Nothing is easier than denouncing the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than understanding him.
— Fyodor Dostoevsky
...
Lynn walked out of the store with a pack of cigarettes in hand and got back into the car.
"Why is your finger bleeding?"
George Stacy frowned when he noticed the small smear of blood on Lynn's hand.
"Oh? No idea. Must've nicked myself on something," Lynn said casually, rubbing the blood away before pulling out a cigarette and offering one to George.
"Be more careful next time. You're in your twenties, but you still act like a reckless kid."
Taking the cigarette, George lit it, took a drag, and started the car toward the precinct.
Lynn leaned back, exhaling a thin stream of smoke as he glanced at the store through the rearview mirror.
When ordinary people had walked past the wraith—and the soul-shaped catfish and eels around it—they hadn't been attacked.
That confirmed his suspicion. It must have been his earlier release of Death Energy that provoked the eel to bite him.
Interesting, to say the least—but unfortunately, the spirit had no obsession he could draw power from.
Judging by the unstable shape of its soul, it would last no more than three days before dissipating completely.
When they arrived at the precinct, George Stacy went straight to his office to organize case files and submit reports.
Lynn, feeling bored, decided to wander around and chat with the female officers.
And speaking of them—well, not many could catch his attention. Out of all the women in the precinct, maybe two or three stood out to him.
The morning passed quickly.
After lunch, Lynn had just stretched out on the lounge bed for a nap when George suddenly burst through the door. "Lynn, come with me—now!"
Groaning, Lynn got up, grabbed his trench coat, and slipped it on. "What's going on?"
"A criminal case at the psychiatric hospital," George said briskly. "One of the patients ate the brains of two orderlies."
"What?"
Lynn froze, his hand on the car door. "You mean a patient actually ate their brains? What is this—some kind of zombie movie?"
"Pretty much," George replied grimly. "Now hurry up!"
Lynn climbed in, and George hit the gas, speeding toward the mental hospital.
By the time they arrived, the area had already been sealed off with NYPD tape.
Passing through the police cordon, Lynn couldn't help but frown at the grisly scene before him.
The bodies of two orderlies lay sprawled on the ground, blood splattered across the floor and walls.
Both corpses had hollowed-out left eye sockets, and traces of white brain matter seeped from the wounds.
The sight was nauseating—enough to make even the seasoned George Stacy knit his brows.
At the security monitor, they reviewed the footage.
In the grainy video, a patient with a thumb-sized protrusion on his forehead suddenly lunged at an orderly and bit into his head.
The man struggled violently, but within seconds, his body went limp.
When the other orderlies witnessed the attack, panic broke out. The more timid ones bolted in every direction, while a few braver staff members rushed forward to restrain the patient.
But it was useless. The deranged man turned on them with the same feral intensity—biting, tearing—and killed another victim in the exact same way.
He even chewed and swallowed the eyes and bits of brain on camera.
One of the officers watching couldn't take it—he covered his mouth, gagged, and bolted out of the room.
George folded his arms, expression grim.
"Lynn.. this is… beyond belief."
"Even if someone had superhuman jaw strength, it would still be impossible to bite through another person's brow bone in just a few seconds—let alone tear out the eyes and brain matter at the same time," George said grimly.
"This definitely isn't something a normal human could do."
Lynn nodded in agreement, though his attention was fixed on the scene itself.
Something felt off.
Aside from the two dead orderlies, there wasn't a single trace of a soul in the area.
Normally, when a person dies—obsession or not—their spirit lingers near the place of death for at least twelve hours.
Yet, judging by the timeline, less than an hour had passed since the attack.
So where had the souls of the two orderlies gone?
"George," Lynn said, breaking his thoughts, "I'll go check on the patient. You dig into his identity and background."
"Got it."
George nodded and turned away to handle the paperwork.
Guided by the hospital staff, Lynn soon reached the secured room where the patient was being held.
Standing outside the door, he leaned slightly toward the peephole and looked inside.
Inside the room, the patient with the large protrusion on his forehead was strapped tightly to the hospital bed with multiple restraints.
But instead of struggling, he was quietly crying, mumbling incoherently to himself.
"His name's Ronak," the head of the mental hospital explained beside Lynn. "After he killed those two orderlies, it took eight of us to subdue him."
"And that was only after he regained consciousness and realized what he'd done. If not for that, we wouldn't have stood a chance. He could've caused even more casualties."
Lynn listened carefully, then said, "Open the door. I want to talk to him."
"This is too dangerous," the man said quickly, alarmed. "Mr. Detective, don't be fooled by how calm he looks right now. When he has an episode, those restraints might as well be paper. We've already sent someone to buy heavy chains—maybe that will—"
"Relax," Lynn cut him off with a calm smile. "I know what I'm doing."
The administrator hesitated, visibly uneasy, but finally took out a key and unlocked the door.
The moment Lynn stepped inside, his Super Senses flared.
He could feel it immediately—this wasn't just an ordinary patient.
The magnetic field in the room—or rather, within Ronak himself—was violently unstable.
At that moment, Ronak's mouth was still smeared with streaks of red and white—blood and brain matter—creating a grotesque sight.
But he didn't seem to notice. Tears streamed down his face as he muttered again and again, "Oh God… what have I done?"
Sensing something off, Lynn let the Power of Death surge through his eyes.
In an instant, his irises turned a deep, eerie green.
Just as he suspected—the souls of the two dead orderlies hadn't vanished. They were trapped inside Ronak's body, thrashing and struggling violently.
When Ronak devoured their brains, he had somehow consumed their souls along with them.
Retracting the Power of Death, Lynn's eyes returned to normal. He looked at the trembling man on the bed and said evenly, "Mr. Ronak, I'm Lynn Hall—detective with the NYPD Homicide Division."
The moment he heard that, Ronak's eyes widened as if he had seen hope itself.
"Detective, please—help me!" he cried desperately. "I didn't mean to do it! Oh God, what kind of monster am I? It wasn't me—it was the devil's temptation! Mr. Lynn, please, you have to drive the devil out of me!"