When Everly first heard about the students’ plan, she found it absurd.
Based on the information she had gathered, “Teacher Berlin” was most likely a ghost—or perhaps sothing like a servant of a demon. How could such an existence possibly be killed by modern firearms crafted by ordinary humans? Compared to bullets, exorcism items might stand a slightly better chance—but only if they were genuine articles with real ritual significance. Crosses mass-produced in modern factories, along with random bits of silver and garlic from who-knows-where? As if those would actually work.
But the students were out of options.
They had tried cornering Wester to seek his help. The exorcist told them plainly: if they wanted to escape plastering, they had to break the curse; and to break the curse, they had to wait until the night of the new moon. These students simply couldn’t afford to wait that long.
As for “Teacher Berlin,” Wester had long intended to deal with him. Unfortunately, Berlin seed to have anticipated how troubleso Wester would be. He never showed himself voluntarily in front of the exorcist. To avoid facing him head-on, he would even abandon already “hatched” plaster figurines rather than retrieve them. If he couldn’t be found, there was nothing Wester could do.
So while the rest of the school had begun to glimpse a ray of hope for survival, these dozen or so students were staring at what felt like a certain death sentence.
At the brink of life and death, people have to fight for themselves—even if the assassination failed, at least they could vent so of the hatred in their hearts.
Berlin’s location wasn’t hard to determine. Wherever a newly transford plaster statue appeared, he would be there.
After seeing a post on the forum about another student turning into plaster, the fourteen students grabbed their weapons and rushed to the classroom where it had happened. Seeing the situation, the other students and the teacher inside scread and fled in panic.
With the classroom instantly cleared, the fourteen surrounded Berlin in a loose formation, raised their guns, and opened fire on him in unison.
For reasons unknown, soone among the fourteen started a livestream on the forum. Because of that, Everly was able to watch the entire incident unfold.
To everyone’s surprise, Berlin could actually be injured—and he bled like an ordinary person.
Under the dense barrage of gunfire, his body rocked back and forth from the impact of the bullets, like a leaf caught in the wind, like torn scraps of cloth, like an overripe tomato dropping to the ground. One bullet hole after another appeared across his body like a honeycomb. From those dark openings, thick streams of blood gushed out in spurts.
Amid the crowd’s anxious anticipation, Berlin finally lost his balance and fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
“Did we succeed?”
The student leading the group, gripping his handgun, took an excited step forward and lowered his head to look.
The livestream cara followed closely, moving in for a nearer view. And from her vantage point behind the screen, Everly found herself staring directly into a pair of cold, indifferent crimson eyes—eyes that looked upon them as if they were already corpses.
On the screen, Berlin’s body was rapidly repairing itself.
The flowing blood was absorbed back into his skin. Fresh flesh sprouted from the bullet holes, slowly pushing out the embedded bullets, which clinked and clattered onto the floor. In re monts, the once-ravaged body returned to flawless condition. Even the torn fabric of his signature won’s suit had nded itself seamlessly.
Berlin’s two legs, veins bulging, planted on the ground and spread into an M-shape. From that position, his hips lifted, his waist arched forcefully, and his body bent into a reversed C in midair. Then he straightened. His shoulders twisted as if dislocated, his arms tracing strange arcs through the air as he shifted his center of gravity to his pelvis—rising unsteadily to his feet in a manner that seed to defy gravity itself.
“Ah! He’s not dead… Quick—throw the anti-evil items!”
The boy leading the group stumbled back a few steps and hurled a cross at Berlin. The silver-glinting cross struck Berlin squarely on the forehead, knocking his head slightly backward and montarily halting his advance.
Seeing this, the students initially thought the exorcism items were working. They hurriedly threw their crosses, salt, holy water, and whatever else they had at Berlin.
But Berlin reacted with startling speed. He opened his mouth and caught one of the flying crosses between his teeth. With a sharp crack, he bit down and crushed it into fragnts.
“What a naughty group of children… Are you that eager to be eaten by ?”
Amid the students’ screams, Berlin slowly raised his head. His greedy crimson eyes glead. A long tongue slid out of his mouth like a serpent’s, licking his lower lip with restless anticipation.
In the next second, his grotesquely twisted face abruptly filled the livestream screen. Blood splattered across the lens. With a harsh burst of static, the feed cut out completely.
…
It was obvious—the students’ assassination attempt had failed.
All fourteen who had gone—including Misha’s friend—were reduced on the spot to flesh and blood sared across the classroom walls and ceiling. It was said that when the scene was discovered, even a veteran coroner accustod to death and corpses couldn’t help but vomit.
From the remains, the police identified biological tissue belonging to all fourteen students and preliminarily concluded that none had survived. Their bodies and shattered bones were so thoroughly mixed together that they could not be separated. In the end, the remains were divided into fourteen equal portions and returned to their grief-stricken, remorseful parents.
After closing the livestream, Everly rested her chin in her hand and sat in thought for a long ti, feeling an inexplicable unease.
From the many items she had acquired, she selected one and placed it inside a wooden box. Then she went to find Rebecca.
“I have a feeling sothing might go wrong during the curse-breaking ritual. I want to give the item in this box—together with that thing you’re holding—to Wester. It might co in handy. But I’m not close with him. He’ll definitely refuse if I approach him directly. Could you give it to him for ?”
“This?” Rebecca opened the wooden box and took a look. After a mont’s thought, she accepted it. “Wester probably won’t take it. The usage conditions are too demanding—it’s pretty useless to him…”
Seeing Everly’s disappointed expression, Rebecca quickly shifted the conversation.
“But I can take it to the ritual and watch over it. If anything happens, I’ll be the one to use it.”
