Ghost Billionaire

"You sure this is all you need?" Adam asked Dean as he glanced at the abandoned building.

"Yeah… Lenox told me I can go in. That should be it. Once I'm done, we can leave," Dean said.

Dean checked his phone—9:30 PM. Still nearly two hours before the moon reached its peak at 11:21, the absolute crest of the Blood Moon. The pulse in his neck quickened. This was it.

"Adam," he said, eyes flicking toward the alley mouth, "I'm heading in. You stay out here. If anyone approaches…"

Adam nodded without hesitation. "Silence them. Got it."

Dean's gaze lingered for a beat. "And by silence, I mean knock them down. No noise. No screaming. No witnesses."

"Understood," Adam said with a grin. He leaned back against the graffiti-stained wall, his knuckles already flexing with anticipation.

Dean turned toward the building. The abandoned shell loomed like a forgotten altar—windows shattered, some parts of the roof partially collapsed under years of neglect. But the core of it was intact, and more importantly, the ground beneath had not been disturbed. He stepped across the threshold, crunching glass underfoot.

Adam watched him disappear into the shadows, a sliver of envy flaring in his chest. Just days ago, he'd seen Ghost—the Reader—tear through Dean's ability in the black market like paper. That ability—that was power.

"Would be nice if I had that too," Adam muttered to himself, eyes lifting to the blood-red arc rising above the city skyline. The moon pulsed with a cold, eerie hue, like a dying sun gasping its last breaths. The rumors were true—it wasn't just brighter, it felt heavier.

Still, Dean had told him otherwise.

"You've got Shaper blood," he'd said, almost disappointed. "Your energy sticks to your bones and veins. You're physical. Not intuitive."

So what? Adam didn't care about categories. Reader, Shaper, conduit—it didn't matter. Power was power. If this night could grant it, then he'd take it. Any form. Any price.

The wind shifted, carrying with it a faint, iron tang—the scent of spiritual pressure. Adam rolled his shoulders and settled into position, eyes scanning the street. No civilians. Good.

Meanwhile, inside the building, Dean knelt at the center of the hollowed-out floor. He placed the ritual tablet—a crude, oblong stone inscribed with etchings and symbols that bled faintly with residual SE. The script was a blend of old Nexian dialects, fragments copied from tomes the Tian Family had once locked away.

He unrolled the waxed cloth that held his tools—three candles blackened with salt, a ring of white chalk infused with powdered spirit stone, and a thin dagger with a notch carved into its hilt.

Dean inhaled. Slowly. The ritual would demand blood. But more than that, it would demand clarity—a moment where the spirit aligned with the world. He could feel the rhythm already—his Nexus Core flickering beneath his skin like a trapped flame.

"Tonight…" he whispered, voice trembling with anticipation, "I claim what is mine."

Above him, the Blood Moon began to rise higher, its red glow seeping through the broken ceiling like divine judgment. He closed his eyes. The ground below felt warm now, thrumming faintly with life. This place, he knew, had history. The kind that whispered back.

And Dean was ready to listen.

…

"He's not here yet," Troy frowned as he glanced at the entrance of the old abandoned building. "Don't tell me that guy doesn't care about his friends?"

"Calm down…" Mendez said. "And you didn't have to be here… After all, you're still injured."

"Hmph!" Troy didn't have to say it, but the reason he was here was because he wanted to at least give that Ghost a slap after they captured him. Viper's only instruction was to keep him intact. He didn't care if they beat him first. As long as his limbs are complete, then Viper should be fine.

A low whistle echoed from the far side of the abandoned courtyard.

"You seriously got folded by a kid, Troy?" sneered Kray, leaning against a rusted beam with arms crossed. His sharp eyes glinted under the Blood Moon's glow. "Damn, Troy. That's a new record."

Troy didn't even look at him. His jaw twitched. "Keep talking and you'll be next."

Kray only chuckled. "Next time, try not to flop like a fish in front of civilians."

"Enough," Mendez cut in. His attention was fixed on the building's front door. "We're here to capture him. Not fight each other."

Troy exhaled through his nose and looked away. His ribs still ached from last night's encounter. And his leg—damn that Reader! He still had moments where it felt like the energy had been carved out and stitched back wrong. He'd replayed that moment too many times.

That kid—Ghost—moved like he knew every weak point in their bodies. He must have seen them. An ability like that can be very useful—if used wisely.

"What if Ghost went to the cops? Or to the Tian Family?"

Mendez snorted and finally turned. "And tell them what—a couple of Nexians kidnapped his friend?" He shook his head, amused. "He's not that dumb. He just awakened. If he goes to the police, it won't just be us after him—it'll be the entire Council. And we're certain that he hasn't left his estate since last night. If he is smart, he wouldn't get close to the black market during the Blood Moon."

Kray grinned. "Exactly. Blood Moon's out. They'd string him up just for sneezing the wrong way tonight."

Mendez continued, "He's arrogant. Probably thinks that weird Reader ability makes him untouchable. Hell, maybe he thinks he can take all of us on, like last time." He gestured toward Troy. "But this time, we're ready. Anchor Stones are in place. Our cores won't flicker even with the moon overhead."

Troy clenched his fists. The Anchor Stones. The small, jet-black crystals tucked into their inner pockets—were a rare luxury. Viper made sure every operative tonight had one. As long as they carried them, the overwhelming surge of the Blood Moon wouldn't destabilize their cores. All they had to do was finish the mission.

"He's just a freak who got lucky once," Troy muttered, checking the time again. 10:12 PM.

Blood Moon would peak in just a few minutes.

Then the rumble hit.

A sharp screech of tires echoed through the hollow air. The next second, a motorbike burst through the broken side entrance, tearing past the rusted fence.

Mendez's eyes widened. "What the—"

The rider wore all black. The moonlight gleamed off the chrome exhaust as the bike's engine roared, snarling like a beast unleashed. Concrete shattered as the wheels lifted briefly, launching off the broken floor and skidding to a halt in the center of the space.

Dust clouded the air.

Ghost had arrived.

But before anyone could react—before a single word could leave their lips—Matthew flicked something from his hand. A small silver canister arced through the air, hit the ground with a metallic clink and detonated with a sharp hiss.