Bradley didn't run; he became a force of nature. He shot down the corridor like a phantom, a blur of black cloth and lethal intent, his boots making no more sound than a shadow shifting. The air itself seemed to part for him.
He skidded to a halt at the junction leading to the cafeteria, his body freezing mid-stride.
The scene before him was a slaughterhouse.
Blood.
It wasn't just splattered; it was painted across the walls in great, violent arcs, a grotesque gallery of crimson and black that gleamed wetly in the dim light. It pooled on the floor, thick and congealing, reflecting the horror above. And amidst the gore, the pieces. A pale, lifeless hand, fingers curled in a final, futile grasp. A severed arm lying in a puddle, the sleeve of a school blazer soaked through. A boot, still laced, protruding from a bloody stump of a leg.
"Fucking hell..." The curse was a ragged whisper, torn from his throat. His mind, trained for combat, recoiled. A spirit this powerful, committing such a blatant, messy massacre in a high-profile school? It was a statement. A challenge. It made no tactical sense, and that was the most terrifying part.
Spirit Bradley materialized beside him, his usual smirk gone, replaced by a grimace of pure disgust. [They were just kids...] His voice was thin, strained. [This is... calculated. This is worse than I thought.]
Bradley's fists clenched, the leather of his gloves groaning. He squeezed the hilt of his katana so tightly that the intricate wrapping bit into his palm. A single, dark drop of his own blood welled up and fell, splashing into the larger pool of red at his feet, a tiny, insignificant addition to the carnage.
"Fuck, it's all my fault." The guilt was a hot, sharp knife in his gut. The cynical, self-loathing part of him was screaming. If I hadn't been so wrapped up in my own misery, if I had acted sooner... "If I had come earlier, maybe... maybe this wouldn't have happened."
Despite the monster he believed himself to be, the sight of butchered children broke something inside him. No one deserved this.
I am fucking useless.
[Don't!] Spirit Bradley's voice was a whip-crack in his mind, his spectral hand coming down on Bradley's shoulder, a cold, grounding pressure. [Don't you dare. This is her work. Her choice. Her evil. Even if we'd faced her at high noon in a crowded street, she would have found a way. All we can do now is make sure she never does this again. Focus that rage. Don't let it burn you up; let it fuel your blade.]
"Yeah," Bradley breathed out, the word a release of tension. "You're right." He forced a nod, the motion stiff. But deep down, in the secret, wounded places he kept hidden, the blame festered. He accepted the logic, but the heart rarely listens to reason.
He stepped forward, his boots making soft, sticky sounds in the blood as he approached the cafeteria's double doors. The metal was smeared with gory handprints, the handles slick and dark.
He didn't bother with the handle. He simply shoved, putting the weight of his body and his simmering anger into it. The doors flew inward, banging against the walls.
The sight that greeted him stole the air from his lungs and made his stomach clench into a frozen knot.
The cafeteria was a charnel house. His spirit vision, which usually showed him the ethereal world, was now forced to render every grisly detail of the physical one. Dozens of bodies, most still in their school uniforms, were strewn across the floor like broken dolls. They weren't just dead; they were desecrated. Limbs had been torn away, torsos ripped open. Glossy, purple intestines spilled out onto the tiles, coiling in grotesque piles that shimmered under a film of blood.
Slurp~ Crunch~
The sound was obscenely loud in the tomb-like silence.
His eyes, burning with fury, tracked the noise to the center of the room.
She was there. The nurse. She sat primly at one of the student tables, her posture perfect, as if she were at a high-class restaurant.
She was eating.
Laid out on the table before her, arranged on a large metal serving tray, was the body of a young girl. Her eyes were wide and glassy, staring at nothing. A gaping, ragged hole had been torn in her stomach, her young organs spilling out in a tragic, horrifying display.
