WebNovels

Chapter 6 - Bradley vs Nurse (1)

Ring~

Ring~

Bradley groaned, his face buried deep in the pillow, and slammed his hand down, silencing the shrill, insistent chime of the alarm.

He dragged his head up and squinted at the digital display.

9:00 PM.

A luminous, vaguely translucent figure hovered above his bed, stretching. [Welcome back, sleeping princess,] Spirit Bradley greeted him, his voice carrying the faint, echoing quality of a consciousness half-out of time. He punctuated the greeting with a wide, almost theatrical yawn.

"Can you even sleep? I thought spirits didn't need to," Bradley asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

[Yeah, for some reason I can. I guess I'm just special. Or maybe being tethered to your boring human life is finally catching up to me.]

Bradley just shook his head, a faint, familiar ache of resentment and dark affection settling in his chest.

"I guess it's time." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold air hitting his skin, and flipped on the bedside lamp.

He immediately noticed the neatly wrapped food on his small table and the white slip of paper tucked underneath.

[Oh, Vuitton was the one who delivered the food,] the Spirit noted, already drifting toward the table with an impossible swiftness.

Bradley walked over, picked up the note, and recognized the elegant, hurried script.

I couldn't wake you up; you were out cold. I brought your food and wrapped it tightly in cloth. It should still be warm when you wake up.

P.S. Vuitton.

A genuine, warmth-tinged smile spread across Bradley's face. "Thanks, Vuitton."

He sat down and carefully unwrapped the cloth. The immediate scent of smoke and rich, savoury meat hit him, making his stomach rumble a fierce protest against the day's starvation.

It was still perfectly warm.

His eyes went wide. It was his absolute weakness: barbecued meat, glistening with sauce, served over a mound of perfect white rice, flanked by crisp golden fries, with a chilled cup of his favourite berry juice on the side.

"My favourite..." he whispered, a small moment of peace before the impending storm.

Bradley ate with a speed that belied the quality of the meal, savouring every bite. He focused on the food—the char, the fat, the salt—anything to keep his mind from drifting to the horrors the night would bring.

After finishing every last crumb and draining the cup, he relaxed for a couple of minutes, a sigh of deep satisfaction escaping his lips.

"Damn, that was good. I feel like I could take on a mountain." Bradley praised the food.

[Yeah, you can't go fighting an evil spirit on an empty stomach. That's rookie behaviour.]

"Can't complain about that logic."

Bradley stood up and headed for the bathroom, the rich food already settling into a heavy fuel for the night.

After a quick, bracing cold wash, he came out, feeling sharper, cleaner. He walked towards his bed and knelt down, pressing a hidden button concealed beneath the wooden frame.

The side panel of the bed retracted with a quiet hiss, revealing his gear: a set of tight black tactical clothes, heavy combat boots, a thin Kevlar bulletproof vest, and the centerpiece—a black sheathed katana with a grip wrapped in deep purple silk.

He stripped down and methodically put on the clothes and the vest, securing it beneath a fresh, black thermal shirt. He tightened the laces of his boots until they bit into his ankles, ensuring they wouldn't loosen mid-fight. Finally, he pulled on a long, midnight-black coat that almost reached his ankles, the fabric designed to move with him, not against him.

He stepped toward the full-length mirror, picking up a comb.

[I don't even know why you're combing your hair when it's all gonna get drenched in blood and sweat during the fight,] Spirit Bradley remarked, clicking his tongue.

"Gotta show the drip, y'know. Besides, I might die tonight, so I need to go in style," Bradley smiled, the expression a thin, tight mask of confidence as he looked at his reflection.

He looked like an emissary of death—lean, coiled, and utterly black.

Well, except for his red hair.

"Tsk, only the face ruins it, but it is what it is."

Spirit Bradley just shook his head, a silent acknowledgement of his host's unwavering, dark flair.

Bradley grabbed his katana, the weight a familiar, comforting presence, and attached it to his waist, ensuring the hilt was perfectly positioned for an immediate draw.

"Time to kill an evil spirit."

He walked out of his room, his new boots silent on the carpeted floor. He moved with a practised, predatory quietness through the echoing corridors of the mansion.

He took a left and opened a heavy black door that revealed a flight of concrete stairs. He descended and walked into a vast, pitch-dark space.

As his foot touched the floor, the motion-sensor presence lights flickered to life, one by one, illuminating a museum of luxury. They revealed a collection of cars spanning decades: sleek, modern sports cars, polished vintage cruisers, and rugged old-school muscle—all lined up like mechanical guards on both sides.

[Dad really loved cars. He'd spend hours down here,] Spirit Bradley said, a note of wistful melancholy in his voice.

"Yeah, he did." Bradley smiled bitterly, the pain of memory a sharp, quick jab.

The immense garage held over twenty meticulously maintained machines—dozens of supercars and old generation cars.

Bradley kept walking past the polished chrome and leather, slowing only slightly in front of one masterpiece.

"A black 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500. A beast with that litre V8 engine. The noise alone could wake the dead. It was his favourite car..."

