Unlike the previous nightmare... this one started out subtlety enough. He was listening to the drone of one of the professors, doodling in his notebook again and watching his tape recorder slowly record the incredibly tedious lecture.

He'd already studied this stretch of history on his own, so it was really more of a refresher. That was why he was drawing Astrea fighting Mr T with an Taco-Bell spork.

He was slowly drawing whiskers onto Astrea, and considering taking out a pencil so he could shade her fur, when he noticed that the nib of the pen had eaten into the paper. Had he put too much ink down? Pressed too hard?

Curious as to how much damage he'd done, he flipped back a page. Then three pages, then five.
Page after page had been cut through, as though he'd been drawing with an ink covered razor. It was a little bit as though he'd used his Senshi attack on the paper, but he was in civilian form.

He even paused briefly, staring at his hands as though the color of his hands wasn't going to shift into the splattered blue of his long gloves, but blessedly... no such thing happened. Still, when he feverishly began to flip through even more pages of the notebook, he realized that the doodle had cut it's way all the way through the cover...

Hell. It had cut its way into the desk itself. His stomach did a slight flip flop, and he pushed the pen away from him.

The classroom suddenly fell silent... and then there was a soft, wet gasp. The student ahead of him suddenly sliding into two pieces, cut in half by the thin blue line that had spread out from his pen like an ink whip. And then the one behind them. And behind them.

He stood bolt upright, his throat dry, trying to summon the power to protest this madness, and was suddenly in his Senshi uniform. From the tips of his gloves, ink flowed, spreading across the desk and eating into it like acid. Students began to panic, backing away from him as their eyes widened in accusing horror.

"I... I didn't..." He started, when the ink flowing from his fingers shot out in long thin darts, piercing them one by one, pinning them to the walls.

Blood splattered across the walls, sharp contrast to the cool colors of his attacks.

"I didn't... No... I didn't know..." He protested, as he began to shake savagely, ink whips whirling around in savage indifference, as though they hungrily sought more victims as his fellow students slid to the floor, many sliding into pieces. The room was a wash of red and blue and black, some of the red so dark it looked black.

"NO!! NO PLEASE NO!!!" He screamed, but it did no good. The whips would not obey. The dead did not come back. Oddy Corlione could not save them.