The world narrowed to the trajectory of the ball. It was no longer a simple sphere of leather and air; it was a black comet wreathed in devouring energy, carving a furrow of melted snow and super-heated air straight toward the Nurse's skull.
She knew, with a certainty that chilled her more than the winter air, that if it connected, it would be the end. Not just a wound, but an erasure. Her regeneration, already crippled by his parasitic energy, would be useless against such catastrophic damage.
Instinct, honed over centuries of survival, screamed at her. She threw her weight sideways in a desperate, graceless roll.
SPURT!
A hot, crimson spray painted a violent arc across the pristine white canvas of the field. Not her head, but her arm—severed cleanly at the shoulder—spun through the air before landing with a wet, heavy *thud* in the snow, dark blood already welling around it like a macabre halo.
"You dodged that? Impressive." Bradley's voice was a low, distorted rumble, carrying a note of genuine, chilling praise. His intent had been a clean decapitation, but her last-moment sacrifice had denied him.
"Arghhh!" The scream was torn from her, raw and ragged. She clutched at the raw, gushing stump, the pain a white-hot fire that seared through her spiritual core. Bradley's energy wasn't just inhibiting her healing; it was amplifying the agony, turning every injury into a symphony of torment. She could feel it now, a corrosive presence swirling deep within her, a parasite that writhed and burrowed no matter how frantically she tried to purge it.
Where did such a thing come from? The thought was a frantic whisper in her mind. A spirit whose power could bypass defensive barriers and corrupt others from within was unheard of. Not even her ancient mother, a repository of knowledge on their kind, had ever mentioned such an anomaly.
Her mind raced with other questions. Why did this spirit mirror the boy so perfectly? Why did their souls feel like two halves of a shattered whole? Was it some twisted result of a brush with death, a Lazarus phenomenon given spiritual form?
She shook her head, the motion sending fresh waves of dizziness through her. No time. Survive first. Ask Mother later.
With a surge of will that cost her dearly, she conjured a new arm from the remaining, untainted blood within her host's body. It shimmered into existence, a thing of shimmering, unstable crimson, but it was functional. Her other hand, also of blood, deftly shoved a trailing loop of her own intestine back into the ragged cavity of her torso, grunting in pain as she sealed the massive wound with a thin, scarlet film.
Bradley watched it all, a statue of dark amusement. His foot rested casually on another ball. He was, in his own twisted way, enjoying this. Where else could one experience a life-or-death football match against a centuries-old evil spirit? It was a fantasy made real, a macabre playground for his newfound power.
I can't drag this on, the Nurse thought, a cold dread settling in her gut. My reserves are critically low. Using the host's blood any further will leave me a hollow shell, unable to heal. Her gaze flickered toward the shattered window of the school building. The cafeteria... the bodies are still there. A full replenishment might even let me purge this damned energy. But getting there meant getting past him, and he was a wall of obsidian will.
A thick, heavy silence fell over the pitch, broken only by the mournful howl of the wind whipping snow around them, their hair and clothes snapping like banners in a storm.
She moved first. Her feet, now partially formed of blood, propelled her forward in a burst of speed that churned the snow beneath her. Despite her grievous wounds, she moved with a warrior's ingrained grace, a crimson phantom streaking across the white.
Close the distance. No more of those accursed projectiles.
Bradley's smile was a predatory flash. He pulled his leg back and kicked. The twack sound of the impact was unnaturally loud, a sound that seemed to crack the air itself. The ball became a black missile, trailing a comet's tail of devouring energy, aimed squarely at her chest.
She saw it coming, a sphere of annihilation. She crossed her blood-spear in a desperate 'X' before her, bracing for impact.
She managed to block it, but the force was colossal. It felt like being hit by a runaway train. The impact sent her spinning backwards, her boots tearing two deep, red-tinted furrows in the snow as she skidded all the way into the mangled remains of the goal net. Her hands trembled violently around the shaft of her spear.
Too strong, she thought, the realization a bitter pill. She drove the butt of her spear into the ground to stop her momentum, the ground groaning in protest.
"I know what you're trying to do," Bradley's voice cut through the wind, calm and knowing. "But—you ain't going nowhere." He retrieved another ball, placing it with deliberate, almost ceremonial care onto a clean patch of snow.
He took three measured steps back, then stopped, his posture shifting into one of intense, coiled focus. He placed a hand on his hip, drawing a deep, shuddering breath that seemed to pull the very light from the air around him. It was the stance of a man preparing for a game-winning free kick. He was channeling his inner Messi.
"Do you know who the best free-kick player of all time is?" he asked, his voice low and unnervingly serious.
The Nurse stared, confusion and fury warring on her battered face. "Why are you asking such stupid questions?!" she spat, blood flecking her lips.
"Just answer the damn question, woman."
Is he completely insane? Football, now? In a fight to the death? She thought with pure disdain, her eyebrows twitching.
