Spectres—parasitic, spirit-like entities that prey on humans. More specifically, they target espers—humans with special abilities. Once a spectre latches onto an esper, it begins to drain their life force, slowly and relentlessly, until nothing remains. No known method can force a spectre out once it has infected someone.
These beings lack a physical form, existing purely as incorporeal energy. They cannot be seen by ordinary means, and their presence leaves no trace… until it's already too late. While there is a rumoured way to prevent infection, it is far from reliable—more myth than method.
Once a spectre takes hold, all hope is lost.
Or so it was believed.
There's still a sliver of survival—but it comes at a terrible cost. The infected can prolong their life by stealing the abilities of other espers. This desperate method gave rise to a dark new term: power-thieving esper, or more grimly, a human parasite.
Victims of spectres undergo a terrifying transformation. Their eyes lose all colour, turning a lifeless shade of grey. They gain a new, involuntary ability: the power to sense the aura of espers, to separate them from the normal populace. It's a gift born from a curse.
One such unfortunate soul is Aneira, a seemingly normal middle school girl attending Tsukuru Academy. Her infection had started subtly—an odd chill, moments of dizziness—but now… it was undeniable.
"...What is this?!" Aneira gasped, staring in horror at the ghostly wisps floating in the air around her.
Her breath caught. Her heartbeat thundered. With trembling hands, she stumbled toward her bedroom mirror.
And then she saw them.
Her eyes.
Pale. Empty. Gray.
"No… no way… This isn't real. Please, please tell me I'm dreaming!" she cried, her voice rising with panic.
'Unfortunately, this isn't a dream.'
The voice was soft. Sweet, even. Too sweet.
It didn't match the dread creeping down her spine.
Aneira froze. "Who… Who said that?"
'Me, of course. Your new roommate.'
"No… You're a spectre. You're inside me…" Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall, clutching her chest. "I don't want to die… I don't want to die…"
'Hahaha… such a noisy child. Relax, foolish human. You're not going to die—not yet.'
She blinked, eyes wide with confusion. "W-What do you mean?"
'As long as you cooperate… I'll let you live. You just have to help me steal the powers of other espers.'
Aneira's breath hitched. Her mind screamed. "You want me to become… a parasite? A thief?! No! I'm not going to hurt anyone—I'm not a killer!"
'Tsk… so dramatic. Sacrifices must be made, young lady. Yours or someone else's—choose.'
A long silence followed. Aneira's lips trembled. Her thoughts raced, but her body wouldn't move.
'Well, if that's your final answer, then I suppose I'll just drain all your energy now and move on to someone more useful—'
"Wait!!" Aneira screamed, scrambling to her feet. "Wait… wait, please don't!"
'Hmph. That's more like it. Then listen closely: I only want Esper energy. Ordinary humans taste bland and lifeless. Find me someone special.'
In that moment, Aneira felt a piece of herself break.
She didn't want this. But if the only alternative was death…
She grabbed her jacket and quietly slipped out the door, trying not to wake her parents.
The train was packed—shoulder-to-shoulder commuters, students, and families enjoying the Sunday rush. Aneira stood silently among them, hands clenched tight, heart pounding against her ribs.
She scanned the crowd.
Nothing. Just ordinary people.
'Ugh… this is going to take a while,' the spectre whined. 'Next time, let's try a school. A nice academy full of young espers. Like a buffet!'
Aneira said nothing.
She didn't even blink.
Because deep down, she knew what she had become… and what she might have to do next.
And so, one by one… Aneira began to hunt.
Her first time, she was clumsy—terrified. Every heartbeat was a drumbeat of guilt, every step a weight she could barely carry. She tracked Esper after school, trembling behind corners and lampposts, until the moment finally came.
She struck.
But she hesitated.
And that hesitation nearly got her caught.
Her victim had turned around too quickly. Her grip had been too soft. If it weren't for the spectre's intervention—distorting light and muffling sound—she might've been exposed that night.
Her second attempt was even worse.
She had followed the signs, watched for the shimmering aura only visible to her grey eyes. But something had gone wrong. The glow had been faint. The target, it turned out, was not an esper at all—just someone unknowingly wearing a relic that masked them as one. The power extraction failed. The spectre hissed in irritation.
The mistake haunted her for days.
But the third time… the third time was different.
By then, Aneira had learned. She had studied body language, aura intensity, and behavioural patterns. She perfected the rhythm of approach, the angle of silence, the moment to strike.
And it worked.
Her target—a low-level esper unaffiliated with the Association—never saw it coming.
The spectre fed. Her body warmed. Her vision cleared. For the first time, she could breathe without trembling.
But even then… something was left behind.
A flame.
Not red or orange, but silver—unnatural and cold, like moonlight set ablaze. It lingered at the scene of her crime, burning where no fire should burn. The victim's body had vanished, consumed completely by the spectre's energy drain. And yet, the silver flame remained.
It flickered on walls, curled along the sidewalk, and danced in the shadows where the esper once stood.
Investigators later brushed it off as chemical residue. An unexplained phenomenon.
But for those who could see beyond the surface, the flame told the truth.
A predator had passed through.
But just because she had become a perfect predator didn't mean she was free of guilt.
Far from it.
Each time she hunted, each time she struck down another innocent, her body moved like clockwork—silent, precise, unfeeling. She had trained herself to suppress hesitation, to mute her conscience, to silence the screams echoing in her mind.
But no matter how much she tried to bury her emotions, her body betrayed her.
Every time the life drained from her victim's eyes, tears fell from her own. Silent and hot, they carved trails down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat and fear she refused to show. She never wiped them away. She let them fall—each one a tiny admission that she hadn't completely lost herself.
And with every victim, the question gnawed deeper into her heart.
Should I have let the spectre kill me back then? Would that have been the better choice?
The more she thought about it, the more the answer felt like a cruel joke. Yes, it would've spared the others. But now, with her hands stained and her soul splintered, it was already too late.
There was no going back.
And so, she kept walking forward—not out of desire, but out of necessity. Driven not by hope, but by survival.
Still, a fragile, flickering wish lingered in her heart.
Please… someone. Stop me.
Not for her sake.
For theirs.
Even if it meant her own death, Aneira prayed—quietly, desperately—that someone would appear strong enough to put an end to the monster she had become.