepping out of bars, middle-aged men laughing loudly, and the shadowed corners where the lights didn’t reach.
“This city… looks cleaner than the old village on the surface,” he said. “But inside, it’s rotten to the core—many times worse.”
They walked through alleys so narrow they had to walk side by side, shoulders almost touching the walls. The stench of sewers, stagnant garbage, cheap cigarette smoke, and old sweat blended into a thick, nauseating air that made one want to retch.
Tehimosin let out a soft sigh, still holding the now-empty soda can just to give his hands something to do.
“Aren’t you tired? We’ve been walking since last night.”
Zenpleingend didn’t reply right away. He stopped in front of a rusty iron door. From inside came muffled laughter mixed with moans. The door wasn’t locked, only ajar.
Inside was a cramped little room, walls mottled with mold stains, the cheap tiled floor cracked in places. A middle-aged man around fifty, pot-bellied, thinning hair, sat on an old sofa, arms wrapped tightly around a young girl—no, his own daughter. The girl was about fourteen, hair disheveled. Their clothes lay scattered across the floor. The smell of sweat and lust hung thick in the air. On the table beside them sat a half-empty bottle of white liquor and a few smoldering cigarette butts.
In the corner of the room, a newborn baby lay in a cradle, crying shrilly from hunger, tiny hands waving in the air.
The baby’s face was small, eyes large and round, but already showing abnormal signs—slightly drooping eyelids, head slightly oversized compared to the body.
Zenpleingend pushed the door open. It creaked.
Both people on the sofa startled and turned. The man was still panting heavily, face flushed from sudden interrupted pleasure. The daughter’s eyes were vacant, as if her soul had long departed.
Zenpleingend stood silently for a moment, then spoke, voice low but each word clear:
“You commit incest like this… don’t you feel perverted, sick? Don’t you feel guilty? Have you lost all humanity? It’s utterly disgusting.”
The man jerked his head up, face red from alcohol and desire. He sneered, yellowed teeth showing:
“We only feel pleasure and excitement. What’s it to you?”
Zenpleingend didn’t reply. He slowly raised his right hand, index finger pointing straight down at the floor.
An invisible force struck. Both were suddenly yanked downward. Their knees slammed into the tiles with a thud, arms and legs glued as if by superglue. They thrashed and screamed, but the sounds were choked in their throats—as if the air around them had been sucked away.
Zenpleingend approached slowly. Each step rang out steadily, the sound of leather shoes on tile cutting through the baby’s cries.
He stopped in front of the man, bending down to stare straight into the panicked eyes.
The first kick. His right leg swung with terrifying speed, precise and merciless. The man’s head exploded like a watermelon smashed against concrete. Blood, brain, and white bone fragments sprayed across the walls, the sofa, and the trembling daughter’s face.
The second kick.
Her head shattered too. Their bodies collapsed to the floor, blood pooling into a large puddle that seeped into the old carpet.
Zenpleingend turned to the baby in the cradle. A flicker of something close to… pain passed through his crimson eyes.
He bent down and gently lifted the infant. The tiny hands clutched at the edge of his black coat, cries softening as they felt the unfamiliar warmth. The baby’s face bore clear signs of deformity—evidence of recessive genes from generations of incest.
“Children are innocent,” he whispered. “But if it is the product of incest… it must be eliminated. Recessive genes from generations of perversion will drive humanity to the brink of extinction. If there is blame, blame the parents. Don’t you feel disgusted? These mentally disabled children…”
He held the baby a little tighter, then stepped out of the room, leaving behind two cooling corpses in the growing pool of blood and the overwhelming stench.
Tehimosin stood outside the alley, watching him.
“Are you planning to bring them all back to the orphanage? The numbers keep growing.”
Zenpleingend didn’t answer. He just kept walking.They passed through a few more alleys. As the night deepened, the city revealed its true face.
The next morning, inside a luxurious office tower in the city center. Sunlight streamed through large glass windows, reflecting off the polished bathroom floor.
A fifty-five-year-old executive—gray suit wrinkled, tie loosened—was dragging a young female employee into the shared bathroom. The girl, about twenty-three, wore a short office skirt, eyes red from alcohol and fear.
