Chapter 3: Murderer, Fugitive, Coward

I opened my eyes.

The clock pointed to exactly 6 a.m.

I hadn’t even slept for three hours, but I didn’t want to go back to sleep.

If I fell asleep sober, I’d have to face the nightmares again.

As I lifted my body, the cold texture of the worn-out leather sofa pressed against my skin.

Guess I had enough sense to crawl onto the sofa before collapsing.

As I raised my upper body, the lingering traces of yesterday flowed through me.

A residual thrill of battle that started at the crown of my head and shivered all the way down to my toes made me tremble.

It wasn’t because I liked it.

It wasn’t because I wanted to kill.

[Really?]

Yeah.

I tried to say it aloud, but the words lingered on the cracked tip of my tongue.

[Then that’s good.]

Really… really, I didn’t feel even a hint of joy.

In the dark room, where even sunlight failed to reach, I stretched a hand under the sofa and grabbed the remote.

A splashing sound and a faint, sticky sensation.

The scattered stain on the floor I’d thrown up on was giving off a sour, nauseating stench.

Still smelled better than blood.

I leaned back on the sofa and turned on the TV.

Too early for regular programming, in this broken age of broadcasts.

The national anthem, serene nature shots, and video clips of egrets flying across the sky—footage that had to be decades old—played in succession.

“Hee…”

A laugh slipped out.

Now that the thrill had faded, the pain in my chest vanished too.

No more urges bubbling up.

Maybe I’d have a few peaceful days.

If I’ve gone strange, it must be this insane era’s fault.

I’m normal.

[Yeah, but in a few days, you’ll go strange again, won’t you?]

Damn ghost always ruins a good moment.

At exactly 7 a.m., the first program began: the morning news.

Even in this age, where civilization was crumbling into dust between your fingers and people lived day by day postponing death, there were still people desperate to create and spread stories.

They say humanity still has about 2 billion left.

A few eccentrics are bound to remain.

Now that I think about it, the first target I attacked last night was that broadcast helicopter.

And sure enough, the top news story was the explosion of that helicopter.

The screen showed a white-haired girl in a black suit from above,

Then the next shot—an unsteady helicopter.

The camera tilted left, showing the corpse of the pilot.

Then came the dizzy spinning, the screech of screams, the sound of explosions, and the broadcast cutting out.

The massive red headline denounced Sanguine Obsidia for committing a mass killing again.

Her 24th magical girl murder.

I watched as I chewed on a rock I pulled from the cupboard.

Well, not a real rock—just one of those distributed calorie bars that taste like one.

Since I don’t have a ration card, I had to steal it.

Everything feels hazy.

 “…Considering all this, it’s highly likely that Sanguine Obsidia has antisocial personality disorder. She’s unable to suppress aggressive urges and commits crimes without guilt…”

 “…She may have grown up in an unfortunate and abusive household, often the result of a father’s violence…”

“Heehee.”

It must be true since I can’t exactly go over there and refute it myself.

How do they know me so well?

They don’t know my real name, where I live, or what I’m doing right now.

They don’t even know what I’m carrying inside me.

The childish thought made me laugh again.

– “The police are investigating Sanguine Obsidia’s whereabouts across multiple channels…”

[They’re deploying the military to track you too! This isn’t the time to laugh!]

“Are you worried about me?”

That didn’t feel bad at all.

Touched by his concern, I reached out to pat him, but he quickly flew off somewhere.

Now I was just awkwardly sprawled out on the sofa.

I’m not worried.

Not the military, not the police, not the magical girl association—none of them have ever come after me first.

It’s not like they can sweep through every ruin and slum across Seoul and Gyeonggi Province either.

They’d be better off not wasting resources and just leaving me alone.

I’ve been quiet these past six months.

Really quiet.

Only one kill a day.

Just leave me alone.

 “If Sanguine Obsidia is a magical girl, she must have a contracted mascot. Is there no way to track the mascot instead?”

“Unless spirit realm mascots are digitized and registered, there’s no real way to trace them. Even ten years ago, during a fallen magical girl incident…”

Well, of course.

It’s funny just imagining them trying to issue an ID card to a spirit.

I tuned out the silly news and started feeling drowsy again.

I tossed the half-eaten flour-brick ration across the room and lit a cigarette.

“Hehe…”

Now I was in a good mood.

Hazy.

With every drag, mana flowed into my body, and a wave of euphoria followed.

If I could live off just this one drag, how nice would that be?

My body loosened like smoke drifting upward.

“Isn’t it funny?”

[…What do you mean?]

Spooky was cautious.

Maybe because I rarely spoke to him first.

Then I should break the ice.

Time for a little story.