“You… you’re going? That’s Paimon—it’s dangerous! You should just hand it to Wester. If he refuses, let it go. Don’t risk yourself…”
“Shh.” Before Rebecca could finish, she pressed a finger to Everly’s lips. “What are you saying? Don’t think I’m unreliable just because I seem a bit scatterbrained. I am the daughter of an Emara shaman. This concerns the safety of so many students. Even if Wester refuses, as an adult, I’ll step in and help if needed. I believe Mother Earth herself will watch over .”
With that, she retrieved a candle holder carved with the Virgin Mary from the shelf. She lit it and placed it in the center of the round table, which was covered with a blanket. Into a long-handled spoon, she poured an unknown kind of grease, then set the spoon atop the candle holder to warm it. As it heated, she murmured words under her breath.
Everly couldn’t understand what Rebecca was saying—it sounded like so sort of Balivian incantation. The grease in the spoon soon began to boil, releasing a very faint, delicate fragrance into the air.
The scent drifted into Everly’s nose, and for a fleeting mont, her consciousness wavered. Her body felt weightless, floating lightly, as if the next second she might escape her heavy physical shell and enter a brighter, warr world…
“Clap!”
The sharp sound of a hand striking broke Everly out of her strange trance. Realizing five minutes had passed without her noticing, she widened her eyes in surprise, about to ask Rebecca what she had just done—had she made her inhale so forbidden herb?
Instead, she saw Rebecca’s wolf-tail hairstyle lean forward, pointing at the candle holder, and smile, revealing sharp, pointed teeth.
“Look! The fla of the Virgin Mary candle has burned out! Mother Earth has received my prayer and is willing to grant protection… I believe everything will go smoothly on New Year’s Day.”
…
The fourteen-student assassination team had died in a truly horrific way. The shock of the incident made it difficult for the school’s students to feel any joy, even with the Christmas holiday just around the corner.
They had never felt ti drag so unbearably, nor had they ever regretted their past recklessness so deeply.
And so, in fear, in tornt, in anxious anticipation, the day of New Year’s finally arrived.
The students seeking to break the curse were escorted to the school auditorium early by their worried parents. The church priests and acolytes had already prepared the venue, and Wester, fully ard, stood vigil at the entrance.
He knew Berlin would absolutely try to disrupt the ritual, so he carried his yellow oil lamp and countless exorcism tools, standing silently like a stone lion outside the auditorium. For Berlin to enter, he would have to get past Wester first.
Yet no one expected that, before Berlin even appeared, Wester would be attacked by students.
Two students suddenly stopped as they passed by him. One after the other, they drew guns from their pockets and fired at the man at the doorway. If Everly had been present, she would have recognized them imdiately—they were two of the fourteen who had attempted to assassinate Berlin that day.
Their arms still bore incompletely healed wounds. The flesh removed from their arms had been mixed with the blood and tissue of the other twelve, creating the illusion that the two of them had already died.
In reality, they had been bribed by Berlin with the promise of “breaking the plastering curse.” They had survived the assassination attempt and continued to cling to life until now, becoming weapons Berlin could use to strike at the exorcist in his place.
The vast majority of exorcists are spiritual practitioners. They are naturally able to distinguish humans from evil entities through subtle shifts in aura, imdiately sensing and reacting to nonhuman presences. Against fellow humans, however, they are far less guarded.
But Wester was an exception. He had no spiritual abilities; his success in the exorcist world had always relied on the wisdom and caution of his human body.
The man had extraordinary hearing. As the two students drew their guns from their pockets, he keenly detected the faint click of the gun parts moving inside. This allowed him to dodge the first wave of shots aid at his forehead.
“Bang! Bang bang!” The pistols fired in rapid succession. The attackers were too close; no matter how skilled the exorcist, he couldn’t avoid being hit in the chest. He collapsed stiffly at the entrance to the auditorium.
“Plop.” His oil lamp toppled with him, the weak fla instantly extinguishing.
“W-we… did it!”
“Now, Teacher Berlin will leave us alone… we’ll be free…”
The two students lowered their heads, staring at their trembling hands holding the guns. Despite it being their first ti attempting murder, the first feeling that surged through them at the sight of the fallen exorcist was… relief at having survived.
The gunfire at the doorway drew the attention of those inside the auditorium. Heads peeked out from the interior, and screams erupted as they witnessed what was happening outside. If it weren’t for the priests and acolytes maintaining order, and with Berlin not yet appearing, those inside might have perished first in a stampede.
Enjoying the students’ fear and screams, Berlin’s figure erged from the heavy night, stepping up to the auditorium entrance.
“T-Teacher Berlin, we did it… please, break the curse for us!” one of the students who had fired their gun pleaded, bowing and begging Berlin to lift the plastering curse.
Berlin curled the corners of his mouth into a captivating, almost flirtatious smile.
“Yes… and thank you all for helping solve a big… problem…” He stepped up to the student and reached out, tenderly brushing his fingers across the boy’s cheek. The boy flinched, terrified of angering Berlin. He dared not move, forcing himself to endure the fear as Berlin’s hand traced across his face.
The hand was icy—very cold—smooth and slippery, like a moving snake. Wherever it passed, even the boy’s skin seed to sink into a chilling frost.
“Ah! Aahhh! Plaster… plaster!”
A companion’s hysterical scream rang out beside him. The boy blinked with difficulty, noticing that a thick, white haze was rapidly spreading across his vision. His body grew colder and colder; he could no longer feel anything below his neck. Unconsciously, even his thoughts began to slow… Ah, he realized the truth—he was turning into plaster.
Berlin had never intended to let him go…
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