Where do we start this excerpt? In the past? Or perhaps in the present? Actually, let’s start with an easy question—
YOU— Where am I?
The sky is dark, a broiling, unmoving, whorl of storm clouds that never stops pouring sheets of rain upon what is left of a dilapidated school. There is no sunlight here, no joy to be found. Only the stench of death and the vengeful rage of a young girl.
YOU— What’s beyond that?
A broad expanse of pine trees, dense and dark with seemingly no end. If one were to stand atop the roof, there would be no sign of anything beyond the forest. This is a purgatory for fools; a purgatory for those least deserving.
YOU— And where do I fall into this?
Within the school itself, a school amongst many others like it, different in their structure and occupants, yet falling under one name: Heavenly Host Elementary.
YOU— Closer.
Within the boys restroom on the third floor, staring listlessly out the window with a bloody plastic bag clenched tightly in your hand.
CONSTITUTION— Your arm hurts like a bitch.
CULPABILITY— And who’s responsible for that?
YOU— You don’t quite remember your fall from the window, though you clearly took a hell of a tumble. There’s no way your arm isn’t broken somehow; you’re lucky your other arm is okay enough to hold Mayu.
CONSTITUTION— But that’s not entirely it, is it?
KIZAMI YUUYA— Kizami wipes blood off a serrated blade with a look of mild disgust, peering into the dirty mirror to check his appearance for any stray specks of blood. A part of you envies his strength, and another part of you resents it for twisting your bad arm out of shape. He’s your age, but he seems much stronger than he should be.
CONSTITUTION— You *did* wriggle out of his grasp, which didn’t help the arm thing.
TENDERNESS— And let him keep Mayu’s hairpin? Don’t be ridiculous.
LOGIC— There was no other way out of that situation. Besides, you can spare an arm. It’s not the end of the world.
PANOPTICON [Medium: Success]— What little you can see of his arms are rather toned and muscled, skin mottled with scars from what are probably childhood accidents. Some look like scratches, others look like bites. You can see some that look circular, arranged in an unnatural pattern.
FULCI [Medium: Success]— A young boy in middle school fiddles with a lit cigarette, pressing it to his arm with a blank look on his face. He hisses in pain, and the blank look is replaced with an almost maniacal grin. Empty, tired, and desperate to feel something. His smile is the smile of someone finally feeling in control.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Hey. Give me your arm.”
1. “Why?”
2. [ Do as he says. ]
3. “So you can twist it again? Fuck no.”
YOU— “Why?”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “I’m gonna make a sling for it.”
YOU— “An apology would suffice.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Apologies don’t fix broken bones.”
1. “Why?”
2. [ Do as he says. ]
3. “So you can twist it again? Fuck no.”
YOU— [ Do as he says. ]
KIZAMI YUUYA— Using his school blazer, he quickly creates a makeshift sling for your arm. It hurts, but he works quick enough that the pain is brief.
EMPATHY [Hard: Success]— He wants a partner in crime. You’re no use to him if you’re injured.
RESTRAINT— You cannot provide that for him.
CULPABILITY— Weak, pathetic, only taking pictures of corpses instead of making them yourself. You’re nothing like him– you’re not even capable of being of the same thread, much less same cloth.
GOREHOUND— But that’s not entirely true, is it? Your urges are simply another side of the coin.
LOGIC— Besides, if you had even a sliver of normalcy left within you, you wouldn’t be carrying around Mayu’s remains in a plastic bag.
CULPABILITY— What would Mayu think of you, if she saw you like this? A miserable shambling thing, holding onto her like a child clinging onto their mother’s clothes?
TENDERNESS— Mayu’s not dead. She’s watching over you. As she always has.
KIZAMI YUUYA— He finishes making the sling, glancing briefly at the plastic bag. “You’re gonna carry that around with you?”
YOU— “I’m not leaving her here.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He fixes you with a somewhat condescending look.
EMPATHY [Easy: Success]— He thinks you’re being ridiculous.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Whatever. Here, this is yours.” He produces a familiar flip phone from his pocket.