He whispered hotly into her ear:
“If you want to keep your job, want a promotion, want a raise… be a good girl.”
The bathroom door was shoved open.
Zenpleingend stepped in.
The executive spun around, face paling before quickly twisting into a sneer:
“Who the hell are you? Security? Speak fast if you want something.”
Zenpleingend said nothing. He pointed.
The executive dropped to his knees on the white tiles, arms and legs locked in place. He thrashed, face contorted in terror. One kick. His head exploded, blood splattering the mirror and white sink.
The woman collapsed in panic, hands over her mouth to stifle a scream.
Zenpleingend stepped closer, voice flat:
“Living without value. Not keeping even a shred of self-worth. The reason you want to keep your job, want promotion, is to let the boss fuck you. You deserve death.”
The second kick. Blood spread across the gleaming white tiles.
Silence returned to the luxurious bathroom.
Chapter 7: The Collapse of Human Values
Late afternoon, in a damp, foul-smelling slum alley reeking of rotting garbage and sewage.
A muscular, powerfully built man was pinning a baby girl—only three months old—down onto a tattered mat. The baby’s mother had escaped when he first tried to attack her, so he turned his sick desire onto the innocent child instead.
A weak, broken cry echoed faintly in the stifling air.
Zenpleingend appeared. One fatal kick. The pervert’s head exploded.
He gently lifted the baby into his arms, cradling her softly, then vanished into the shadows—carrying the child back to his orphanage.
That night, in a luxurious high-rise apartment bathed in warm golden light.
A woman who had just finished maternity leave lay on a king-size bed, letting her lover suckle milk from her swollen breasts. Her newborn infant was left abandoned in a crib in the next room, crying desperately.
Zenpleingend stepped inside. The door was unlocked.
Both of them looked up, faces drained of color.
“Giving birth and immediately cheating,” he said. “Milk meant for the child… given to a lover instead.”
The familiar technique. Kneel. Drag. Two consecutive kicks. Skulls shattered.
Two bodies collapsed onto the once-pristine white sheets, now soaked crimson.
And so it went that night, through the unlit alleys of the city, Zenpleingend continued his work.
Not just one page. Not just one place.
But dozens, hundreds of dark pages—each one a crime, each one a death.
And he still hadn’t stopped.
Tehimosin walked beside him and said softly:
“You know… this city has thousands of alleys like this. Are you planning to hunt them all?”
Zenpleingend gazed toward the horizon, where neon lights still blazed brightly even as dawn approached.
“If necessary… then yes.”
His long black silhouette melted back into the darkness.
Then came a small house on the outskirts.
A woman with two children told her husband she was “going to learn a trade,” but in reality she was cheating with four different men. The most prominent one had sex with her even during her period, played with her back entrance, and used drugs to prolong the act for up to two full hours without stopping.
Zenpleingend stood at her door.
She opened it, still carrying the scent of perfume and male sweat.
“Who are you looking for?”
He didn’t answer. He simply acted.
She dropped to her knees. Her head shattered.
The four men didn’t escape either. One by one, in different dark corners of the city, each received his fatal kick.
Finally, the courtyard of a prestigious high school.
A tenth-grade boy who had impregnated six girls. When the girls’ families confronted his family, they denied everything: “They’re all sluts—sleeping around with whoever, then blaming our son.”
The boy even bragged: “I’m about to study abroad. Girls go crazy for me.”
Zenpleingend stood at the school gate, waiting for dismissal.
When the boy stepped out, laughing and joking with friends, he appeared.
“You feel proud because ‘so many people love you’?”
The boy sneered.
“What? Jealous?”
Zenpleingend didn’t smile at the cheap joke.
“For scum like you, the right place is prison—not school.”
One point of his finger. The boy dropped to his knees and was dragged forward. One kick. His head exploded right in the middle of the school courtyard.
Screams erupted from the surrounding students.
Zenpleingend turned and walked away, black coat billowing in the wind.
Tehimosin stood not far off, shaking his head.
“Girls these days don’t value their virginity anymore. They don’t wait for marriage or commitment before giving themselves to the one they love.”