[...and one of the few tangible memories of him left behind,] Spirit Bradley finished, his voice hushed.

Bradley swallowed the rising grief, refocusing with professional coldness. He pushed past the Mustang and stopped finally in front of something covered with a heavy black blanket, tucked away in a corner.

He pulled the blanket off with a single, quick yank, revealing a weapon on two wheels: a raven-black motorcycle with striking fluorescent green stripes.

Bradley let out a low whistle of appreciation.

"A Kawasaki Ninja H2. , liquid-cooled, inline-four engine, force-fed by a supercharger. Approximately 231 horsepower, with the optional RAM air intake boosting it to 243 horsepower. A terrifying princess, indeed."

He plucked the keys from a hook on the nearby wall.

He straddled the machine and turned the ignition.

Vroom~

The engine roared to life, a high-pitched, metallic scream that instantly overpowered the silence of the garage.

Bradley twisted the throttle with his right hand, the bike screaming louder in eager anticipation.

Vroom! Vroom!

"Alright, easy, girl. Let me stop before I wake up everyone in the house."

He killed the noise, checked his mirrors, dropped it into gear, and rolled it silently out of the garage.

He moved toward the mansion's massive, wrought-iron gates, opening them with a key remote.

As soon as the gap was wide enough, he slipped out, dropped the key in his pocket, and twisted the throttle all the way. The Ninja H2 launched forward like a missile, the front wheel lifting clean off the asphalt in a perfect, sustained wheelie.

Vroooooom~ vroooooom

He tucked in behind the fairing, the wind a roaring, cleansing blur. "Here I come!"

*******

He finally arrived at the school.

The trip that normally took an hour of grinding city traffic and careful highway driving—now took a blistering fifteen minutes of pure, reckless speed through the deserted midnight highway.

[I wonder what Dad would say about you driving at 15 years old.]

"He'd probably scold me." He chuckled.

He parked the bike right in front of the imposing, institutional gates.

He glanced up at the security cameras on the stone wall. All of them were either smashed, twisted away from the compound, or completely dark.

Looks fishy.

[She probably disabled the cameras. Or, more likely, ripped them out.]

Bradley jumped over the wall, the heavy boots landing silently on the snowy cobblestones inside.

No guards in sight. He moved to the guard's post and peered through the window—he saw the two uniformed men slumped over their desks, thankfully still breathing, their chests rising and falling in slow, deep rhythms.

Bradley sighed, a brief flicker of relief. "Their chests are moving. They're alive."

He moved past the post, his boots crunching softly on the snow-dusted, cobblestone path. The entire campus looked eerie, swallowed by the predatory darkness.

[Yeah, I can feel her evil spirit energy. It's thick, like hot smoke,] Spirit Bradley said, a low growl in his voice.

He entered the school building. The interior was a cavern of shadows. Only the weak, silver moonlight that pierced through the high windows offered any illumination, but it was enough. Thanks to his spirit vision, the subtle outline of the building's anima was clear, and the heavy residue of the spirit's malice was visible as a sickly, pulsating red haze.

As he walked inside, the evil energy grew stronger, more suffocating.

And then he smelled it.

The sharp, metallic, nauseating scent of iron and fresh blood.

"Shit. I hope Josh left the school early, like I told him to," Bradley muttered, his hand immediately resting on the black hilt of his katana.

[Stay alert. She's close, and she's already been busy,] Spirit Bradley warned him.

Bradley nodded, then broke into a low, silent dash through the corridors.

He stopped in front of the infirmary's door. It was slightly ajar, the wood dark with what he hoped was shadow.

He eased it open, entering with his katana already half-drawn, the purple silk unwrapping from the grip.

He expected to find her inside—the room was empty, only a thick residue of her malignant energy lingering like a foul perfume.

"She's not here..." Bradley whispered, his jaw tight.

[Let's check the other rooms. Stay focused.]

They searched every nearby room, even the staff bathrooms, but found nothing. The building was oppressively quiet—a heavy, suffocating silence that was a terrifying contradiction to the horror he knew was unfolding.

"She likes playing cat and mouse, huh?" Bradley smirked, but the expression was strained. "Not for long."

"I'm going to use Spirit Sense. This damn school is too big, and I can't waste time searching every single corner."

[You should've done it a long time ago. Pride kills,] the Spirit chastised.

Sybau.

Spirit Sense was of his ability, a concentrated pulse of his spiritual energy used for locating any supernatural being within a 120 radius—the size of a football pitch. He spread his Spiritual energy outward, a sudden, silent surge.

He closed his eyes and spread his senses, a growing, invisible net that enveloped the whole building, probing the dark corners.

At first, he felt only a faint, lingering background noise, but then—he felt it. A deep, concentrated pocket of cold, chaotic, evil energy in the far wing of the building, a sheer volume that gave him immediate, physical chills down his spine.

Bradley's eyes snapped open, blazing with purple Sybau light.

"She's at the cafeteria."

[Let's go. Now.]

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