With the delicate precision of a gourmand, the nurse stabbed a fork into the girl's pale flesh. She sawed off a small piece with a butter knife, brought it to her lips, and chewed. The sound was a wet, crunching pop that echoed in the vast space. Then, she picked up a glass—not filled with wine, but with a thick, dark red liquid that could only be blood—and took a small, appreciative sip.
Next, she speared a length of intestine, twisting it neatly around the tines of her fork. She reached for a squeezable bottle of tomato ketchup from the condiment caddy, drizzled the bright red sauce over the glistening organ, and then slid the entire, sauced coil into her mouth.
Slurp~
She picked up a white napkin from her lap and daintily dabbed at the corner of her blood-stained lips.
"Delicious~" she purred, her voice a low, satisfied hum. She closed her eyes as if savoring a fine vintage.
Then, those eyes—now a solid, glowing crimson—snapped open and locked onto Bradley's.
"Oh my!" She sprang to her feet, the metal legs of her chair screeching against the floor like a scream. "How rude of me! I didn't see you standing there! Please, come, join me! There are still some perfectly good bits left! The intestines are particularly tender, and the heart... oh, the heart is simply divine. Human flesh is the truest delicacy, you know." She gestured to the empty chair opposite her, a horrifying mockery of hospitality.
Bradley didn't speak. He couldn't. His gaze was nailed to the violated body of the girl, his mind unable to process the depth of the sacrilege. This wasn't just killing; it was a defilement of everything that was human.
A violent wave of nausea rolled through him, so potent he tasted bile. He clenched his teeth, swallowing hard, forcing it down.
Even Spirit Bradley was silent, a statue of spectral horror. All traces of his usual cynicism were gone, replaced by a cold, profound revulsion.
Bradley's injured hand clenched again, and the blood began to drip faster now, a steady plink... plink... plink of red drops hitting the floor, a counter-rhythm to the pounding in his ears.
Seeing his silent, trembling rage, her smile widened into a gruesome rictus. Small, pink shreds of meat were visible between her teeth. "Oh, are you cross with me? Did I start the feast without you? My deepest apologies. The freshness was simply too tempting to resist." She gave a shallow, theatrical bow.
"Stop." The word was a low, guttural growl, vibrating with barely contained violence. "Stop with the fucking bullshit."
She threw her head back and laughed, a sound like shattering glass that ricocheted off the cold walls. "Hahahaha! You should have seen your face! The pure, unadulterated disgust! It was absolutely priceless! A work of art!"
[Bradley...] Spirit Bradley's voice was a strained whisper. [She's a Gluttony-type. A high-level flesh-eater. The spiritual pressure she's emitting... it's suffocating. You cannot let your anger control you. It's what she wants.]
I know. Bradley's mental reply was a shard of ice. He forced air into his lungs, a long, slow breath that did little to cool the inferno inside. He channeled the rage, compressing it into a dense, cold core of purpose.
"What did you do to the real nurse?" he asked, his voice now frighteningly calm and level. "The woman whose body you're wearing?"
"Oh, her?" The spirit tapped a clawed finger against its—her—temple. "She's still in here, of course. I didn't bother to fully suppress her. I want her to experience every single moment. The terror of the children, the taste of their flesh... it's all so much more flavorful when the host is screaming inside." Her smile was a thing of pure, unadulterated evil.
[That's enough. She dies. Now. She is a blight upon existence,] Spirit Bradley snarled, his form flickering with dark energy.
I was already planning to.
"I was just about to tell you—" she began, her tone conversational.
Bradley didn't let her finish. He vanished.
One moment he was at the doorway, the next he was a streaking comet of black energy, crossing the twenty meters in the space of a single heartbeat. His katana left its sheath not with a simple pull, but in the flawless, lethal art of Iaijutsu[1]. The blade, now sheathed in a crackling aura of purple and black spirit energy, cut a shimmering arc through the air aimed to bisect her at the waist.
"How rude!" she chided, her voice a mocking singsong. She didn't retreat. Instead, her left hand flicked up casually to block the strike.