Zenpleingend looked straight at Tehimosin, his voice low and deliberate, each word carefully weighed before leaving his lips:
“Value their virginity? They don’t even know what value is anymore. To them, their body is just something to trade—with attention, with fake love, with the feeling of being ‘chosen.’ They give it away so easily because they think that’s how to be loved, how to be kept. But they don’t understand: when you give yourself away without real love, you’re only turning yourself into something cheap and worthless.”
He paused for a moment, drawing in a deep breath of the cold night air.
“They treat sex like a game, like a way to prove themselves, like a way to ‘grow up.’ They mock the innocent, call them ‘outdated,’ say they don’t know how to live, don’t know how to enjoy life. But I see them as the most pitiful ones: living with nothing left to hold onto, nothing left to value in themselves.”
Zenpleingend looked down at the pool of blood at his feet—the blood of the tenth-grader he had just executed.
“Children born from fleeting lust, from irresponsibility, will grow up in suffering. Those girls… maybe they once believed ‘he truly loves me.’ Then when they got pregnant, they were abandoned, cursed as ‘sluts.’ And the cycle continues.”
He raised his head, voice growing colder:
“I don’t blame girls completely. I blame both sides. But what I hate most is when they use their bodies as tools to prove their worth—then blame others when everything falls apart. They don’t value virginity because they no longer value themselves. And when you don’t value yourself, you’ll never know how to value another person.”
Chapter 8: Unhealed Wounds – The Past of a Pure Soul
The city had fallen into an uneasy sleep. Neon lights still flickered on the main streets, but in the rundown suburban area where Zenpleingend and Tehimosin were temporarily staying—an abandoned warehouse—the air felt heavier than ever. Rain pattered against the perforated tin roof, each drop pooling into small puddles on the cracked concrete floor.
Tehimosin sat on an old wooden crate, back leaning against the wall.
The weak light from a dangling flashlight illuminated his face, highlighting his tired eyes that still held their familiar calm composure.
Zenpleingend stood by the broken window, staring out at the pouring rain. His black coat was soaked through, water dripping onto the floor in spreading circles. His crimson eyes reflected distant lightning flashes, like two flames that never extinguished.
Tehimosin sat facing him, keeping just enough distance to respect his personal space. He asked softly, voice light as a breeze:
“You’ve never talked about yourself. Back when the ‘Four Saints’ were still four, you stayed silent about your past. Now you’re the only one left… aren’t you tired? Carrying the sins of the entire world on your shoulders.”
Zenpleingend didn’t turn around. He let out a soft sigh, his breath forming a white mist in the cold air.
“The past… isn’t worth mentioning. But if you want to know, then listen.”
He walked over and sat down on the cold concrete floor, back against the damp wall. Tehimosin remained silent, waiting.
Zenpleingend began to speak, voice even and steady, as though reading from an old, yellowed book:
Zenpleingend was a young man with a good personality, full of compassion, always ready to help others without asking for anything in return.
He was once praised by Leader Anmorkzaraft: “A young man with the morality and noble qualities of a true human being.”
He was introverted, kind-hearted, shy, gentle, inexperienced in the ways of the world, possessing a pure, innocent, naive, clean, and untainted soul…
When he entered university, Zenpleingend made friends with a bad crowd who kept asking him: “Have you watched porn yet?”, “Do you have a girlfriend?”, “Have you had sex with your girlfriend?”, “Do you masturbate?”, … They constantly sent him porn videos and obscene images in the group chat.
Zenpleingend considered porn to be filthy filth.
People who watched porn were perverts, immoral, uneducated fools, idiots, degenerates, sex-crazed freaks, deviants, sickos…
He hated porn and anyone who watched it—hated it so much that his body trembled every time those images appeared on the screen.
Zenpleingend clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
His biggest mistake was having a female best friend. Her name was Camar, born March 29, 2000. They had been friends for seven years, from middle school through high school. He trusted her completely.
He thought she understood his thoughts, understood his soul.
Later, he sent her the videos and images, asking: “What should I do? They keep sending me these porn videos and images.”
“Should I block them? But they’re my classmates right now… I don’t want things to get awkward. Please help me. I really need your advice,” he urgently messaged her, begging for her help.
Zenpleingend bowed his head, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“She blocked me. Not a single reply. Not one message. I sat there staring at the black screen, feeling like the whole world had collapsed.”