YOU— “That’s… how did you…?”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Found it in one of the staircases while I was wandering around. Based on what was on it, I figured it was yours.”
YOU— “I told you to not look through my—”
PHONE— As soon as Kizami opens your phone, a manic scream rips through the speakers, followed by deranged laughter and the desperate cries of a boy gone mad. The sight of shattered glass comes to your mind, the view of a broken window from the ground burned into your retinas.
KIZAMI YUUYA— He pauses the video before handing the device back to you. “I won’t stop you, but holding a camera will be easier when your good hand is free.”
YOU— You take back your phone, putting it in your pocket where it belongs. “...Why do I need my camera?”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He smiles. It looks unsettlingly kind on his face, as if he’s practiced it to look that way. “I’m going to show you something. I figured that you might be interested in documenting it. You know… for posterity.”
GOREHOUND [Easy: Success]— Oh? He shouldn’t have.
CULPABILITY— You’re fucking sick, you know that?
KIZAMI YUUYA— He waits for you at the entrance of the restroom, the uncanny expression replaced with an equally eerie blank *nothing*.
EMPATHY [Hard: Success]— He wants to see you react to this, but he’s not sure if you’re so eager as he is. This is a test.
1. Follow him.
2. Stay put. [Restraint: Godly]
KIZAMI YUUYA— As you exit the restroom, he turns his heel to walk down the hallway. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, humming as he walks. You’d be unsettled by it if you weren’t trying to figure out what the hell he was humming.
1. What is that song? [Encyclopedia: Formidable]
2. Did I pass that test? [Empathy: Hard]
3. Where the hell is he taking me? [ Continue. ]
ENCYCLOPEDIA [Formidable: Failure]— Come back later, I’m working on it.
1. What is that song? [Encyclopedia: Formidable]
2. Did I pass that test? [Empathy: Hard]
3. Where the hell is he taking me? [ Continue. ]
EMPATHY [Hard: Success]— By the way he’s humming and walking without a care in the world, he seems to be satisfied with your response.
CULPABILITY— Are you proud of that, Sakutaro? Are you preening your feathers for the psychopath that took you under his wing?
YOU— I’m not sure. What do I feel?
CULPABILITY— Disgusted.
GOREHOUND— Fascinated.
TENDERNESS— Comforted.
YOU— Maybe a better question is what I’m supposed to *do* about these feelings.
CULPABILITY— Stab them out of your heart. It’s not like you’re getting out of here alive. Not that you ever *wanted* to be alive– not for a long time.
GOREHOUND— But what a waste of life! Why not nurture them? You’re so fucking uptight all the time, never letting yourself indulge a little bit. If you’re going to die, why don’t you have some before it all ends?
TENDERNESS— Besides, Mayu wouldn’t want you to die miserable. Why not end it all with someone else by your side?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— A special someone, who is very handsome and happens to be just as fucked up as you are.
1. Handsome?
2. Let’s not touch that. [ End thought. ]
HEAVENLY HOST— The dingy halls of this school smell faintly of decay, the rot of wood and corpses alike. Rain continues to pour outside in sheets, against the false windows which gives Heavenly Host’s occupants a similarly false sense of hope that perhaps, there is an escape from this hell. You’ve been here long enough to know better.
1. What is that song? [Encyclopedia: Formidable]
2. Did I pass that test? [Empathy: Hard]
3. Where the hell is he taking me? [ Continue. ]
HEAVENLY HOST— It feels like an hour has passed before Kizami stops abruptly, making you almost jump in surprise. You’re in the same room where you bumped into each other, though there’s something that’s changed about it.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Look.”
HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT— The body of what must have been a high school student is spread out upon the floor. He’s been gutted open like an animal, his organs spilling out of his body as if attempting to escape the carnage. On his face is wide-eyed terror; an expression you’ve gotten used to seeing after wandering these cursed halls.
KIZAMI YUUYA— Kizami looks at you, watching your every move.