CLANG!
The sound was not of metal cutting flesh, but of two unearthly forces colliding. A shower of brilliant white sparks erupted, illuminating the gruesome cafeteria in a stark, momentary flash.
Her hand had transformed. Her fingers had elongated into four thick, obsidian claws, edged in a vicious red, the spirit-matter hardened to the strength of diamond. This was how she had torn the students apart.
Bradley's mind processed this in a microsecond. Without missing a beat, he used the rebound from the blocked slash, spinning on the ball of his foot to unleash a low, devastating kick aimed at her kidneys. She swatted it aside with her free hand as if brushing away a fly.
"No, no, no," she tutted, her face a mask of mock disapproval. "Kicking a lady? Where are your manners?"
"Shut your mouth!" Bradley roared, his control fraying.
He immediately pivoted again, using his grounded leg as a fulcrum to launch a sudden, powerful reverse-roundhouse kick with his other leg. The move was unexpected, too close.
This time, his boot connected solidly with her side.
The impact sent her flying backward like a discarded toy. She crashed through a stack of metal tables and chairs, the sound an earsplitting symphony of shattering wood, clattering trays, and screeching twisted metal.
"Hehehe... ahhhhh!" Her laugh bubbled up from the wreckage, high-pitched and utterly unhinged. "This is fun! I had no idea I would find a genuine Spirit Hunter in this backwater country! What a surprise! It's been decades!" She stood up from the debris, brushing dust and splinters from her blood-stained uniform, completely unharmed.
"A Spirit Hunter?" Bradley asked, circling her warily, his katana held in a ready stance. "There are others like me?"
She tilted her head, a predator studying fascinating prey. "You didn't know? Of course there are. Though your kind has grown... scarce... over the centuries. But you..." Her crimson eyes flickered toward the spectral form hovering near Bradley. "...you're different. You're working in tandem with an evil spirit."
[Huh?] Spirit Bradley pointed at his own chest, genuinely taken aback. [You can see me?]
"Obviously, you little parasite," she sneered. "I wouldn't be much of a Higher Rank if I couldn't see the leech clinging to his soul signature. It's quite the peculiar arrangement."
"What the fuck are you talking about? He is NOT an evil spirit!" Bradley's rage erupted, a volcano of dark spiritual power. He surged forward, his body and blade sheathed in a violent, crackling aura of pure black energy that hissed and spat like lightning.
The nurse met his charge, her own form igniting with a searing, blood-red aura that reeked of old blood and fresh death.
Black and red collided in the center of the cafeteria with the force of a bomb.
The very floor buckled under their feet. The grisly remains of the dead were violently hurled away from the epicenter, sliding and tumbling across the slick floor in a wave of horror.
CLANG! CLANG! KSHH!
The air became a storm of sparks and shrieking metal. His blade was a blur of purple and black, meeting her razor claws in a frantic, blinding exchange.
"You truly don't see it, do you?" she taunted, her voice cutting through the din as she effortlessly parried a flurry of strikes. "The chaotic, hungry darkness in his aura? It reeks of the void!"
Bradley reversed his grip mid-swing, a deceptive move that brought the hilt low before the blade flashed upward toward her throat. She hissed, a feral sound, and contorted her body backward to avoid the decapitating strike. But as she straightened, Bradley's knee was already there, driving upward with the force of a piston.
CRACK!
The sound of cartilage and bone breaking was sickeningly loud. The impact lifted her off her feet and sent her flying backward, where she smashed into the cafeteria's reinforced concrete wall with a sound like a wrecking ball. A massive, spider-webbed crater bloomed around her body.
"He's not an evil spirit because he is me!" Bradley roared, his chest heaving. "And even if he was, he's nothing like you!" In one fluid motion, his free hand dove into a pocket of his coat and emerged with a fistful of razor-edged shuriken. He infused them with a flicker of black energy and hurled them.
They shot through the air not like thrown metal, but like a swarm of guided, angry hornets.