While he “desperately needed” her help, “desperately needed” her advice on what to do in this situation—he felt so sad, hurt, powerless, and furious.
After that, he asked Hana—Camar’s best friend—to act as a mediator. Hana was born May 2, 2000. He thought she would help.
But Camar told Hana: “Zenpleingend is a pervert, a sicko, a sex maniac. Everyone says introverts are super horny and spend their free time watching porn. I didn’t believe it before, but now I do.”
People often judge others by their own standards. In truth, this young man only watched anime, Kamen Rider, Super Sentai, Ultraman… Those things made him feel the world was still beautiful, still had heroes, still had hope.
Zenpleingend covered his face, shoulders shaking.
“Hana blocked me too. Then the two of them spread it around: ‘Stay away from quiet people. They’re all perverts, sickos, sex addicts.’”
Girls think handsome guys and ugly guys are equally rotten, so they might as well love the handsome ones; an ugly guy who’s also rotten deserves to be thrown in the trash.
Girls like patriarchal men (men who see women as sex toys for entertainment, whose only duty is to have sex), they’re handsome but selfish in love—the woman they love can only pay attention to them. If she looks at another man, the patriarchal man will beat her, even kill her.
Girls hate good boys, like bad boys, fuckboys, like sadism and masochism, like dirty old men, like group sex with multiple men (one girl can have sex with many men at once, usually more than two in one night). Girls don’t like honest guys; they like scumbags, liars, sleazebags, perverts, degenerates, sadists, sex maniacs…
Girls are very easy with handsome guys—just one empty line like “I love you” and the girl believes it completely and has sex immediately. Meanwhile, “love” is something that requires time, requires a lifetime to prove. Love is not just a mouth that only knows how to talk empty words.
Ugly guys get outright contempt from girls; they won’t even look at their faces, let alone talk to them.
But for rich guys—even if they’re ugly, diseased, old… girls don’t care much about the body; they’ll love whoever as long as there’s money, gold… This is the type of realistic girl who loves for money and doesn’t care about anything else, not even their own feelings. Their children are born sickly, ugly (buck teeth, protruding jaw, crooked mouth), age prematurely, full of diseases…
For someone with a pure, innocent, naive, clean, untainted soul… being accused of watching porn is an insult, a humiliation.
He was humiliated in honor and dignity. Because he was too ashamed of things he never did but was falsely accused of, he decided to choose SUICIDE to protect his honor and dignity.
Everyone around kept slandering and badmouthing him: “That pervert,” “That guy is super horny,” “Stay away from him or he’ll rape you,” “The sexual harasser,” “Looks like a scholar but turns out to be a sex maniac”…
I was humiliated in honor, humiliated in dignity! I was so ashamed I couldn’t bear it! I… committed suicide. With a knife. Slit my wrists. Blood flowed all over the floor in my room. I thought death was the only way to protect my purity.
He collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down.
“For others, sex is normal (after sex they feel nothing). But for people with pure, innocent, clean, kind, good-hearted souls… sex is a sinful act. After sex, they feel ashamed, deeply regretful for having sex, for dirtying the person they love. They start questioning, agonizing, their conscience gnawing at them, feeling guilty inside: ‘Why did I do that?’ They see sex as something filthy. Having sex with the one you love is unnecessary.”
“But I didn’t die. Leader Anmorkzaraft saved me. He pulled me out of the pool of blood, healed my wounds. And he asked: ‘Do you want revenge?’”
Zenpleingend wiped his tears, voice turning cold:
“I found and killed Hana first. I chopped that girl into a thousand pieces. Then I went to Camar for revenge, and I saw Camar having sex with her boyfriend (sucking dick, licking ass…)”
Zenpleingend stood there, looking at Camar, then said to her: “You called me—the guy who watches porn—a filthy, sick, perverted bastard… but what about you? You’re fucking right now. You’re sucking dick, licking ass for your boyfriend. You’re so clean, huh? You take your own filth and project it onto someone else’s purity.”
“Anyone whose pure soul is hurt deserves to die. You watch porn, then you think everyone watches porn like you? You’re a sex maniac who loves fucking, you think everyone is a sex maniac who loves fucking like you?”
