Disclaimer: This content contains scenes of violence and may include themes that some readers find disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.
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The thing about Ossafex is that you never really forget them once you've seen one in action.
They're the walking horror shows of Dreamsdale; skin marbled with translucence, ribs and joints glowing faintly like faulty lanterns beneath their flesh.
If nightmares had a guild of body horror specialists, Ossafex would run the board. They're the ones who fill streams with grotesqueries of warped spines, dangling jaws, and teeth that don't belong.
When the Council of Horrors needs a reliable dose of biological gore for nightmare production, they recommend an Ossafex.
And like all nightmare artisans, Ossafex don't just create, they channel. Their bodies are both a forge and workshop. Every scar, every mutation, every bone fragment becomes a tool.
Seth Ban's particular specialty was one of the nastier ones. His Physical Imprint: [Bone Lantern]
It was crude, effective, and utterly terrifying. By forcing his bones into weapons, he could shape his ribs into blades, cudgels, nunchucks, even light them up with heat and flame until they glowed like molten metal.
The cost? Pain.
Every time he ripped a bone out, he tore at himself, scarring his own vessel. But Ossafex considered that part of the artistry. Their nightmares were born of self-mutilation.
And Seth Ban, in this corridor, was about to remind everyone why Ossafex were feared as much as they were despised.
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The crowd recoiled. Students shrank back until their shoulders pressed against the walls.
Some whispered frantically, others muttered excuses and bolted, not wanting their names tied to whatever disciplinary bloodbath was coming.
"Nope. I'm out!"
"That psycho's actually using his Imprint—without clearance? Is he insane?"
"Nah, bro is cooked."
"Let's go, Iridis, or we'll get dragged into this! You know how ethics staff are about bystanders."
By the time Zach finally decided to notice, the audience had thinned by half.
He giggled. Not the nervous kind. A dry, off-key sound that scraped like a fork on porcelain. His canines flashed.
"Oh no~" he said, eyes glinting. "To think I'd meet someone even more out of it than I am."
He nodded at the rib-blade dripping fire in Seth's grip. "Gross toy you've got there, by the way. Mind showing me what it does?"
The words were mocking, almost playful, but the fury beneath them was palpable.
Zach's grand agenda hadn't changed. He was still going to thrash Seth. Imprint violation or not. Even if the principal himself stormed in with chains, nothing would change.
Seth didn't care either. His veins were on fire. He could already feel his Imprint's heat amplifying his muscles, weaving molten energy into his tendons.
He flexed his fingers, body humming with the grotesque power of self-destruction.
'Alright. You're already in deep shit. The least you can do is make it count. Detention, suspension—Fuck if I care. I just want to wipe the smug look off that bastard's face. He fights with kicks so he's nothing without his legs. As long as I avoid them and go for the openings, his ass is mine—'
"My eyes are up here, perv."
The voice came closer than it should have been. Seth barely turned before a fist streaked toward his face.
Pure instinct and newly juiced legs saved him. He dropped under it just as Zach's fist cratered into the wall behind him.
The corridor thundered. Stone cracked, dust sprayed, fragments bounced across the tiles.
A round of gasps erupted. Someone cursed loudly. A few bladders probably surrendered.
Poor Seth. His heart seized like an old man's. If he had ducked one second later… his skull would've been paste.
He paled, coming to a grim realization:
'His legs aren't his only weapons… And what THE HELL is up with his strength?! Fuck fuck fuckkkk—what exactly is this bastard?!'
Zach yanked his fist free, shaking out the dust and flexing his wrist like he'd only knocked on a door too hard.
His voice was lilted in a way that made your skin crawl. "I must be off my game today. My hits keep missing~"
He pivoted back toward Seth—but a flaming ribblade flashed, shrieking past his face as Seth attacked with desperate fury.
"Just fucking die already!" he screamed.
"Wow, quick recovery," Zach drawled, the sound an insult. He jolted backward, his torso flexing instantly into a deep, impossible arc.
The blade cut nothing but air. With Seth's center of gravity momentarily gone, Zach landed on his palms, his body flipping smoothly. Upside down, he extended his legs in a sudden, brutal blur.
The kick cracked into Seth's wrist with the sound of breaking bone.
"Ack—!"
Pain ripped through him. The rib-blade slipped from his fingers, clattering against the floor.
Big mistake.
Still on his palms, Zach launched himself upright. His feet touched down and immediately spun, back kick snapping into Seth's side like a whip.
Seth only had enough time to harden his abdomen, channeling heat into his muscles, but it wasn't nearly enough.
The impact slammed him off his feet, air exploding from his lungs. He hit the floor hard, rolling onto his side.
"Blerghh—"
Stomach acid and half-digested breakfast splattered the tiles. Every inch of him screamed in protest.
With that, the entire bravado with [Bone Latern] was over. He was as good as finished. His vision blurred, muscles trembling and refusing to respond. He'd been reduced to a marionette with half the strings cut.
But Zach wasn't finished. Not even close.
He rolled his eyes, sighing. "Disgusting. You better get up, you lousy fuck. You're delusional if you think I'm done with you."
Seth's jaw clenched, teeth bloody. He couldn't. His arms trembled when he tried.
Zach strolled forward, hands sliding into his pockets, every step oozing casual menace. He stopped at Seth's side, tilted his head, and spoke like a bored teacher.
"Didn't hear me tell you to get up?"
Then he stomped.
Seth screamed as Zach's heel ground into his hand. Fingers crunched audibly. His legs kicked uselessly against the floor.
