My once-happy ending had been neatly…no, brutally ripped to shreds and tossed into the trash. Now that the very premise that the killer’s personality had disappeared was proven false, the delusion of coasting toward a happy ending while idling around was clearly the most useless thing in the world.
Thinking back to last night’s events made me feel like I would vomit again, but regardless, at the murder scene last night…
“Urgh… ugh… blegh….”
No.
Damn it, could I not even think about it?
Anyway, to put it another way, escaping from the crime scene last night had fortunately been easy. It was a deserted alley late at night, so the lack of people had worked in my favor. The fact that the mace that was still covered in pieces of flesh…. ugh, just thinking about it made me want to throw up.
The fact that the mace that was still covered in bits of flesh had transformed into a rosary necklace the moment I pressed the end of the handle had helped. On top of that, the robes stained with blood concealed the clothes of a devout priest underneath.
As if that weren’t enough, the bloodied robe seemed to have been magically treated. After some time, both the stains and the stench of blood had completely disappeared.
A murder weapon that was easy to hide and clothing that didn’t even retain a trace of blood. I could practically feel just how devoted Nygor was to killing. That bastard was certainly someone who truly loved killing.
Somehow, I had managed to escape the crime scene, wandering the streets for quite some time before finally making it back home…
People might say, “How could the original author not even find their own house?”
But come on, even if I had written this novel, it wasn’t like I had ever specified the exact location of the protagonist’s home. Besides, how was I supposed to find my way back when I had blacked out, only to wake up in some random alley?
The only saving grace was that I was a priest and a professor at the academy.
Since I had been wandering the streets all night without finding my way home, help naturally came to me. Thanks to my claim that I was feeling unwell and unable to walk home, along with my academy professor’s ID, I was safely escorted back.
The idea of a so-called priest saying he was too sick to make it home was ridiculous, even to me. But still, it was a better option than never finding my way back at all.
And so, I finally made it home at dawn, collapsed the moment I walked in, and slept until late in the day. Now, it was already 5 p.m.
The one good thing was that, for whatever reason, I hadn’t committed murder while I was asleep this time. At least I had woken up in my bed, still breathing and in one piece. I had been so anxious about the possibility of losing control and killing someone in my sleep that I had trembled with fear right up until I finally passed out.
Well, then again, maybe it was just that “he” had already killed enough people to be satisfied and sleep soundly. Either way, at least he didn’t do it in broad daylight. Honestly, whether he was a serial killer or a lunatic, going on a rampage in the middle of the day would be a bit much. I didn’t write him like that.
Anyway, this was what led me to reopen my personal emergency committee meeting.
Let’s go over the facts again. Unfortunately, it seemed that two personalities coexisted within me. One belonged to an inactive writer, and the other to a serial killer. If I had to choose which one was worse, it was obviously the writer.
I mean, at least the serial killer was a fictional character. The inactive writer, on the other hand, was just trash. The real problem was that the trash happened to be me. But anyway, moving on.
The second point, though not entirely certain, was that the killer’s personality seemed to emerge when I fell asleep or lost consciousness. I wasn’t sure if the switch was automatic or if it required specific conditions. After all, he had murdered someone last night but hadn’t done so during the day.
Lastly, I realized that even if I did end up committing murder, I probably wouldn’t have to worry too much about being exposed.
Last night, while the shock of seeing a murder firsthand had been overwhelming, what had terrified me even more was the fear of being found out.
What if someone discovered the truth? What if I had to erase the evidence by killing a witness? Would the killer’s personality take over again?
Those thoughts had consumed my mind.
Mace was easy enough to hide, and with a magic-infused robe, there wasn’t much to worry about. Besides, Nygor who was an expert in serial murder would surely know how to pick the right time and place to avoid getting caught.
The real problem was the fact that such an expert even existed, but since I had suddenly found myself possessing Nygor’s body, there wasn’t much I could do about it.
In any case, I had no choice but to come up with a plan, and at the very least, I needed to find a way to communicate with him.
It would have been ideal if he could simply respond to my thoughts, but since that attempt had already proven useless, I decided to leave a note instead. If a note was left on the desk, there was a good chance Nygor would see it when his personality took over.