1. Inspect the body.
2. Take pictures.
3. Talk to Kizami.
4. Back away.
PANOPTICON [Easy: Success]— You step closer to the young man to get a better look. There’s an emblem on his blazer, which feels somewhat familiar. His blood is still wet and there’s no sign of decomposition; he couldn’t have died very long ago. Still, some of the blood on his skin has turned brown, so this isn’t particularly fresh either. That primal terror is etched onto his face, his mouth wide open in a final, desperate scream.
YOU— There’s something different about this, though. Kizami wants me to see something. What should I be seeing?
FULCI [Easy: Success]— Behind the terror, there is anger. Rage. Betrayal. Whoever killed him was very close to him, close enough that he wasn’t expecting his death. Not like this.
LOGIC— He still has his uniform on. Check for an ID.
YOU— Tucked in his inner pocket is a school ID: Kurosaki Kensuke of Byakudan Senior High School, classroom 2-4.
ENCYCLOPEDIA [Trivial: Success]— Byakudan Senior High School is a school not too far from Kisaragi Academy. Unlike Kisaragi, Byakudan is a private high school and charges tuition. In exchange for tuition, students enjoy the benefits of classes taught in English and a high university enrollment rate amongst alumni. In other words: rich people go here.
GOREHOUND— Not that it matters anymore. Can’t go to school if you’re dead.
YOU— Who were you, Kurosaki?
KUROSAKI KENSUKE— I was a person. A student, an athlete, a son. But not anymore. Now I’m just a pile of meat on the floor, destined to rot until kingdom come. In a sense, I’m not too different from you.
YOU— How are you even talking to me?
KUROSAKI KENSUKE— Your schizophrenic tendencies and overactive imagination might tell you a few things, buddy. Look at you. You’re trapped in another dimension, holding what remains of your best friend like a sniveling child. This is, like, the least weirdest thing that you’ve done.
YOU— Fine. Then tell me this: who killed you?
KUROSAKI KENSUKE— I grew up with him. I went to school with him. I protected him. I loved him. Isn’t it obvious?
1. Inspect the body.
2. Take pictures.
3. Talk to Kizami.
4. Back away.
KIZAMI YUUYA— He tilts his head, almost inquisitive. “What do you see, Morishige?”
YOU— “He was betrayed. He was killed by someone he trusted; he wasn’t expecting to die.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Nobody in this hellhole came here expecting to die.”
YOU— “This was different. He didn’t think he was going to die by this person’s hands.” You point to the edges of Kurosaki’s flayed skin. “A serrated knife made that. Punctured some organs. This was frantic. Frenzied. You can tell with the blood spatters nearby.”
PANOPTICON— There’s a conspicuous absence of blood spatter on Kurosaki’s thighs.
LOGIC— Someone straddled him as they dug a knife into his tender flesh. This was intimate; the killer wanted to see his face when he died, no corner of his psyche hidden from them.
YOU— “They sat on top of him. On his lap, like they were straddling him. And then–” You mime a violent stabbing motion with your good arm, a wry smile making its way onto your face. “They dug into him.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— The dull gray of his eyes have turned into something else, not in color, but in emotion. Swirling and murky like the storm clouds outside.
FULCI [Medium: Success]— The glint of a stolen serrated knife, ripping into pale flesh and revealing the anatomy underneath. The young man squirms, screams of agony ripping through the stale air of the school. Another stab, another slice, another scream. He starts to lose his voice as his strength leaves him, the sight of his organs and blood making him nauseous. Stormy gray eyes, swirling and murky and filled with an intoxicating madness, watch in fascination. The eyes of a childhood friend, one he could never save. One he could never stop.
YOU— “How did it feel to kill him?”
KIZAMI YUUYA— His face goes blank for a moment, perhaps out of shock. As quick as it came, it’s replaced with a lazy smile. “Aren’t you a clever one? I like that.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— He *likes* us.
TENDERNESS— It’s nice that the feeling is mutual.
CULPABILITY— No, it *isn’t*. Do you hear yourself?