“I’m a magical girl, but also a demon, a witch, a murderer. And no one ever says anything about this cigarette.”

It’s traditionally called a cigarette, but technically it’s not tobacco.

“Mana herb is a type of monster, right? We grow monsters, dry them, burn them, inhale the smoke—and I, a magical girl, do that.”

The line between monsters and plants is whether they help or harm humans.

Then what am I closer to?

[…]

“Say something.”

He just stared at me in silence, like a sullen little ghost.

It irritated me.

[…Not killing them all was a good thing.]

How long had it been since I was praised?

As a mood shift, it worked wonders.

[You were completely off earlier. You’ve held it together for six months, so I thought you were cracking. I thought you were going to kill everyone in that place. But you held back. You did well.]

“I’m always rational and logical.”

I always have been.

I’m normal.

Even when facing the police, Glessia Azure, and that nameless hoodie girl.

I was rational then too.

Not a shred of madness.

I stayed perfectly sane.

No, that wasn’t me.

The one who killed them—it wasn’t me.

It was this damn monster controlling me.

But it was still my will.

[Sanguine Obsidia!]

“Ah.”

A black rapier was in my right hand.

Its tip pointed directly at my chest.

When did I walk all the way to the unused dining table?

That really wasn’t my intention.

I pulled up my shirt, revealing a shapely chest.

But the skin was covered in black lines, like spiderwebs.

At the center of that web, near my solar plexus, was a pulsating, dark red mass.

I rested the tip of the blade against it.

[What are you doing!? Snap out of it!]

“What would happen if I just stabbed it right now?”

Blood would gush out.

It would hurt.

And the tumor would regenerate again.

I’ve done it enough times to know.

I stabbed it at an angle.

Bright red blood spurted out, soaking the table.

The pain, the slippery sensation of blood running down my stomach, a rush of relief—

And then the delayed disgust.

It hurt.

It was disgusting and unpleasant.

The wound had already closed up.

Showers are good.

They remind me I’m still human.

Standing under the warm water, stark naked, it feels like even the deepest bloodstains are washed clean.

Then I close my eyes, wash my hair that reaches down to my waist, and when I open my eyes again, the mirror will be fogged up.

When it’s fogged up, the mirror doesn’t reflect the monster in my chest.

That’s nice.

Ssssshhhh—

The sound of water hitting the tiles calms my mind.

“Hello.”

The moment I stepped out the front door with my hoodie pulled low, someone called out from behind.

A girl about twenty, maybe my age.

Brown hair, brown eyes, cute face.

“…Hello.”

[Good job!]

I only greeted her out of politeness, but Spooky was twirling in the air with joy.

Lately, the damn ghost has been acting like a parent.

Disgusting.

“I just moved in recently… Do you live here too? I should’ve introduced myself, but I thought no one was home since I didn’t hear anything…”

I guess it’s surprising to find a new neighbor in a worn-down corridor apartment where it’s impossible to avoid people.

“I’m out a lot.”

They say sociability is one of the biggest signs of humanity.

Talking to someone else—that’s a human thing to do.

I’m normal.

I felt like a person again.

No pain in my chest.

No terrifying impulses.

It felt as good as finishing a cigarette.

“Well then.”

It felt refreshing for the first time in a while.

[Come on! You can’t just walk away without even introducing yourself to your neighbor!]

Shut up.

I’m busy.

I have important work—like checking if anyone suspicious is lurking or if I’m under surveillance.

And taking a walk.

Only humans and dogs go on walks.

I don’t have a leash, so I must be free.

I wandered aimlessly.

As expected from a corridor-style apartment, dozens of units were crammed onto a single floor—but aside from my place and the one next door, all were empty.

The other floors were mostly vacant too.

When I stepped outside the complex, I saw rubble, garbage, dried bloodstains, claw marks left by monsters—all jumbled together.

The greenery squeezed between buildings was overrun with weeds and vines, creeping into roads and alleys.

It was a common sight in this era.

“No one’s here.”

[Why are you going out again? You’re not going to kill someone again, right?]

“I wish you’d shut up.”

I flopped down and didn’t move until the sun started to set.

Then I suddenly thought I couldn’t stay like this.

I stepped out again.

This time, no one called out from behind.

“I’m a magical girl.”

I’m a magical girl.

I protect people from monsters.

I don’t kill humans.

I kill monsters.

Even if that belief expires by the end of today.

I’m still normal.

Hidden in a shadowy thicket, I summoned my magic.

My hair turned snow white, my eyes gleamed ruby red.

My shabby hoodie turned into a clean suit.

I am Sanguine Obsidia.

A magical girl.

I repeated those two words to myself again and again.