Cameraman Never Dies

"M-Monster..."

A heavily injured man tried to crawl back with the only hand he had left. Blood was continuously oozing out of his other hand like a badly plumbed pipe.

His gore-covered body missed an arm and both his legs, the green jacket had turned crimson from the pool of blood he was trying to crawl out of, but blood spilled wherever he tried to crawl.

"Monster? Oh please sweetheart you have never seen a true monster." A pair of leather boots appeared near him, the man wore a long black jacket and a cigarette dangled carelessly from his lips.

He could've been mistaken for someone on a casual stroll after a hard day's work— calm, composed, even bored. His entire demeanor was jarringly at odds with the complete chaos and utter carnage surrounding him, as if none of it was worth breaking a sweat over.

Bending down to get closer to the dying man, the stranger exhaled a slow stream of smoke, "But I have seen a true monster," He spat the cigarette, and it landed in the pool of blood and sizzled before dying out. "Trust me, you don't want to see that person... not even in your dreams.

"But you don't need to worry about meeting with that monster since the realm of the dead is not somewhere she might be familiar with." He chuckled as he grabbed the man by his chest, propping him up. The fingers dug deeper as the bone cracked and blood oozed out of the five new holes.

The man screamed in pain and agony, thrashing his only leg weakly on the ground and beating the man's arm with his hand.

He screamed louder, but alas, there was no soul left to help him. Everyone else had bid farewell to the world that offered them nothing but pain. Mutilated corpses in tattered clergyman clothes adorned the floor.

"There is sound coming from that room!" Someone shouted
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"Oh? Sounds like the cavalry's here. About time, really. I was getting so bored talking to you." The man smiled behind the smiling clown mask, his red hair was a tousled mess underneath a black flat hat. It was Judge, currently under the disguise of "The clown of the sinister smirk". And the true monster he saw? He meant Seraphis.

Judge's gloved hand flexed, his fingers digging further into the man's chest. The sickening crack of ribs shattering echoed in the room, followed by a wet squelch as blood 'gushed over Judge's hand like he'd just squeezed a poorly constructed ketchup bottle.

The man let out another soul-wrenching scream, his body spasming weakly. Judge sighed theatrically, leaning closer to the man's ear. "You scream a lot, y'know? Honestly, it's giving me a headache. But don't worry; I'm about to fix that problem permanently."

"There he is," Several figures in black robes burst into the room, weapons drawn and faces filled with a mix of emotions— fear, anger, and maybe surprise. "You... what are you? How could anyone do this? They're... they're all dead. You're a monster... no, something worse!"

With a menacing laugh, Judge coiled his fingers around the man's heart and furled his hand into a fist, crushing the heart and stopping the agonized scream. The man vomited another mouthful of blood before being tossed aside.

"Torture? Oh, please." Judge tossed the man's twitching body aside like a discarded rag doll, wiping his bloodied hand on the side of his long coat. "This isn't torture. This is art. Not my best work, sure, but we all have off days."

One of the newcomers, a burly man wielding an axe, charged forward with a roar. "I'll cleave you in two, demon!"

Judge didn't move, didn't even flinch. Instead, he sighed as if the man's outburst was the most tiresome thing he'd ever encountered. "Oh, buddy, that's adorable. Really. But…"

The burly man's axe swung down with all the force of a runaway train— only for Judge to sidestep at the last second, the weapon embedding itself into the floor with a dull thunk.

"…you've got to work on your aim."

Before the man could react, Judge's hand shot out, grabbing the axe handle. With a sharp yank, he pulled the man forward, planting a well-timed knee into his gut. The man doubled over with a pained groan, and Judge twirled the axe in his hands as if testing its weight.

"Not bad craftsmanship. Bit dull, though. Here, let me sharpen it for you."

With a swift movement, Judge swung the axe upward, slicing cleanly through the man's torso. Blood sprayed in a grisly arc, and the red floor got a new coating of red paint. The upper half of the man's body slumped to the ground, his face frozen in shock, while his legs remained standing for a comically long moment before collapsing.

The remaining cultists recoiled, their faces pale as they stared at their bisected comrade. Judge turned toward them, twirling the blood-drenched axe like a baton, he cocked his head as if taunting for the next prey to come.

"So… who's next? Don't all volunteer at once; I hate choosing favorites."

"Together!" one of them screamed, prompting the others into action. They charged together, various kinds of weapons all aimed at him with a polished craft of teamwork.

Judge let out a low whistle. "Oh, a group effort! How cute. Let's see how well you all coordinate dying."

A spear thrust came for his chest, but he sidestepped, grabbing the weapon mid-air and snapping it in half with a casual flick of his wrist. The wielder barely had time to blink before Judge drove the jagged end of the broken spear through their throat.

Another cultist swung a sword at his back, only to find Judge already behind them. "Nice try!" he chirped, plunging the axe into their shoulder and tearing it downward, ripping flesh and bone apart in one quick motion.

"Ahhh, you're all so squishy! Seriously, do you people even drink milk?" Judge mocked, his voice was derisive enough to get everyone angry, but fear ruled his enemies as he tore through their ranks. One by one, they fell— heads rolling, limbs flying, blood pooling until the room resembled a slaughterhouse. Not that it wasn't before with all the bodies lying there.

Finally, only one cultist remained, trembling so violently that their sword clattered to the ground. Judge approached slowly, his boots squelching on the blood-soaked floor. He loomed over the terrified figure, tilting his head in mock curiosity.

"Aw, don't tell me you're scared. I haven't even gotten to the good part yet."

The cultist whimpered, sinking to their knees. "P-please… spare me. I'll do anything. I was just forced..."

Judge crouched down, placing a bloodied hand on their shoulder. "Anything, huh? How about…" His voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "...Hmm... This is a dilemma, what should you do? Ah! I know, does dying sound like a good idea?"

Before he could answer, Judge stood and casually kicked his head with enough force to snap their neck, his body crumpling lifelessly to the ground. Blood started to pour out of his mouth. "Wow, talk about inner bleeding."

Dusting off his hands, Judge surveyed the carnage with a satisfied nod. "Well, that was fun. Now… who's cleaning this mess? Oh, let me wait for the cleaner to come, I've already done his job, so cleaning is basically his gratitude... yes gratitude."