After a moment of stunned silence, she plucked a name from the fading memories of her host. "Uhm... Antony?" she mumbled. Her host was a fan of Antony, a football player who played for Real Betis.
Bradley recoiled as if struck, a look of profound offense on his face. He clicked his tongue loudly. "Don't you ever disrespect my GOAT like that. Comparing him to Antony is a sin against the beautiful game itself."
Then, he moved.
His boot connected with the ball. It flew, roaring into the air, its initial trajectory pulling wildly to the left, as if destined to sail harmlessly into the stands. The Nurse almost allowed herself a sliver of relief.
Until it bent.
Impossibly, against all physics, the ball curved. It carved a vicious, hooking arc through the air, a black scythe slicing back toward the goal, zeroing in on her with malevolent intent.
"The fuck?!" The curse was a strangled gasp of disbelief.
*The curve is beautiful,* Bradley thought, a connoisseur appreciating his own work. *Not as sublime as Messi's against Liverpool, but beautiful nonetheless.*
The ball slammed into the blood barrier she hastily conjured in front of her chest. The shield held for a fraction of a second before shattering like glass. The impact, though mitigated, was still tremendous, lifting her off her feet and hurling her backward through the tattered goal netting.
"Fuck, this bastard keeps playing with me—!" she roared, her rage boiling over. In a blind fury, she kicked one of the stray balls near her, sending it rocketing back at him like a cannonball sheathed in her own crimson energy.
Bradley didn't even flinch. He simply tilted his head a fraction to the left. The ball whistled past his ear, close enough to feel the displaced air, but it didn't even ruffle his night-black hair.
"Damn, your aim sucks," he mocked, his voice dripping with contempt.
He upended the sack, spilling the remaining dozen balls onto the pitch. They settled in the snow like a cluster of inert, white eggs.
"Let's make it hardcore!"
As one, the dozen balls lifted into the air, humming with concentrated dark energy. They shot toward her in a terrifying, synchronized swarm.
"Tsk." She clicked her tongue, desperation overriding caution. With a sweeping, theatrical gesture, she summoned dozens of blood-spears from her dwindling reserves. They materialized and shot forth to intercept the barrage. She knew she was hemorrhaging her lifeblood, but the blinding rage made her reckless.
Swoosh! Crunch! Pop!
The air became a chaotic mess of splintering wood, exploding leather, and shattering blood-ice. Some spears found their marks, piercing the balls mid-flight. Others were simply obliterated by the raw kinetic force. But a few determined orbs slipped through her frantic defense.
She spun her primary spear, its tip becoming a blur of precise, whirling death—*snip, snip, snip*—dicing the remaining balls into harmless scraps. A heavy plume of misty breath billowed from her lips, the only sign of her exertion.
"You have no balls left!" she growled, her eyes burning with feral intensity as she launched herself toward him once more, her feet leaving a trail of bloody prints.
"I still got two left though," Bradley smiled, his eyes glinting with dark amusement as he tapped his own temple.
She thrust her spear in a lightning lunge. Bradley's body became a study in minimalism and evasion. His footwork was economical, perfect, his upper body swaying just enough to let the razor tip whisper past his coat. His katana remained in its scabbard. He was parrying with his body alone.
Gritting her teeth, she poured more of her precious, tainted blood into her limbs, igniting her spirit energy. Her attacks became a blistering storm. Each thrust and slash tore through the air with a sound like a high-caliber rifle shot, clearing the snow around them in a wide circle from the sheer force of her movements. Bradley moved like a serpent, his evasions fluid and infuriatingly calm.
"You snake-like bastard!" she hissed, her frustration peaking.
In a final, dirty gambit, she stabbed her spear deep into the frozen earth, leveraging it to hurl a massive, blinding screen of snow, ice, and dirt directly into his face.
When the white cloud settled, she was gone.
His spirit sense screamed a half-second later—a presence materializing directly behind him. His hand was a blur, his katana clearing its sheath in a lightning-fast horizontal draw to parry the attack he knew was coming.
CLANG!
Steel met solidified blood. But the attack wasn't over. The back end of her spear, he realized too late, was also a razor-sharp blade. With a savage, reverse-grip twist, she drove it downward, aiming for his left thigh.
SPURT!
Hot blood instantly painted the snow a vivid red. The spearhead tore through his leg, the tip erupting from the back of his thigh and pinning him brutally to the frozen ground.
"Ugh!" The grunt was punched out of him, a short, sharp sound of shock and pain.
[You were getting too cocky,] Spirit Bradley's voice echoed in his mind, sharp with chastisement.
He slashed his katana backwards toward her waist, but she was already leaping away, the blade slicing through empty air. He was anchored, trapped by the spear transfixing his leg.
She landed a few meters away, a look of triumphant, vicious satisfaction on her face.