KIZAMI YUUYA— “It was euphoric. I had killed people before I killed Kurosaki, but I was really looking forward to him, in particular.”
YOU— “You guys were close.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “I was his best friend. He was my oldest friend. There’s a difference.”
YOU— “Still, he meant something to you. You wanted to see his face. You straddled his lap so you could see it. The betrayal and the fear as his best friend tore him apart.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Nothing is more intimate than killing someone. There’s no hiding from the face of death, especially not in a place like this.” Kizami’s expression starts to turn into a twisted smile. “I wanted to see his true self. Unadulterated, free from the constraints of social obligations.”
YOU— “And did you get that?”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a drawn out sigh. It’s as if he’s replaying the scene on the inside of his eyelids, reliving the emotions and sensations of death. “Yes,” he concludes. “It was beautiful.” His eyes open to look at you, almost imploring. “Don’t you agree, Morishige?”
1. Yes.
2. No, you fucking psycho. [Restraint: Impossible]
YOU— “Yes,” you breathe, staring at Kurosaki’s mutilated body. Your fingers itch to reach for your phone.
1. Inspect the body.
2. Take pictures.
3. Talk to Kizami.
4. Back away.
YOU— You gently place Mayu to the side, with reverence, to free your good hand. You flick open your phone, the camera flickering on. You’re using your good hand, but it still shakes. Trembles from excitement.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Here.” He steps behind you, reaching out to steady your hand. His skin is cold, but his grip is firm.
TENDERNESS— When was the last time you touched another person like this? Heavenly Host really makes you forget the little things, like human contact. The only person who you’d let close to you was Mayu, and she’s…
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— Kizami is sturdy. Dependable. His hand looks so good holding yours.
CULPABILITY— This is so fucked. You shouldn’t do this, you can’t.
YOU— Yet, I want to. How curious.
CULPABILITY— You’re so fucking disgusting.
YOU— I don’t think I care anymore.
RESTRAINT [Godly: Failure]— Leaning into Kizami’s guiding touch, you press the button.
PHONE— Your phone clicks and lets out a cheerful ringtone in the silence, incongruous to the image it captures.
KIZAMI YUUYA— He lets go of your hand, stepping back. “Don’t hesitate. It’s just us now.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— You need his hand on yours again.
GOREHOUND— That can wait. Kurosaki won’t look like this forever. Hop to it.
YOU— Another picture. Another one. Kurosaki stays perfectly still for you, like a bug in a glass display. The perfect model, pristine and vulnerable. Lying there for the taking. “Perfect,” you mutter, a giggle bubbling out of your throat. “You should’ve been a model, Kurosaki… would have suited you much better than sports…”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He raises a brow at that.
EMPATHY [Medium: Success]— Your overactive imagination must have hit the spot, somehow.
YOU— Your phone clicks again. You got a wonderful shot of Kurosaki’s intestines; when his face isn’t in the picture, it’s almost like looking at a movie prop. You think of Kizami with a blade in his hand, peeling apart his childhood friend layer by layer. The blood on his hands, a viscous red, contrasting against his stark white dress shirt. It reminds you of an artist with paint on his hands. But that manic grin, the crazed gleam in his eyes– the eyes of a predator digging into its prey. You want to see that, capture it.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “You like this,” he says, almost curious.
YOU— “You seem confused by that.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “I never found dead bodies particularly fascinating; I’m more fond of the lead-up to it, honestly.” He leans in to look at the photo you just took.
PANOPTICON— He smells like blood and sweat. It’s kinda gross, honestly, but you probably smell worse.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— If you really wanted to, you could see down his shirt.
RESTRAINT [Medium: Success]— Focus, Sakutaro. Don’t ogle the guy.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “What are they to you? The corpses?”
1. Masterpieces.
2. Tragedies.
3. Objects.
YOU— “They’re works of art,” you reply, breathless. Your phone flashes as you take another picture of Kurosaki’s face. “Sculptures which are too morbid for the real world. Humans don’t like seeing the faces of death looking back at them, especially if those faces didn’t expect to die that day.” A deranged laugh rises from your chest. “Reminds us of how fragile we are. Freaks us out.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Do you fancy me as an artist, then?”
