I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

One key node was located where the human heart would be. The second was situated at the back of the head, roughly corresponding to the connection point between the brain and spinal cord—anatomically, the region of the medulla oblongata.

Notably, for normal humans, this location was equally fatal if damaged, since the cardiovascular and respiratory centers were also housed there.

Initially, Pandora had entertained the thought that Miss Anomaly’s ability to create Gunmen might be infinite. As long as she felt fear, as long as there were enough materials around, those black-trench-coated, rifle-toting monsters would just keep spawning.

However, through a subsequent series of controlled experiments, Pandora quickly confirmed that this assumption was wrong. “Infinite”—an ability that far exceeded normal bounds—didn’t manifest so easily. Even for so-called Anomalies.

Every creation of a Gunman inevitably consumed something within the girl. Though Pandora still couldn’t precisely identify what it was through her instruments—whether it was some kind of life force or something more abstract, some fundamental essence—one thing was certain: as the girl continuously spawned Gunman-type Anomalies, the quality of the Gunmen themselves degraded.

Their movements grew stiffer. Their outward appearance became more distorted. They’d even gradually deviate from a recognizable human shape, devolving into a grotesque amalgamation barely maintaining a humanoid silhouette.

Simultaneously, Miss Anomaly’s own physical condition deteriorated with each Gunman spawned.

When Pandora first began examining and testing the girl, she had presented as a perfectly ordinary human high school student. Apart from extreme fear and tension, her baseline physiological indicators—body temperature, pulse, respiration—all fell squarely within normal human parameters.

As the Gunman-spawning experiments continued, her constitution began a marked decline. The most visible sign was how her face grew ever paler, her hands and feet frequently icy to the touch, her gait becoming weak and unsteady.

Just a few days prior, her condition had deteriorated so badly she’d developed cold and fever symptoms. The experiments had to be suspended for three full days, only resuming once her temperature normalized.

This drove home a critical point for Pandora: Miss Anomaly was, to a significant degree, eerily similar to a real human. She could fall ill. She could grow weak. She experienced physiological distress.

And yet, she was not entirely human either. Beyond her ability to create Gunman-type Anomalies and be relentlessly hunted by them… the basic human operations for replenishing nutrients and restoring strength—eating and sleeping—proved almost entirely worthless to her.

None of it could halt her physical decline. None of it could replenish that consumed, more fundamental essence. The only viable method seemed to be… killing something alive.

Pandora’s gaze sharpened as she watched yet another Gunman coalesce in the isolated test zone at the far end of the lab.

This time, its constituent material came from a pile of discarded wooden desks and chairs she’d deliberately stacked in the corner. The once-orderly furniture now seemed to be kneaded by invisible hands. Wooden planks snapped and recombined. Metal fittings melted and re-solidified. And finally, that familiar black trench coat silhouette took form, along with a crude but murderous rifle.

The Gunman’s form sharpened into full clarity, and its featureless face turned toward the center of the isolation zone. There, Miss Anomaly stood trembling.

The Gunman raised its weapon again. The pitch-black muzzle aligned squarely on her.

Bang—!

As the gunshot cracked, the trajectory of the screaming bullet took a subtle twist. In the split-second before the Gunman squeezed the trigger, sheer terror had triggered the girl’s instinct to duck—she’d thrown herself down onto the floor.

And at that precise moment, a live chicken, bound by cord nearby, flapped its wings in a sudden panic and hopped upward off the ground. Startled by the gunshot, its leap carried it directly into the bullet’s path.

No accident. No miracle.

The bullet struck true. The chicken let out a single, cut-off squawk, its body momentarily stiffening, then collapsing in a limp heap. No great gush of blood spilled from the wound. But within an extremely short span, the bird’s body began to shrivel—drying up and withering.

Standing behind the observation window, Pandora nodded silently to herself.

This was Miss Anomaly’s method of “feeding.” Mis-killing. On the surface, it appeared to be a coincidence—an unfortunate accident. In truth, it was the inevitable result of the Gunman-type Anomaly and that strange power, operating entirely outside Miss Anomaly’s conscious control, working in concert.

The chosen living creature would die beneath the bullet meant for the girl. And the girl, far from suffering notable harm, would recover some of her strength from the event.

This experiment had been replicated and verified. From rabbits to birds, and through retrospective case analysis of the several high school students who’d previously perished under the Anomaly’s fire… the pattern’s universality was essentially confirmed.

Pandora had even attempted to become the “chosen” target herself. In one controlled experiment, she’d personally stood inside the isolation zone, not far from Miss Anomaly. When the Gunman formed and raised its rifle to aim, Pandora had clearly felt a momentary lock-on sensation. A cold, venomous stare, like a scorpion eyeing its prey.

But that sensation had lingered on her for less than half a second before it automatically shifted to the pre-prepared lab animal nearby.

In other words, Miss Anomaly’s ability seemed to automatically select its targets, actively avoiding individuals too powerful. A self-operating, astoundingly precise and efficient predation system. It prioritized weak, easily hunted prey to ensure feeding success while circumventing potential risks.

The above constituted the basic, confirmable facts Pandora had accumulated through a month of varied experimentation.

As for the deeper questions—for instance, just how the girl had been born? What her true nature was? The root-level questions that genuinely gnawed at Pandora’s curiosity… regrettably, she’d found no clear answers in the short term.

She didn’t even have any firm leads. She lacked the power to reverse time and witness the girl’s birth firsthand. And no reports had yet come in from the auxiliary squad about observing the birth of a new Anomaly or any related traces.

Regarding the girl’s true nature, dissection for anatomical analysis was a possible route. But that kind of destructive research method was destined to remain a last resort—the desperate act after all non-destructive means had been exhausted.

And before reaching that point, she had clearly better alternatives. For instance… she’d already booked an appointment with an expert. The day of that meeting was tomorrow.

So today…