“Really, you believe that I would disclose such information just because you asked?” Writing stated, his voice steady. “We’re in the business of confidentiality. It’s an unbroken rule.”
“Rules are mutable,” Miles shot back, a retort sharp as a knife’s edge.
“But those who dare break them often do find themselves facing dire consequences,” replied Writing, his tone grave.
Miles brandished his phone, displaying a ticking countdown. “How can you be certain your fate isn’t already in my hands? If you don’t feel like talking, I can easily shift my questions to others.”
His sharp gaze swept over the silent onlookers.
“Anyone here privy to the identity of the person who sent you after Ethan and me? The first one to speak walks away unscathed. But remember, there’s only one get-out-of-jail-free card. Use it wisely.”
However, the assembled men in suits stayed tight-lipped as if they had suddenly been struck mute.
“We’ve all sworn ourselves to secrecy,” one of the men finally spoke. “Your intimidation tactics are futile. Your special abilities might be impressive, but your clock has been ticking ever since you’ve become a ghost tamer. I suggest we abandon this endeavor and pretend it never happened. How does that sound?”
Writing’s face hardened; he knew dealing with this Miles character wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Cunning, wily, he reminded Writing of a clever wolf pup. At first glance, he might seem harmless, but up close, he could take a painful bite out of you.
“Do I strike you as a fool?”
“If you choose not to answer the initial question, that’s alright. Ethan and I will find the answers. But before that, allow me to show you who truly holds the reins here.”
As he finished, he cast a glance at the living room lights.
A soft buzzing resonated as the room’s illumination subtly shifted from stark white to a soft, eerie red. This crimson light filled the entire room, giving off an unsettling glow akin to that of an intentionally designed bar atmosphere.
But it wasn’t limited to just the living room. As Writing inadvertently looked outside, he saw the entire world painted in shades of blood red.
An uncanny silence hung heavy, hinting at a strange, palpable unease that had descended.
“So, who will be the first?” Miles suggested, slowly rising from the couch, his eyes scanning the room with deliberation.
Just then, Ethan, who was pinned to the floor, visibly stirred in the unsettling red light.
Miles’ use of the ghost domain took him by surprise. It was clear that Miles meant business.
“Writing, I strongly urge you to work with Miles. Defy him, and you invite calamity. He and I, we’re not the same; his ghosts are beyond reckoning,” Ethan cautioned. His tone may have sounded advisory, but in truth, he was merely aiding Miles in his endeavors.
Playing the dual roles of good cop and bad cop worked to their advantage. The question of their escape from the ghost domain hinged solely on Miles’s whim. An ordinary person would be ill-equipped to deal with such a predicament.
Writing laughed scornfully, “I don’t believe in unmanageable power. As long as you’re human, there’s always a way to deal with you.”
Abruptly, he whipped out a handgun.
Three rapid shots, aimed directly at Miles’s forehead and chest, fired at such close proximity that missing was near impossible.
The next instant, Miles, who had barely risen, crumpled to the ground, a pool of crimson quickly spreading around him.
Writing’s gaze sharpened, but he didn’t let his excitement overtake him. But before he could examine the body, a sudden flare of red light stole his attention. To his disbelief, the twitching, blood-soaked body on the floor had morphed into one of his own henchmen.
Miles was nowhere to be found.
“Boss, what… what happened? Why is Zhao Gang dead? He was just…” one of his men stammered, casting a frightened glance at his companion.
The man beside him had eerily transformed into Miles.
Miles gave him a grin, a smile that seemed innocent yet carried a bone-chilling terror.
“You’re next,” Miles declared. With a swift motion, his hand closed around the man’s throat, propelling him forward.
Without missing a beat, Writing fired another shot, and Miles fell again. But, as the body hit the floor, it transformed once more into another of his men.
In the span of a few moments, three of his own had died by his hand.
Writing maintained his stoic facade, his voice icy, “Show yourself if you dare.”
Suddenly, a bullet dropped from the ceiling, hitting him on the head. The bullet was not brass but a shining gold – a sign of meticulous preparation.
“A gold bullet? You’ve certainly prepared well. Sadly for you, it’s your unlucky day, running into me,” came Miles’s voice, leisurely emerging from the adjacent bedroom.