FULCI— ‘Artist’ doesn’t begin to cover it. You’d compare Kizami to the old Masters if you could.
GOREHOUND— Like the sculptures he makes, his artistry could not survive in your world. He thrives in the presence of death, revels in being its cause. He’s truly one of a kind.
TENDERNESS— He’s just like you, in so many ways.
KIZAMI YUUYA— An amused huff leaves his lips. He’s taken your silence as affirmation. “What does that make you, then?”
YOU— “I’m a spectator. I benefit simply by witnessing the sublime.”
1. Inspect the body.
2. Take pictures.
3. Talk to Kizami.
4. Back away.
PHONE— A new body added to the collection, another set of photos you flip through as you back away from Kurosaki. As you grab Mayu from where you left her, you realize that Kizami has begun to look off into the other hallway.
EMPATHY [Medium: Failure]— He’s thinking of something, but you’re not sure what it is.
KIZAMI YUUYA— He looks back at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Don’t you ever think of being more than just a spectator?”
LOGIC [Trivial: Success]— He’s asking if you ever wanted to kill someone. Or would consider it in the near future.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— With him, hopefully.
YOU— “Sometimes. Although, I find this,” you raise your phone to him, “more convenient.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He fixes you with an intense stare, as if he’s breaking you down piece by piece.
1. Stare back. [Constitution: Impossible]
2. Look away.
CONSTITUTION [Impossible: Failure]— You meet his gaze with an equally intense Kubrick-esque stare, although it makes you look more like an angry cat than an intimidating killer. At this, he abruptly turns around and begins to walk away.
YOU— “Where are you going?”
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Hunting. Just follow me.” He glances at your hand. “And leave that bag behind. It’s too noisy.”
YOU— You glance at Mayu, her pink hair clip lying atop what remains of her.
LOGIC— He’s right; the rustling of the plastic bag is too conspicuous.
TENDERNESS— Surely there must be some other way? You can’t just let her rot here; what if you lose her?
GOREHOUND— It’s her or Kizami. Clock’s ticking, Sakutaro.
1. Leave her.
2. Take her with you.
YOU— You gently place her next to Kurosaki, silently apologizing. “I’ll be back for you, Mayu.”
KUROSAKI KENSUKE— Don’t worry, I’ll be watching over your bag of meat. Now go on your little murder date with the guy who broke your arm, freak.
YOU— You follow Kizami into the next hallway, just as dark and dingy as the others. He walks slower this time, taking care to make his footsteps light and avoiding loose floorboards. He doesn’t hum either, to your slight disappointment.
ENCYCLOPEDIA [Formidable: Success]— Earlier, Kizami was humming ‘Run Rabbit Run’, originally sung by the British singing and comedy duo Flanagan and Allen. The song was released in 1932, and became popular throughout WWII as the lyrics were used as a dig at Nazi Germany’s leadership.
YOU— I highly doubt that’s why Kizami was humming that song.
ENCYCLOPEDIA— In more recent years, a version of the song was sung by Rob Zombie for the soundtrack of American black comedy horror film House of 1000 Corpses (2003), directed by Zombie himself.
TENDERNESS— Perhaps you both have similar taste in media…?
YOU— I’ll have to ask him about it later.
[ Thought gained: Horror Enthusiast ]
HEAVENLY HOST— The halls are as depressingly quiet as ever, save for the ambient rainfall outside and your footsteps. Despite the background noise, a voice echoes throughout the hallway, loud enough to reach your ears.
YOUNG FEMALE VOICE— “STAY BACK!!!”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He stops in his tracks, silent. Dark gray eyes look back at you, conveying an unspoken message.
EMPATHY [Easy: Success]— Don’t move, and stay quiet.
YOU— You nod in understanding as Kizami makes his way towards the corner of the hall. He’s eerily silent; you would mistake him for a ghost if you didn’t know any better.