"Finally, you are bleeding!" Her smile was a terrifying sight. She stretched out her palm, and the spear obeyed, ripping free from his flesh with a sickening, wet tear that made him grit his teeth against a cry. It flew back to her waiting hand.
She brought the bloodied spearhead to her lips and ran her tongue along its length, savoring the dark, potent liquid. A visible jolt went through her. Her aura flared, the crimson light burning brighter, stronger. The debilitating effects of his energy seemed to recede, if only slightly.
"Your blood is really surprising..." she purred, her eyes glowing with renewed hunger. I might actually not need to get to the cafeteria to replenish my blood, I have a walking bag blood bag right in front of me. I just need to open him up.
Bradley felt the shift immediately.
[Her spirit energy just spiked. Drastically. You need to end this, now. Our fusion won't last forever, and she's found a way to counteract your energy by consuming your blood.]
Despite the perfect fusion, their power was not infinite. Bradley had been spending it lavishly, and the well was not bottomless.
Yeah, yeah, he replied internally, watching as the torn flesh of his leg slowly, much more slowly than before, began to knit itself back together. *I guess all good things must come to an end.*
[You better kill her before she kills you.]
Isn't the latter option more appealing? he thought, a wry, pained smile touching his lips.
"Ahhh, how sweet! I want more!" she demanded, her voice a sudden, ecstatic shriek. Then her expression hardened into a mask of cold, brutal resolve. "But first, I will make you pay for every moment of humiliation! I will skin you alive, drink every last drop of your blood, and savor your flesh for dessert!"
After the torment he had put her through, simple killing was not enough. She wanted revenge. She wanted to see the hope of avenging those students die in his eyes before she extinguished them.
"Try me," Bradley challenged, his voice a low, defiant growl.
They moved as one. Their figures vanished from their spots, the air cracking from their sudden acceleration.
The football pitch became a whirlwind of impossible motion. To any observer, it would have been a spectacle of randomly appearing sparks and the relentless, deafening clang of metal meeting hardened blood. They were two blurs of ultimate speed and power, Bradley a storm of destructive, black-tinged slashes, the Nurse a vortex of lethal, elegant spear-work.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Shallow cuts began to appear on both of them, small crimson blossoms flowering on their skin and dripping onto the snow. With every cut she inflicted, she fed, the blood on her spear fueling her, siphoning his energy. Her spear was now a true double-bladed nightmare, allowing for attacks from angles that defied conventional combat. She spun it around her body in a flawless, defensive dance, a whirlwind of red that Bradley struggled to penetrate.
Bradley overreached, his hand snapping out to grab the shaft of her spear mid-spin, attempting to halt her momentum. Her wicked smile was instantaneous. She twisted the spear violently in his grip, using the leverage to slash the second, hidden blade across his chest.
A deep, burning line was carved into his sternum. More of his dark blood welled up and dripped onto the snow, a precious resource she eagerly watched.
Frowning, he released the spear and leapt back. Her eyes immediately dropped to the fresh blood staining her weapon, a predator eyeing its meal.
"Not a chance!" he roared, his voice raw with fury. He gripped his katana with both hands, channeling a massive surge of black spirit energy into the blade. It hummed, the air around it warping.
He slashed outward, not once, but in a continuous, flowing motion, sending a barrage of dozens of razor-sharp, scything waves of pure black energy hurtling toward her. The very snow in their path sublimated into steam from the concentrated malevolence.
She had a split-second choice: consume the blood and take the boosted hit, or discard it and retaliate with everything she had.
The boost would be significant, but it wouldn't save her from the devastation of these attacks. It was an unworthy trade. Gritting her teeth, she took a deep, rooted stance, her feet pressing down into the frozen earth. She focused the last dregs of her untainted blood, pumping it with every ounce of her remaining spirit energy. A massive, swirling aura of violent crimson energy erupted around her and her spear, so potent it blasted the surrounding snow away in a perfect circle.
With a guttural cry that tore from the depths of her being, she thrust her spear forward. Not a physical thrust, but a release. A colossal, concentrated beam of pure red destruction, a lance of condensed hatred and power, erupted from the spear tip. It tore a canyon through the pitch, melting earth and snow alike as it raced to meet his onslaught.
Devouring black slashes met annihilating crimson thrust.
The two forces of absolute destruction collided in the center of the field.
For a single, heart-stopping moment, there was silence. A perfect, agonizing deadlock. The very air seemed to freeze, the snowflakes hanging motionless in the air, as reality held its breath.
Then—
BOOM!
The world shuddered.
The sky seemed to scream, the earth to tremble and weep. A cataclysmic explosion of chaotic black and red energy erupted, a miniature sun of pure annihilation. The snow for fifty meters in every direction instantly vaporized. The pressure wave was a physical wall, cracking the frozen ground and ripping it asunder. A massive, ragged crater bloomed at the epicenter, expanding outward, devouring the entire football pitch in a storm of light, sound, and raw power, engulfing them both in its blinding, merciless heart.