"You know," Ethan said slowly, staring at the scene in front of him, "I don't even know what to ask. Except… how?"
His gaze swept over the scene.
Eugene stood at the center of it all, fudge smeared across his mouth, chin, and the front of his Pilgrim costume.
In front of him were Lucas, the mayor's son, and his two lackeys. All three were frozen in shock, their clothes completely ruined—splattered, streaked, and dripping with what looked disturbingly like fudge-coated vomit.
The sticky mess clung to their Pilgrim costumes and shoes, dark and glossy under the sunlight.
Ethan blinked.
Once.
It wasn't just that they were covered in fudge.
It was how thoroughly they were covered that made it unsettling—as if Eugene had detonated at close range. And somehow, disturbingly, he had produced that much fudge. The sheer volume alone felt unnatural.
Ethan's stomach lurched.
Uh-oh.
The smell hit him a second later—sweet, sour, and aggressively wrong. His enhanced senses betrayed him instantly. What might have been unpleasant to others was overwhelming to him, layered and cloying, crawling up the back of his throat.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he fought the sudden urge to vomit.
"What did you say, you freak?" Lucas snapped, wiping at his sleeve and only making things worse as the mess smeared further.
"No—don't come near me," Ethan said immediately, backing away a step. "You smell disgusting."
Lucas froze.
The insult landed harder than the mess itself.
"You—" Lucas's face twisted with rage. Being covered in vomit was humiliating. Being called disgusting was unforgivable.
His hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening as his breathing grew sharp and uneven.
"Guys," Lucas snarled, turning to his friends, "let's beat this guy."
The two lackeys exchanged a glance, anger overriding embarrassment. They clenched their fists and stepped forward, clearly remembering the last time they'd crossed paths with Ethan—when he'd called them Boy Scouts selling cookies in front of sheriff.
That humiliation still stung.
Ethan gagged softly.
"Urgh…" He turned his head away, pressing a hand over his mouth. "Seriously—this is a terrible idea."
They didn't listen.
Lucas snarled, and the three of them lunged at once.
Ethan finally looked back at them, his expression twisting in pure disgust. He lifted one hand and flicked his wrist dismissively, as if swatting away something unpleasant.
The effect was immediate.
The three boys were thrown backward, feet leaving the ground as if an invisible force had hit them all at once. They flew through the air and crashed headfirst into a row of water barrels, disappearing with a loud splash.
Slosh—slosh—SPLASH.
The barrels rocked violently, water sloshing over the sides as their legs stuck straight up, kicking uselessly.
Ethan stared at the scene for a second, then sighed.
"See?" he muttered. "Terrible idea."
The barrels finally tipped over, dumping the three of them onto the ground in a tangled, soaking mess. They lay there for a moment before scrambling upright, their pilgrim clothes drenched and their pride in ruins.
Their stares were wild now—less angry, more shaken.
Lucas looked down at himself, water dripping from his sleeves. One of the lackeys wiped his face, smearing what little dignity he had left. The humiliation had crossed a line they couldn't ignore anymore.
Slowly, and with great reluctance, they came to the same conclusion.
They couldn't beat the freak—and they definitely couldn't stay like this any longer. Covered in vomit, soaked from the barrels, and feeling more disgusted by the second, the urge to strip off their clothes and scrub themselves clean was becoming impossible to ignore.
Without another word, they turned and headed toward the edge of Pilgrim World, shoulders slumped, muttering under their breath.
Before disappearing into the crowd, the three of them shot a hateful glare.
Not at Ethan.
At Eugene.
After all, if that idiot hadn't thrown up in the first place, none of this would have happened.
Eugene let out a long sigh of relief and finally relaxed. He turned toward Ethan, noticing—somewhat belatedly—that Ethan was wearing a Nevermore school uniform. That meant a fellow Nevermore student.
"Thanks for saving me," Eugene said, taking a step forward to thank him properly.
"No," Ethan said quickly, pinching his nose. "Don't come any closer. Go clean yourself first."
Eugene stopped mid-step.
He glanced down at himself, taking in the fudge smeared across his clothes and the lingering smell clinging to him. He sighed again, this time in resignation.
Yeah. He couldn't really blame Ethan.
He definitely wasn't pleasant to look at—or be near—right now.
Eugene nodded to himself and quickly headed off, clearly eager to clean himself up and escape any further humiliation.
"If you might answer," a calm voice said from behind Ethan, "how is a vampire able to use telekinesis?"
Ethan paused.
"So you were watching, Wednesday?" he asked as he turned around.
Wednesday stood a few steps away, her expression unreadable, arms folded neatly against her black-and-white Pilgrim dress.
"I don't recall telekinesis being listed among standard vampire abilities," she added flatly.