"S–Stop… fucking… b… itch… it hurts…"
"Hm? What was that?" Zach leaned forward, weight pressing down harder. "Didn't quite catch it~"
Seth's throat gave out before his will did. He rasped soundlessly as Zach twisted his heel, grinding bone into bone.
Even the spectators, those who had stayed, shifted uncomfortably now. Yes, Seth deserved a thrashing. Yes, his arrogance was unbearable. But this… this looked like torture.
Zach couldn't care less.
He finally removed his foot from Seth's mangled hand—only to drive his heel into his face, smashing his head into the tile with a bone-jarring thud.
"You rammed him into the wall like this, right~?" Zach sang, slowly grinding his foot. His voice dripped with pure, controlled malice. "Bet it felt amazing. You don't mind me doing the same, right? Your face feels so good beneath my shoe."
The sadistic euphoria in his tone would have been amusing in a different, darker story. Here, it was chilling. Every witness knew they should intervene, yet they remained transfixed in horrified silence.
And then Zach felt it.
The weight of a stare.
Not just any stare. Something softer. Something that burned and froze at the same time.
His gaze lifted.
Amethyst. Wide, trembling, horrified.
Zev.
He looked impossibly small. His arms clutched the paper bag like it was a lifeline. His body curled inward, trying to disappear.
But his eyes—those damned eyes—were on Zach. And in them, Zach read it all. The recoil. The withdrawal. The silent distance growing by the second.
"Ah, shit..."
For the first time in the fight, Zach faltered. He hadn't taken a single hit, but that look split him open with 100% damage.
Then Zev's expression changed, panic flashing across his features. He gestured frantically.
"Behind you!"
Zach turned too late.
The flaming ribblade plunged toward his side.
Metallic pain seared as the edge cut skin—but it stopped, gripped tight in Zach's bleeding hand.
His palm split, blood running freely, but his grip never faltered.
"Nice try," he hissed.
Then he swung his head back. His skull cracked into Seth's nose with brutal force. Bone snapped. Blood fountained down Seth's face. He shrieked, stumbling backward, vision swimming.
Before Zach could drive in for the killing blow, a roar ripped through the corridor.
"What in the hell do you little rascals think you're doing on school grounds?!"
The voice was loud, authoritarian, and dripping with outrage. Students panicked like insects under a lamp.
"Oh, shit! It's old man Anselm!"
"EVERYBODY SCATTER!"
The crowd dissolved instantly, fleeing to save their skins.
The infamous ethics teacher had finally arrived.
Mr Baruch Anselm.
Ethics instructor, Chief Enforcer of Conduct, and every first-year's main antagonist.
Not a combat teacher, not a dreamcraft instructor. He was simply the official watchdog, tasked with ensuring that the students didn't embarrass the academy by behaving like unsupervised feral gremlins in public.
His glare alone was a guarantee of punishment.
"I get one report—ONE—that hooligans are brawling with Imprints in the middle of a corridor, and what do I find? My academy turned into a circus! Unbelievable!"
His gaze swept the wreckage. Broken wall. Cracked tiles. Flaming ribblade still burning on the floor. Blood and vomit splattered across the tiles. And three students in various states of ruin.
"You three," he barked, jabbing a finger at Zach, Seth, and Zev. "Don't you dare move. You think you're special? You think rules don't apply to you?"
Zev flinched, waving his hands desperately. "No! S–Sir, I wasn't fighting! I was the victim. That boy—" he pointed at Seth who visibly flinched, "—attacked me out of nowhere! And Zach was just—just h–helping me..."
A handful of brave souls who still hadn't bolted nodded quickly, voices tripping over each other.
"It's true! I witnessed it all! That maniac and his guys cornered him first. He didn't do anything!"
Mr Anselm's scowl deepened.
"Enough. Spare me the excuses. The three of you will report to my office after the last bell. We'll scan for Imprint residue and see whose story holds. And if any of you are stupid enough to think of skipping, don't. I've marked your faces. Miss that meeting and you'll pray for detention compared to what you get."
As if backing him up, the bell for next period clanged through the air.
Mr Anselm stabbed the air with his finger again. "Get your wounds treated, then get to class. NOW."
The three of them—bloodied, broken, shaken—had no choice but to obey.
► — ✚
New Imprint Unlocked !
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[ Imprint Spotlight: Seth Ban ]
𖤐 Imprint Name: Bone Lantern
𖤐 Imprint Type: Physical
𖤐 Description:
By tearing free one of his ribs and igniting it with nightmare flame, Seth crafts jagged weapons like blades, nunchucks, and bats that burn with grotesque vitality. The weapon channels his life force directly, empowering his strikes with raw heat.
Every swing drags embers across the air, scorching both body and spirit. The lantern-rib can break through flesh as easily as bone, its glow feeding on Seth's stamina the longer it remains active.
Though brutal, the Imprint is far from stable. Overuse corrodes Seth's own body, leaving him scorched, exhausted, and closer to collapse with each exchange.
𖤐 Base Stats: [Locked]
𖤐 Imprint Stats (x/10):
| Endurance: 3
Maintaining the lantern rapidly drains Seth's vitality. Prolonged use risks collapse.
| Stability: 3.5
The weapon's form can waver under stress. Lucid dreamers or opponents with strong physical defenses can resist or shatter it with enough force.
| Imprint Potential: 6
Potential exists for Seth to refine control and forge multiple lantern weapons, but his current instability and endurance prevents it.
| Flexibility: 4
Functions primarily as a weapon, but flames can double as intimidation or limited illumination in nightmare scapes.
| Destructive Power: 6.5
Highly lethal at close range. Burns and bone-piercing strikes can cripple foes, but at significant self-cost.
| Class: Rare
Divine — Legendary — Ultra Rare — [Rare] — Common