Miles’s face bore a calm expression, interlaced with a hint of unsettling strangeness.
Without missing a beat, Writing lifted his gun but hesitated, his finger failing to squeeze the trigger.
“Why don’t you fire? Three bullets remain in your gun, with three of your men left standing. One bullet per man, and you could soon be the last one standing. Fancy a prize for the achievement?” Miles suggested, his smile cold.
“Illusions, you’re not real, and your actual body is hidden somewhere in this room. Sure, creating illusions is a formidable ability, but it isn’t insurmountable,” Writing observed, his expression severe, “Your power is potent, but not without its flaws.”
“As long as I maintain my composure, no one else needs to get hurt, and you can only force me to kill my own men.”
“But how can you be certain your deductions are correct? What if I’ve been lying to you?”
At this point, the remaining henchmen were visibly shaken; “Boss, you… look at him, what’s happening?”
The man that Miles had just shoved was now eerily melded halfway into the wall. This unnatural fusion was causing the man to twitch uncontrollably, blood spilling from his mouth, his eyes rolling back. He looked as though he was teetering on the edge of death.
Writing’s eyes narrowed.
This was no illusion.
“Apologies, I might’ve been slightly rough. But, I swear, it was just a nudge. Just a tiny one, really. Why does he seem to be near death?”
Miles sighed, observing the man gasping his last breaths, “It’s truly astounding how fragile ordinary people are. I’ll need to be more careful in the future.” Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novel★fire.net
“Let’s return to our previous conversation. I’ll ask again, who did you strike this deal with?”
“Boss… Boss, we’re just foot soldiers. We don’t know who pulled the strings, only you do.”
One of the henchmen couldn’t maintain his brusque facade. Fear was etched clearly across his face. This man, Miles, was far more horrifying than Ethan.
For him, killing seemed as casual as eating and drinking.
He treated them like lab rats.
“Just as I thought, you’re the linchpin in all of this. That’s why I didn’t kill you from the outset. I not only wanted to see how you’d confront a ghost tamer but also needed to extract the information I sought,” Miles revealed as if all was going according to his plan.
“Now, my friend, isn’t it time you spoke up?” His gaze then shifted back to Writing, “Even if you stay silent, don’t forget that Summit is also privy to this information. I didn’t question him earlier because of time constraints, but if you’re bent on dying, I won’t waste any more breath. After all, you seem in quite the hurry to reincarnate.”
Though known for his ruthlessness, Writing found himself cornered.
Miles’s capabilities were… unstoppable.
Perhaps it was time he rescinded his earlier statements.
Comparing Miles to a human would be misleading. His actions mirrored those of a ghost.
Unpredictable, enigmatic, invincible.
“I merely accept assignments. We don’t concern ourselves with the identity of our employers. But I can share that the client belongs to Ethan’s club, and they provided the information,” Writing admitted, drawing a deep breath.
If he didn’t offer at least some information, he was concerned he might not make it out of this situation.
Ethan looked visibly taken aback at this revelation.
Miles’s eyes narrowed, “The club consists primarily of ghost tamers. So, someone within their ranks is targeting Ethan?”
“No, while it’s true that the majority of club members are ghost tamers, some are influential local businessmen. They occasionally hire ghost tamers at exorbitant rates to deal with supernatural events or even to serve as bodyguards. But only a few have both the means and interest in the ghostly realm,” Writing elaborated.
“How much was the price of this job?”
“Fifty million dollars,” Writing responded.
“That’s quite a hefty sum,” Miles noted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
The value of a ghost stood at a hundred million dollars, yet Writing’s services had been procured for a mere fifty million.
It seemed like Ethan had been undervalued.
Perhaps intermediaries had pocketed the difference.
“And this experiment, is it a method for ghost tamers to evade death from the resurrection of potent ghosts?” Miles glanced at the clock before continuing, “You now have, let’s see, one minute. No, forty seconds. Whichever of you three answers first may leave. Bear in mind, I hold the reins now. You have no say.”
His time in the ghost domain was also dwindling.
It was high time to bring this matter to a conclusion.