I staggered back, watching her corpse convulse as the blood pooled around her. She's not dead. she can't be. A low gurgle echoed in the sticky silence.
I pressed my good hand to my throbbing shoulder. "I have to do something before she gets up. But I can't do anything with this broken arm…" I whispered.
Pain shot through my shoulder, hot and electric. Panic rose in my chest. I stumbled to a wall, pressing my back against the cool paint. Maybe I can pop it back in.
I took a deep breath, grit my teeth, and reached across my body with my uninjured arm, grasping the wrist of the wounded one. Tears blurred my vision. Come on… come on… I yanked downward.
A searing explosion of pain. I gasped, teeth clenched. Every tendon sang. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. For a moment, I felt the world spin.
I let go, shaking. I stared at the crooked angle, then steeled myself. No choice. I grabbed my upper arm, bracing it against the wall, and jerked my forearm forward.
A muffled pop. Blood welled at my lip. My vision flickered. My shoulder ached like it was on fire.
My arm hung straight. I flexed twice, testing movement. It trembled but It worked.
I collapsed against the wall, chest heaving, tears sliding down my cheeks. You did it.
No time to celebrate. I hobbled into the hallway, scanning for weapons.
Desks overturned, nothing heavy enough. Cabinets—locked. Even the fire extinguisher was no where to find.
My eyes landed on the shattered window by the exit. Jagged glass glinted. It wasn't much, but it would do.
I ripped off my shirt, folding it into a thick pad around my hand. Fashioned like an improvised glove. My fingers trembled as I pried a shard free—its edge wickedly sharp.
Rod? Knife? Screwdriver? No time. Fear gave me focus.
I dashed back towards her body, each step announcing my desperation.
She was stirring. One arm twitched. The single shard in my fist felt impossibly light.
My breath came fast. Sweat and blood dripped from my hair into my eyes.
No hesitation.
I lunged.
I drove the glass into her throat, slicing through fabric and skin. Warm blood sprayed. I recoiled, heartrate racing.
She coughed but not human, raspy and her other hand shot out to grab me.
I thrust again, into her eye socket, tearing through bone. Darkness welled at the edges of my vision.
I screamed—a guttural roar of animal panic.
I struck again, this time down into her stomach, twisting the glass like a dagger. Her body heaved, blood bubbling up and splattering my clothes.
Fueled by adrenaline, I kept going: throat, eye, stomach. Each strike more vicious than the last. Each spray of blood hotter on my skin.
I was a madman, a frantic child, a survivor.
Her body slumped, then convulsed once, twice, and stilled.
Silence.
My chest heaved. I dropped to my knees, the shard clattering onto the blood-soaked tile.
My hands trembled. My breathing was ragged. The corridor swam in red.
I vomited again, agony and relief fused together.
I sat there, head in my hands, tears and blood mixing, pants and shirt soaked through.
I'd done it. I'd stopped her.
But at what cost?
The silence pressed in, heavy and expectant. I closed my eyes and whispered, "Please... stay down."
A silence settled, heavy as the blood pooling at my knees. My vision swam in waves of crimson and white, and I unclenched my fists, letting them fall into the sticky mess. Every nerve felt raw, exposed.
I forced myself up, leaning on one elbow. The shard of glass glinted beside me, useless now. I glanced around the empty corridor, except for the echo of my ragged breaths. My shoulder throbbed, but it was the dull ache of victory.
Then I heard it.
Not a footstep. Not a hum of lights. But a soft, sibilant whisper, drifting along the tiles.
Good… boy…
The words barely rose above a breath, so low I thought they were the wind spilling through broken windows. My heart skipped. I spun, eyes wide, searching for movement.
No one.
The corridor remained still, only the flicker of emergency lights and the distant drip of a leaking pipe.
I shook my head, forcing the doubt away. It's just my mind.
I stood, pressing a hand to my forehead. It's wind, or a trick of acoustics.
But the echo lingered in my ears. Warm and approving, like someone praising a hunting dog.
Still, I took a step forward, each footfall stinging my wounded shoulder.
My legs trembled as I staggered down the corridor, heading toward the exit doors. I had fought and survived.
But as I limped on, I realized the real horror had only just begun.
A tendril of thin black smoke began to rise from Hachishakusama's body, swirling with an unnatural grace. I stared frozen as the smoke twisted in the air like it had a mind of its own. It drifted closer, slower than a breath, and yet I couldn't move.
A sudden chill washed over me.
Then, with a jolt, the smoke lunged forward straight at me. I flinched, throwing my arms up in panic, but it was too fast. It plunged into my chest like a blade of ice. I gasped.
My body seized. I collapsed to my knees, eyes wide, heartbeat thunderous. It felt like drowning in shadows, like something cold coiling around my ribs.
Was I screaming? I couldn't tell.
Then it was gone, like it had never been.
And then my vision began to blur, the edges darkening like the corners of a burning photograph. I opened my mouth to cry out, but no sound came. The world tipped sideways, and I collapsed, my limbs refusing to answer, my breath caught in a ragged gasp.
"D-Damn it..." The words slip through my lips before the world goes dark.