Mysterious Awakening

Initially, everyone in the room had braced themselves for a horrifying apparition. But when they saw a man step out instead, their faces twisted in disgust as if they’d swallowed an insect whole.

“Judging by your reactions, you’re rather disappointed. I take it you were expecting a ghost, not a flesh-and-blood human?” A slight smirk played on Miles’s lips as he stepped into the light.

“Identify yourself,” Writing said, his expression turning sour.

Regardless of Miles’s ordinary appearance, Writing wasn’t about to lower his guard. Anybody emerging from that room was a cause for concern, especially considering their earlier sweep confirmed Ethan as the only occupant.

Miles scanned the room before speaking. “I overheard earlier, through the door, something about a plot to kidnap my family for ransom or theft. I assume I didn’t mishear? I’m addressing you, the tallest amongst you,” he said, his gaze resting on Writing.

“I asked you a question, lad. Don’t act as if you haven’t heard.” Writing gestured to his companions after he finished speaking.

Two men stepped forward at his command, their faces contorted in hostility, seemingly ready for a fight.

Yet something unusual occurred next.

As though oblivious to Miles’s presence, the two men sidestepped him and moved deeper into the room.

“I’m curious now,” Miles said, shutting the door behind him, “Why, in a world where supernatural occurrences are commonplace, and even people who can control these entities exist, would anyone dare to ruffle our feathers? Care to explain, my friend?”

The two men vanished silently into the room, leaving an eerie silence.

“Wait a moment. Haven’t I seen your picture somewhere? Aren’t you that new guy, Miles?” Writing suddenly remembered something from a file he’d read.

The man standing before him bore a striking resemblance to the rookie ghost tamer who had been liaising with Ethan, didn’t he?

“Yes, just now it clicked in your head? Your memory isn’t exactly sterling. But let’s revisit our earlier conversation. What’s your motivation here?” replied Miles.

Writing replied with a sneer, “That’s a no-brainer. It’s all for the money.”

“In a pre-paranormal world, people were prepared to kill and steal for wealth. It’s the same now. The profitability of our occupation is off the charts. Even if a real ghost shows up, we won’t blink an eye as long as the price is right.”

“Sure, a million might seem a meager price for your life, but ten million could tempt one to take their own. This world is chock-full of those seduced by the glitter of gold.”

“You’re just finishing up high school, aren’t you? Society’s savagery is far greater than you could imagine. The most common folk is shielded from its darker underbelly, so don’t hold my ruthlessness against me. Point your finger at Ethan for failing to protect such a lucrative interest. Naturally, you’re not up to the task either. Showing up here today was the gravest mistake you’ve made.”

Miles’s brow furrowed as he looked at Ethan, bloodied and pinned to the floor. He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable, not least because he was now the focus of their attention.

“Are you trying to provoke me?” His gaze shifted, revealing a blood-red eye on the back of his hand.

“I’m not provoking you, I’m merely stating a fact: I’m taking that box today. Otherwise, you both are not leaving here,” Writing whipped out a baton from his belt, flicking it to extend.

“Is it gold?” asked Miles, sparing it a cursory look.

Writing replied, “It’s specifically made for individuals like you, ghost tamers. It’s the only thing that can truly hurt you, beings stuck between human and ghost.”

“Gold may be impervious to malevolent spirits, but to assume it gives you total control over ghost tamers is rather naive, don’t you think?”

Miles couldn’t help but chuckle. “Do you genuinely believe that dealing with Ethan means you can handle all of us? What exactly do you think we ghost tamers are?”

“It seems the person oblivious to the world’s harsh realities isn’t me, but you.”

“Refusing to deal with paranormal phenomena for money, instead, relying on sheer numbers and using despicable tactics to rob and exploit those struggling to control malevolent spirits. You’re truly more monstrous than beasts.”

Writing sneered, “This is our business. Are you attempting to sermonize us on morality? Naive. Attack him, let’s subdue this one first.”

His speech was merely a ploy to bide time.

Behind him, his men were secretly getting ready and arming their crossbows.

In unison, they launched specially designed bolts, each attached to a golden thread.

These golden threads were unusual, boasting immense strength, and imbued with the properties of gold.

Once struck, the golden threads could ensnare and even immobilize a spirit. This strategy originated overseas, initially designed for special forces confronting vengeful spirits. However, once shared more broadly, it proved to be particularly useful against ghost tamers but less so against ghosts. Therefore, those who encountered this learned to adapt.

A sudden “Whoosh!” echoed.

Bolts pierced Miles’s body, embedding the arrowhead into his flesh and tightening on entry. This caused his figure to crumble to the ground once the shooters wrangled backwards, treating him like cattle.

“Is that all you’ve got? You might as well be begging for death,” Writing taunted, marching towards Miles with a stern countenance. He swung his baton with ruthless force onto the back of Miles’s skull.

The blow was potent and merciless.

Immediately, Miles’s head cracked open, and blood spurted out. His body twitched once, then lay motionless.

“Is he dead?” A surprised Writing wondered.

Ethan had proven tough. How could Miles perish so swiftly?

“No, that’s not right. This isn’t Miles.”

As his gaze shifted, he noticed that the body on the ground belonged to one of his men who had previously vanished into the room.

“When did this happen? When exactly?”

A sound of clapping broke the silence.

Miles was now casually seated on the sofa, applauding and chuckling. “Remarkable, truly remarkable. Your actions earlier flowed like water. You pretended to bide your time while your men got ready, then you attacked swiftly and immediately followed up to subdue your target. It’s obvious you’re no stranger to combat. Now, I’ve witnessed how you handle ghost tamers. Hmm, I’ll remember this. I’ll be extra careful next time.”

“You did this?” Writing’s face contorted with fury.

Miles’s ghostly abilities were proving troublesome.

Could it be an illusion?

Or could he alter people’s perceptions?

Or perhaps he had the ability to substitute others?

The lack of information made any guesswork futile.

“I don’t feel like sharing just yet. Our time is short, so you have only three minutes. I have some questions for you. Give satisfying answers, and you’ll live. Fail to do so, and you’ll still live—albeit in torment. Also, don’t attempt to waste time. Once your time’s up, I’ll make the choice for you.”

Miles’s face hardened; he had witnessed the ruthlessness of these individuals in how quickly they extinguished life in less than ten seconds.

Had he not been prepared, he too would have fallen.

It’s no surprise that Ethan fell into their clutches.

The flaw in his blood was significant—it held potency against vengeful spirits but seemed ineffective against humans.

However, in this world, threats arise not only from spirits but from people as well.

“Now, let’s begin the countdown. First question: Who’s in charge of you? Hmm, that doesn’t sound quite right—it implies the existence of a puppet master. Let me rephrase: Whose pockets are you lining in this venture?”

With that, he extracted his phone and set it on the coffee table. The screen displayed a three-minute countdown.

This was the life-or-death countdown that Miles had instigated for these individuals.