She peeled herself out of the crater, her face already healing, the broken nose snapping back into place with an audible pop. She moved with acrobatic grace, flipping and twisting to avoid the projectiles. Those she couldn't dodge, she batted aside with her claws, each deflection producing a sharp clack and a shower of brilliant sparks.
"Believe your pretty little lies, boy," she spat, deflecting the last shuriken. "I merely speak the truth. A spirit that mirrors your own soul... it is an anomaly. A deeply, deeply weird one."
Then she was on him again, a crimson blur. She unleashed a whirlwind of attacks, her claws becoming a storm of red light, raking and slashing at him from every conceivable angle.
CLANG! SHING! KSHH-KSHH!
Bradley was driven back, his world narrowing to the desperate dance of parry and dodge. The purple-black arcs of his spiritual energy clashed violently against the crimson flashes of her claws, illuminating the macabre scene in strobing, hellish flashes.
"You're quite skilled at blocking!" she sneered, her attacks coming faster, harder, each blow jarring his arms to the bone. "Not bad for a child playing at being a warrior!"
She's getting faster. Bradley could feel his muscles screaming in protest, his grip on the katana slick with sweat and his own blood.
[She's not playing around anymore! Stop analyzing and move!] Spirit Bradley's warning was a desperate shout.
"Don't get distracted when your life is on the line, little hunter!" she shrieked, seizing on his momentary internal dialogue. Her free hand, which had been held back, suddenly clenched into a fist. It glowed with concentrated red energy, and before he could bring his blade around to block, she drove it forward like a piston.
It connected with his chest.
The world exploded into white, searing pain. The Kevlar vest dampened the physical impact, but the spiritual force behind the blow bypassed it entirely, feeling like a supernova detonating inside his ribcage.
"Ugh!" A spray of crimson blood erupted from his lips. The force lifted him clean off his feet, sending him hurtling backward.
He was weightless, disoriented. And then she was there, above him, having moved faster than his eyes could track.
Too fast. He thought as he tried to keep up with her speed.
Another concussive blow slammed into his sternum, altering his trajectory and smashing him down toward the hard marble floor. He hit with a bone-jarring impact that made his teeth rattle, his body actually bouncing once before she was on him again.
She landed in a crouch beside his prone form, pulled her arm back, and delivered a final, executioner's right hook to his already-shattered chest. He felt the distinct, sickening crunch of bone giving way completely.
The force launched him like a ragdoll, straight back through the ruined double doors of the cafeteria. He tore through the splintered metal, his body skidding on his back down the blood-slicked corridor, carving a path through the congealing gore until he slammed, back-first, into the solid brick wall at the far end. The impact knocked the last vestiges of air from his lungs.
Cough! Cough!
He curled onto his side, retching, a dark torrent of blood splattering onto the floor. Each breath was a ragged, fire-filled agony. His vision swam, the world tilting on its axis.
"Argh, fuck," he groaned, every nerve ending screaming in unified protest. "She hits... like a freight train."
[Yeah,] Spirit Bradley murmured, materializing weakly beside his head. [You look like shit.]
Clack~ Clack~ Clack~
The sound was deliberate, measured, and terrifyingly close. The sharp report of her heels on the hard floor echoed down the corridor.
The nurse emerged from the wrecked cafeteria doorway, humming that same, sickly-sweet nursery rhyme. She looked utterly pristine, not a hair out of place.
"C'mon now, darling~" she purred, her voice a grotesque parody of seduction. She gently bit her lip, using a claw-tipped finger to wipe a speck of his blood from her cheek. "I know you can do better than this. Is that really your best?"
"F-fuck..." Bradley wheezed, pushing himself up on trembling arms, his body a symphony of pain. "And Kirby... really wanted to confess his love to this crazy bitch?"
He really, really needs to review his taste in women.
[1] A combative Japanese martial art that focuses on drawing the katana from its sheath and striking in a single, fluid motion