I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

Frost crept along the floor in her wake, tracing her footsteps.

Right then, a painting class let out. A gaggle of students lugging drawing boards and paintboxes shoved their way out of the studio at the end of the hall, laughing and gossiping about whatever happened in class. They filed right past Ophelia Sterling as she strolled along.

The exact second they crossed paths—

“Whoa—” A few of them shivered in unison, instinctively bristling against the chill.

“Why’s it so cold all of a sudden?” a kid with glasses muttered, hunching his shoulders and looking around. “Did the school finally get AC?”

“You read too much sci-fi,” his buddy next to him rolled his eyes. “Those fancy things? In our high school? Yeah right. Only the big factories have that kinda budget...”

“I bet it’s a ghost!” another girl whispered, leaning in with a conspiratorial look. “I heard the upperclassmen say this art building used to be—”

“He’s delusional, and you’ve been binging horror radio,” the kid with glasses grumbled, cutting her off.

“Then what’s your brilliant theory?”

“Obviously, they just moved some ice through here. Look at the floor, it’s a little damp. Maybe we’ll get to see it in science class next period!”

Grumbling in confusion, the students hurried out of the sudden cold snap. A few couldn’t help but glance back over their shoulders at the white-haired girl they’d just passed. Even from behind, that cascading snow-white hair and her striking aura were enough to stop them in their tracks.

The weird part? If any of those kids had actually stopped to think about it, they’d have realized they didn’t have a single class with her. There was no student like that at their school. But before the thought could even take shape, she’d already vanished around the corner.

The ambient temperature seemed to bounce back the moment she left, losing that bone-chilling edge.

………………

On the opposite side of the art building, down the hall from the plaster room at the very end, a figure was locked onto its scrambling prey.

It was a “Gunman.”

Its look, its getup—it was a dead ringer for the Anomaly Poppy had just shredded in the academic building. Same oversized black trench coat draped over a stiff torso. Same arm hanging at a weird angle, the other toting that bizarre, stubby long gun. Even the clunky, rusted-joint stagger was identical.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

A few dozen feet ahead of it was a girl who looked scared out of her mind. Dressed in the school’s standard uniform skirt, she was stumbling over her own feet, trying to make a break for the stairwell. But she was exhausted, her stamina completely shot from the chase.

The Gunman was closing the gap fast.

She wasn’t going to make it. The Gunman raised its stiff arm. The dark muzzle zeroed in on her back.

It squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

A muffled shot cracked through the empty hallway, echoing with a nasty ring.

At the absolute last second—whether she tripped on something or just had a massive adrenaline spike—the girl violently threw herself sideways! The bullet grazed her cheek instead of striking her directly.

The unfortunate soul who actually caught the round was a guy who had just stepped out of the back door of a supply closet. He was probably just organizing art supplies, completely oblivious to the fact that opening the door meant catching a lethal payload.

It hit him dead center in the chest.

“Aaagh—!!!”

But instead of the typical spray of blood, the guy’s body went through a horrifying transformation in record time. He screamed like he was being flayed alive, an agonizing, pitiful wail.

The impact site caved in and withered at a visible rate, as if every drop of moisture and blood had been violently vacuumed out of him in a split second. Immediately after, his skin erupted in a patchwork of dense pores. The smooth, youthful surface turned rough and ashen, puffing up into a spongy, porous mess—like a cheap piece of volcanic rock wearing human skin.

It took only a few seconds. With a final, despairing look and a hoarse rattle, the boy crumpled into a desiccated husk, hitting the floor like a sack of dry leaves.

The Gunman didn’t even glance at the corpse; collateral damage clearly didn’t register on its radar. Its blurry face swiveled back toward the stairwell, locking onto the girl who was now frozen solid, shaking like a leaf.

Once again, it slowly raised its weapon.

But a crystalline snowflake materialized out of nowhere.

It hadn’t fallen from the sky; it just blinked into existence from another dimension, drifting silently down to land on the Gunman’s rough, ashen cheek.

The creature sensed something. Its sluggish brain registered the biting cold, and its body tried to react, attempting to turn its head and swing that weird gun around.

But right as the thought formed, before the action could even execute—

A lance of pure, razor-sharp ice, riding a gale of freezing wind, punched straight through its chest!

Crack!

That was the sound of ice crystals piercing a shell. Right after, more icicles followed suit, erupting from the floor under the Gunman’s feet, the walls on either side, and even the ceiling above!

A deluge of icicles swallowed the stiff body whole, turning it into a pincushion ragdoll. Frost raced across the Gunman, encasing it entirely.

Ophelia Sterling stepped out from the shadows of the hallway.

Her violet eyes reflected the ice sculpture, completely impassive and devoid of any ripple. She could feel it clearly—the chaotic, violent aura of the Anomaly was fading fast, melting away like frost under the sun.

It was done.

Ophelia paid no mind to the ordinary girl who’d already bolted for the stairs. Dealing with the mundane cleanup afterward was exactly what the support squad was getting paid for. No need to dwell on it.

“I win.” Ophelia murmured to herself, so softly it sounded like a puff of frigid air.

Sure, it was just slaying a run-of-the-mill Anomaly, but a win was a win for their little impromptu contest. Poppy’s skillset was honestly way better suited for indoor tracking and hunting.

But hey, who could argue with better luck? She’d found the target first.