Zenpleingend clenched his fists: “I’ll give you the most brutal punishment. I’ll peel your skin strip by strip, tear your flesh piece by piece, break every bone in your body.”
And I did exactly that.
Tehimosin listened silently, then softly said to Zenpleingend: “Kind people are very easily hurt.”
Zenpleingend, furious and crying at the same time, shouted: “I hate them so much!”
Zenpleingend continued: “They have mouths but are mute, hands but are crippled! If they have questions, just ask, just message! Instead, they silently unfriend, block messages, cut off contact, spread baseless rumors?”
Tehimosin sighed and replied: “Do you know why they don’t want to talk or message you? Girls see introverts as weirdos, sick people with mental issues. Only extroverts have good personalities.”
Zenpleingend gave a bitter laugh:
“Girls’ type: tall, muscular, rich. Handsome guys get forgiven for everything. Rich guys get loved even if they’re ugly, old, diseased…”
Tehimosin asked: “After that, didn’t you ask any guy friends?”
Zenpleingend answered straightforwardly and honestly: “I don’t make friends with a bunch of pussy-obsessed guys.”
Tehimosin said with a choked voice: “You should say they’re girl-obsessed, not pussy-obsessed.”
Zenpleingend continued: “They worship pussy, think about pussy all the time, put pussy above their parents, pussy has supernatural power greater than gods…”
Zenpleingend went on: “For them, watching porn and fucking girls proves they’re mature, living the high life. They mock me for still watching anime, Kamen Rider, Super Sentai, Ultraman even though I’m grown up. They even feel ashamed for me just because my phone ringtone is anime music. They call anime fans ‘loser rags.’ People with anime avatars are seen as ‘bottom of society,’ no citizenship rights on social media. That’s why I don’t dare tell anyone I like anime, Kamen Rider, Super Sentai, Ultraman anymore.”
Tehimosin said seriously: “There are two things others should not mock: Don’t mock someone else’s fears. Don’t mock someone else’s hobbies.”
Tehimosin explained: Why are there people like that? It’s called the need to affirm oneself through opposition.
People tend to seek self-worth by comparing themselves to others. Online, where there’s no clear status like in real life (money, education, appearance), they create “virtual standards” to rank:
? People who don’t like anime = realistic, mature → “superior.”
? People who like anime = childish, delusional → “bottom of society.”
This is a way to lift oneself up by putting others down, even without real basis.
They think criticizing others is cool.
This is a psychological symptom. The mentality of discriminating against anything that doesn’t belong to the mainstream culture.
Zenpleingend, voice full of pain: “As people say, ‘One billion men’s mouths can’t compare to one woman’s mouth.’ No matter how much I explain, no one believes me?”
Zenpleingend asked: “Why does everyone believe a woman’s one-sided words without checking if she’s telling the truth?”
Tehimosin replied: “Because of the victim mentality effect. Gender bias. Pressure to conform. Fear of difference. Society tends to believe women more because they’re seen as weak and vulnerable. Men have to prove innocence; women are automatically victims.”
Zenpleingend clenched his fists: “I hate most the thing of boys being obsessed with girls. I hate most boys listening to women.”
Tehimosin said sadly: “No one can overcome temptation. Boys obsess over girls, girls over boys, the poor over money, the rich over fame… If you can overcome it, you’re a god.”
Zenpleingend: “Then I am a god.”
Tehimosin shook his head: “Killing all humanity—that would make you a god.”
Zenpleingend fell silent. Tears still fell.
Chapter 9: Ashes of a Dark Saint
Tuesday, December 31, 2024. New Year’s Eve, a night that should have been filled with laughter and celebration, but the meeting point was thick with grief and tragedy.
Zenpleingend had been destroyed.
Tehimosin stood with arms crossed, his deep eyes carrying an unnamed sorrow as he looked at the figures who had just appeared.
“So it’s you all.”
“Tehimosin, long time no see,” Gondralaka stepped forward first, lightly brushing dust from the battlefield off his shoulder.
“What’s wrong? You look furious,” Ovimuchi asked, his eyes still carrying traces of killing intent from the recent battle.
Tehimosin didn’t beat around the bush, his voice ice-cold:
“You just killed someone, didn’t you?”