FULCI— Ghosts don’t move nearly as predatorily as he does. This is a hunter stalking his prey.
YOU— What is he stalking?
1. Peek around the corner.
2. Don’t move.
YOU— You sneak a glance around the corner and see the figure of a young high school girl, trembling and emaciated. Tears freely run down her face; she’s been here for days, possibly weeks.
YOUNG FEMALE STUDENT— “Can I really… *sniff*... trust you?”
YOUNG MALE STUDENT— A young man is attempting to soothe her frazzled nerves. His uniform is similar to Kurosaki’s, though it distinctly lacks the bloodstains.
LOGIC [Trivial: Success]— This must be one of Kizami’s classmates.
THE VICTIM— “Of course. Look at you! You’re shaking. You’ve been through a lot in here too, haven’t you?” His voice is gentle. Kind.
YOUNG FEMALE STUDENT— It seems to be having an effect on her. “I’ve been… really… really scared. I really want someone… to help me…”
THE VICTIM— “I was just as scared until a short while ago. Believe me, I understand. But it’s okay. You’re not alone anymo–”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He finds his opening and moves swiftly, driving his knife into the victim’s back.
THE VICTIM— He lets out a choked noise. The young girl he was comforting stares at Kizami in wide-eyed terror.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Don’t lie. When people die, they’re always alone. You know that better than anyone, Ohkawa… don’t you?”
THE VICTIM— You don’t need to see his face to know it; his voice betrays recognition and horror. “Yuu…ya…!” You can hear him hacking up what must be blood.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Where did you get yourself off to all this time, Ohkawa? I was looking everywhere for you!” The tone of his voice makes him sound like an older brother lovingly scolding a younger sibling; you can’t help but shiver at how unsettling it is.
THE VICTIM— “Fucking… bastard…” He crumples to the floor in a heap, the serrated knife sticking out of his back.
YOUNG FEMALE STUDENT— As if suddenly gaining awareness of the situation, she lets out a frantic scream before scrambling away, leaving you and Kizami alone with the victim.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he croons in a deep baritone unfitting for the cruelty of his actions. “How wonderful that I was wrong!” He places his foot on the victim’s back, before slowly drawing out his knife.
EMPATHY [Easy: Success]— He wants to see its reaction.
THE VICTIM— It screams in pain, speaking in between sobs. “St– stop it…! Yuuya…! Why are you doing this?!”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He lifts his leg, winding up for something.
LOGIC— He’s going to break the legs. Can’t run away otherwise.
CULPABILITY— Are you really going to just let him do that?
1. Stop him. [Constitution: Impossible]
2. Watch what happens. [Constitution: Godly]
3. Look away.
YOU— At the last possible moment, you shut your eyes tight as Kizami’s foot descends.
THE VICTIM— A sickening crack of bone can be heard, followed by a blood-curdling scream that rings throughout the hallway before being stifled with sobs. Another crack of bone resounds, followed by a pitiful noise akin to a dog being shot.
YOU— He’s not gutting it yet. Why?
GOREHOUND— He’s getting a canvas ready for you.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Morishige.”
YOU— Despite yourself, you heed his call and stumble out from behind the corner.
KIZAMI YUUYA— He’s breathing heavily; breaking bones is no small feat even for him. His bangs stick to his forehead, making his face look even darker. He looks elated; excited. Like a child on Christmas. “Don’t you want to join in the fun?” He offers the knife, its handle facing you.
1. Take the knife.
2. “I can’t.”
YOU— “I might throw up,” you mutter, staring at the pitiful victim. Even through the pain, it tries to crawl away. So determined to survive, despite being dead meat.
KIZAMI YUUYA— He steps on the victim’s broken leg, hardly even flinching at the broken cry it lets out. “I’ll help you,” he replies, almost encouragingly. The tone is so incongruous to what he’s asking you to do, it makes your head spin. “It’ll be fun.”
LOGIC— If you don’t listen, he might turn that knife on you.
EMPATHY [Trivial: Success]— He wouldn’t. But he’ll be disappointed.
