Did he really think that pathetic little twig was big enough to impress anyone? Or… did he get off on being tiny? The fact that he was grinding against the actual broomstick like some depraved lunatic suggested the latter. It was a nauseating display.
Then she noticed his teeth—his teeth were so bad they could probably scan as a barcode. He really needed beautiful teeth like me, Elise thought, wrinkling her nose as she adjusted her plastic vampire fangs in mild horror.
Suddenly, Mr. Dummura let out a theatrical grunt, "HNNGH!" and thrust his hips forward, the broomstick scraping loudly against the lockers. The motion was so exaggerated, so ridiculously proud, it was like he was presenting his pathetic little twig as a prized trophy at a cursed science fair.
His lopsided grin widened, eyes glinting with unhinged glee, practically begging for someone—anyone—to notice his "grand display".
Elise's stomach lurched. Her eyes, against her will, flicked downward again, drawn by the sheer audacity of his movement. There it was—that laughably tiny boner, still pathetically defiant, wobbling like a sad little flag in the wind.
"He… he does have a boner!! But it's sooo tiny… I could barely even notice it before, and it's pissing me off!!"
The last straw snapped.
A storm of darkness erupted inside Elise, black energy slithering through her veins like venomous serpents. Her vampiric rage ignited, blood searing as shadows writhed around her—ravenous, unhinged. Each heartbeat pounded with fury; each breath crackled with raw, unholy power.
Her mind flashed to Corpse Party—those Wrong Ends, where spirits forced scissors to snip, swallow, and shred in gut-wrenching agony.
Snip, snap! This pathetic twig didn't deserve scissors—it deserved oblivion. Banished. Sacrificed. Erased.
It needed to be banished!
It needed to be sacrificed!
It needed to be removed!
It had to go!
Snip, snap! Her plastic vampire fangs gleamed as she grinned wickedly.
"Snip…" she hissed, leaning close, her shadowy tendrils slithering toward his groin with a sharp sniiick!
Mr. Dummura froze, eyes bulging, broomstick still jammed behind him.
Snap, snick,sniiick! She flicked her wrist, a shadow claw hovering over his trembling twig, mimicking the ghosts' cruel possession.
Elise—Raven Dementia Bloodrose—paused, her gaze flicking to Mr. Dummura, still lost in his grotesque, sexual daze, oblivious to his pathetic twig flapping in the corridor breeze, the magical girls still laughing—his twig too small for them to see… four yards away.
The broomstick, still wedged behind him, scraped faintly as he swayed—a lovesick gargoyle high on his own depravity.
Erect or soft…
Which form of the penis was easier to snip?
She mused, her mind replaying Corpse Party's gut-churning scissors scenes—
Blades slicing through flesh like butter.
Snip. Sniiick!
Then she facepalmed, shadows swirling around her.
If that sad little thing was still erect while she snipped…
He was in for a nightmare worse than any Wrong End.
"You're already doomed, perv," she muttered, her plastic fangs glinting as she plotted her next move.
"Snip. Snap. Cut and fall…
By Fang. By night. By shadow's call!
Shrivel. Wither. Drop away…
Be gone, cursed twig, this very day!"
She hissed, her shadowy tendrils coiling hungrily around him, twitching as if eager to do her bidding.
Her voice carried the weight of dark magic—the chant itself was a spell that bound, punished, and tore at him with every word.
Dark energy spiralled from her hands, a black aura twisting and writhing around him, binding him in a curse that promised agony, humiliation, and total helplessness.
The shadows whispered their approval as the doomed twig trembled beneath her spell.
And then…
His penis detached, falls down, landing in her hand, and she gripped it tightly.
The shadows surrounding them surged and roiled like enraged snakes poised to strike, their dark energy mirroring her vengeful thoughts. In a dizzying display of her powers, the gloom coiled and lashed out, ensnaring the broomstick in its clutches. With a sinister crackle of energy, the broom snapped into two like a fragile straw, and the dark aura around it shivered, flickered, and began to fade, the cursed magic dissipating into nothing.
Mr. Dummura stumbled forward, free from the dying spell's grip but still stuck with the other half lodged up his ass.
"Not much of a man now… Now you don't have a dick!" She laughed to herself.
She looked at it, detached from him in her hand. Such a tiny little thing, with its delicate little balls bouncing as it squirmed and wiggled like a mischievous little creature desperate for attention. She tilted her hand, letting it flop over and spin, and it twitched and squirmed in response, almost as if it were aware of her amusement.
"Aww, what a cute little thing you are!!" She squealed, her eyes gleaming with delight. She gently poked it with her fingertip, rolled it across her palm, and even let it wiggle between her fingers like a tiny, ridiculous pet. "Yes, yes~ behave now… good little thing~"
It wriggled and twisted, and she laughed, leaning closer as if she were inspecting some rare, adorable specimen. Every twitch, every tiny squirm seemed to amuse her more, her shadowy tendrils lightly brushing around it in mimicry, as though even the darkness joined in the play.
What surprised her most was that her spell had actually worked. She'd only watched a TikTok tutorial on vampire rituals and dark magic last night, and somehow she'd remembered every single step perfectly.
One wrong word.
A mispronounced syllable.
The slightest slip in accent or cadence—
And the whole thing could have been a total disaster.
Or worse…
The spell might have done something completely unintended:
Making him grow a second cursed twig.
Giving him testicles on his chin, like Mr. Bumchin and his infamous bum chin.
Or even giving him breasts…which he would no doubt fondle all day long.