“Yes, we did kill,” Schneviti replied calmly. “But we killed a monster.”
“What monster? That was a human named Zenpleingend!” Tehimosin snapped.
Uillko raised an eyebrow, face full of doubt:
“You even gave that monster a name?”
“He was clearly a person—why did you see a monster?”
ChouKazeli shrugged:
“If we say we killed a person, then where’s the body?”
Gondralaka nodded:
“Exactly. When we killed that monster, a massive amount of darkness poured out of its body, then it dissolved into smoke and vanished.”
Tehimosin froze. So that was it. The power of darkness had eroded the Four Saints to their very bones, turning their bodies no longer purely flesh. That was why JoouSeele could never find their souls in the cycle of reincarnation.
Tehimosin couldn’t understand why he saw a human while they saw a monster.
Tehimosin asked: “How many monsters have you all eliminated?”
Ovimuchi answered: “Four in total.”
Tehimosin realized: “So the ‘Four Saints’ group has indeed been wiped out by you.”
Schneviti asked: “What’s the matter?”
“Who ordered you to do this?” Tehimosin asked, trying to suppress the tremor in his voice.
“It was the Mogodto gods,” Uillko replied. “They said there were monsters slaughtering people without mercy.”
ChouKazeli proudly added:
“Now we’re much stronger than before—we were trained by the Hygodder gods.”
Gondralaka: “Those monsters, no matter how strong, were defeated by us.”
Tehimosin: “Please stop calling them monsters.”
Ovimuchi: “I know you’re a good person, but anyone who kills people is a monster.”
Tehimosin: “They only killed the lazy, the lawbreakers, animal abusers, and those who engaged in sexual acts that violated morality and decency.”
“But their methods were too cruel!” Schneviti countered. “Why did they have to crush skulls with kicks?”
“I asked them,” Tehimosin looked up at the dark sky. “They answered: ‘They don’t need brains anyway—what’s the point of leaving the head?’”
Tehimosin’s gaze became distant as he began recounting the tragic past of the “Four Saints” to the “Children of Gods” group—a past crushed by contempt, slander, and the death of faith.
Tehimosin spoke through gritted teeth:
“I need to investigate whether the ones they call gods are truly gods. What kind of gods grant the power to kill?”
Uillko spoke up: “Can we join you?”
Tehimosin:
“Of course. The ‘Mystic Might’ group has ten members—you’ve already eliminated four. There are six left. Find a way to befriend them and investigate everything.”
ChouKazeli cheered: “Yeah! The ‘Children of Gods’ group is fully assembled!”
Tehimosin led the entire group to visit the orphanage that Zenpleingend had painstakingly built. He wanted them to see the true soul of the one they called a monster.
But when they stepped inside, Tehimosin froze in shock.
“That’s strange… why are there only 45 girls left?”
“Is something wrong?” Gondralaka asked worriedly.
“There used to be so many more children here…” Tehimosin realized the painful truth in horror. “That’s right… these children were kept alive and breathing only by Zenpleingend’s power of darkness. When he was destroyed, the darkness vanished, and the children… died with him.”
Looking at the empty rooms, Tehimosin choked:
“All of them were children abandoned by their parents—thrown into sewers, landfills, left in 40-degree heat or -12-degree cold… Zenpleingend used his darkness to give them warmth. You have killed their last hope.”
A guilty silence fell over the “Children of Gods” group.
Rrrr… Rrrr…
The phone rang insistently, shattering the heavy atmosphere. It was calls from secretaries and assistants of the group members. Though they were powerful warriors, in real life they were CEOs and chairmen of major corporations. Their prolonged absence had begun to cause chaos at their companies.
“Everyone, go back to work,” Tehimosin sighed. “I’ll continue the investigation alone.”
“Sorry, Tehimosin,” Ovimuchi bowed his head.
“It’s fine.”
“The ‘Children of Gods’ group just assembled and now we have to disband,” Schneviti said sadly.
Tehimosin watched his friends’ figures gradually fade away, his eyes resolute:
“Don’t be sad. We’ll meet again for sure. The real battle is only just beginning.”
Beneath the ruins of the orphanage, Tehimosin stood alone. Zenpleingend had vanished, but the flame of truth had not yet been extinguished.