TENDERNESS— You don’t want to disappoint him.
GOREHOUND— You want to make him proud.
RESTRAINT [Impossible: Failure]— Please, Shig. Don’t.
1. Take it.
2. “No, I can’t.” [ Turn down the offer. ]
YOU— You grasp the knife, the handle still slick with blood. What little light remains in the hallway makes the blade glint dully. It’s strangely light in your hand.
FULCI— How many people have died from this knife? Did Kizami bring this in from the real world, carrying around contraband in his fancy private high school, waiting for the right opportunity to test it out on someone?
KIZAMI YUUYA— “Kneel. It’ll make this easier.” While you were looking at the weapon, Kizami made his way behind you. He sharply nudges the inside of your knee, making you buckle to the ground next to the corpse-to-be. He kneels behind you, his hand guiding yours. “Show me,” he mutters, his breath like a ghost upon the shell of your ear. “Where do we carve him open first?”
GOREHOUND— This is incredibly intimate.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— In more ways than one.
KIZAMI YUUYA— He pushes the victim over, waving the knife over its abdomen. “Shall we gut him like a deer? Or slice him open slowly, like a turkey?”
THE VICTIM— There’s a desperate, pleading look in his eyes. Tears run like a cascade upon his cheeks.
EMPATHY [Trivial: Success]— He doesn’t want to die, but he’s trying (and failing) to not let it show.
YOU— He doesn’t get to decide when he dies. I do.
1. Across his intestinal cavity, on the lateral-medial axis.
2. Rib cage to belly-button, on the superior-inferior axis.
YOU— It’s like your body is moving by itself. Any shaking in your hand is stilled by Kizami’s steady hand, guiding you as you make the first cut. The noises it makes, the blood that spills out; none of it registers as real to you.
FULCI— Is this what Kizami feels when he kills? No consideration of others' pain or pleasure; just silence. The brush is so light in your hands.
KIZAMI YUUYA— “That’s it,” he mutters, his breath quickening. “You’re a natural, Morishige.”
EMPATHY [Trivial: Success]— This is exciting him. He’s feeling the thrill of the kill for the first time all over again, through your eyes.
GOREHOUND— More. You can do better, you need to do more. You need to put on a performance.
YOU— “Let go of me,” you mutter. “I can do it.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He releases your hand, fingers brushing over your knuckles before he stands up and moves away. He hasn’t left the area.
EMPATHY [Trivial: Success]— He’s watching. Waiting for the show to start.
YOU— I’ll give him one to remember.
…
YOU— You’re not sure when you come to your senses. The clatter of the knife on the floor snaps you out of your reverie– you realize that your glasses are incredibly difficult to see through. You take a moment to wipe them on your uniform, before placing them back on your face and witnessing the spectacle you created.
THE VICTIM— Its body is unrecognizable, aside from its face. What looks like a pulpy mess of flesh, blood, and school uniform is where its vitals once were. Its eyes have rolled into its head, possibly from passing out. It couldn’t handle the pain; it’s now doomed to suffer that pain forever more.
CULPABILITY— What the fuck did you do?
CONSTITUTION— Oh, god. This is too much for your stomach to take.
GOREHOUND— I didn’t think you had it in you, honestly. But this is fantastic.
YOU— Did Kizami see everything?
KIZAMI YUUYA— “*Fuck*, Morishige.” Kizami is standing beside you, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink. He looks absolutely enamored, though you’re unsure if it’s with you or with what you’ve done.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— You really hope it’s the first one.
YOU— “... Yuuya.”
KIZAMI YUUYA— He kneels next to you before tenderly cradling your face in his hands. He kisses you like you’re his salvation. He kisses you like he’s going to die.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY— You really, really like that.
TENDERNESS— Is this what acceptance feels like?
FULCI— The feeling of mutual understanding; looking under one’s skin and refusing to look away?
LOGIC— Kiss him back before you throw up, dumbass.
YOU— You do. It tastes like blood, and it’s so, so romantic.