After all, if he were a complete lunatic, communication would have been impossible. But even though Nygor was undoubtedly crazy, he still held a certain level of social status. Enough to pretend to be a respectable professor during the day.
In other words, I couldn’t say for sure whether he was entirely rational, but at the very least, he was capable of communication. If he woke up while I was asleep, he would definitely see my note, so I had to ask, or beg, even, for him to leave me a reply.
With that in mind, I approached the desk, only to realize that Nygor had apparently had the same idea.
There, I found a short message written on a note.
– Who are you? Why have you taken over my body?
***
If I really thought about it, I was nothing more than an intruder. I was a trespasser and a criminal who had occupied someone else’s body without permission.
It would have been a different story if I had taken over an abandoned, empty shell, but Nygor’s personality was still very much alive.
That explained the note he had left behind.
– Who are you? Why have you taken over my body?
It was a short, polite sentence for a serial killer. Yet it was filled with caution. I could sense just how much emotion was embedded in those words. It was the tone of someone who had woken up one day to find their own body stolen.
I had planned to be polite and respectful, given that this was our first interaction, but seeing how wary he was of me, it seemed my plan had already gone a bit off track.
– I’m sorry. I didn’t take over your body by choice. For some reason, I ended up here without understanding why. But I have no intention of doing anything that would harm you.
For now, the best course of action was to approach him with a submissive attitude. There was no benefit in making an enemy out of a serial killer and provoking his hostility. Besides, I needed to ask him to stop killing people.
Ah, I couldn’t just sit around waiting for a reply.
I had only just woken up, but I decided to go back to sleep immediately.
After leaving the note on the desk, I lay down on the bed once more and closed my eyes.
And so began the routine of repeatedly falling asleep and waking up. It was frustrating not being able to receive an immediate response, but I couldn’t afford to be careless. Not when my goal was to stop an imminent murder.
Still, if I had to describe him… he was, in a way, a polite serial killer.
The idea of a “polite serial killer” was absurd, but whether he was trying to understand me or had simply resigned himself to the situation, his replies always carried a weary tone.
That said, despite his politeness, Nygor’s responses remained the same. In other words, he consistently refused my requests.
– Why should I do as you say?
That was the usual kind of reply.
Or, if he wrote a little more, it would be something like this,
– This is my body. And these are my affairs. None of it is for you to interfere with.
If he felt like being even more thorough, his response might look something like this,
– I’ve lived this way all my life without ever being in real danger. There’s no reason for me to change now. So I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of my business.
So, in conclusion, while the conversation continued, the real problem was that there was no progress at all. Nygor remained completely unmoved by my desperate attempts at persuasion. He said he understood that I had entered his body, yet he flatly refused to stop killing.
For now, whether it was because he was too busy exchanging notes with me or because there simply weren’t any tempting targets around, he hadn’t committed any murders. But the moment I woke up again at a crime scene, staring at a bloodied mace still covered in flesh, things would get gruesome real fast.
I needed to come up with a way to persuade Nygor. A grown man’s desperate pleading had no effect on him whatsoever. And to make matters worse, as the final boss and a serial killer, he had no real weaknesses to exploit. There wasn’t even a single person in the story that he seemed to genuinely care abou—ah, no, there was one.
Beatty.
A young child living in the Elohim Church’s orphanage. She was the one who always approached Nygor first, greeting him with a bright smile. And if I remembered correctly, Nygor never pushed her away.
In fact, she was the only person in the entire story to whom Nygor had ever shown a truly genuine smile.
Hmm… in that case, should I use Beatty’s name?
The thought of dragging an innocent child into this just to persuade a serial killer made me hesitate. But that hesitation was swiftly folded up and tossed into the trash. I could make it up to her later. Right now, stopping that serial killer took priority.
– Nygor, if you recklessly try to kill people, I’ll tell Beatty. The very next day, I’ll run straight to the orphanage and report everything to her. I swear.
Of course, I had no intention of actually telling the kid about Nygor’s murders. But if the mere thought of Beatty being sad made him waver, then it was worth a shot.
So please, if you don’t want that child you care about to be heartbroken, just listen to me…
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