Black Butler: Phantom And Ghost Novels & Stories

“Yes,” Jimin nodded, his eyes fixed on Ghost. “If you know what’s good for you, do not cross my path in the Black Wolf Pack. You won’t live to tell anyone the story.” “The same applies to you,” Ghost smiled and brought out a knife from his pocket. He slashed across his flesh with force and he twisted his hand as the black blood dropped on the floor of the cave. Calisté snapped her fingers and a bowl appeared under his arm. Within a minute, the bowl was already half full with his blood and she took it again from underneath his arm.

“Tyler is not a normal person.” “What are you saying, Hugo? How long we have had him with us on our mission? You know there is nothing special about him.” said Kyra. “Guys, I’m telling the truth. How do you think I would know this place if he didn’t tell me?” Hugo asked. “But what you’re saying is impossible,” Raven said. “Let’s talk about that later. Let’s prioritize the problem first,” said Cael. They saw a ghost holding a bottle and there was a light inside it. Perhaps those are spirits of the dead. The black aura surrounds the ghost and is very strong when compared to other ghosts they have already fought.

Hector arrogantly stated before walking out of the mansion. Leila scoffed as Butler Henry heaved a deep sigh. “Who is that man, Butler Henry? I don’t like him…” Leila unconsciously blurted out. “Watch your words, Miss Leila. That man that you are talking about is Master Hector Black… He is Master Hunter’s older brother.” Butler Henry stated – causing her eyes to bulge out of its sockets. ‘What the-’ Now, that explains why they have the same deep ocean blue eyes.

She lifted her head over the counter and was met with the haunting, ghostly figure of the phantom. Flesh….it said… A body. Then it charged at her and blackness passed over her eyes.

Steven says, “She must be avenged” A chubby-looking fellow walks out of the mansion, his black suit conflates with the turquoise mansion wall like a painting as he walks with a formal presence exposing himself as a proud butler. “May I know the reason for your visit, Steven?” he says. Who is this fatso? Philip is curious.

The phantom scent of industrial bleach, copper, and the sickening of the enforcer's jaw hung in his nostrils, refusing to clear. He had reached the absolute boundary of his psychological endurance. The elite black-operations machine, the unyielding stone mask of the Ghost, was fracturing from the inside out, splitting under the immense, crushing pressure of the murders he had just authorized to keep his cover intact. Isabella was standing by the tall terrace doors, her midnight-blue silk gown pooled around her bare feet. The room was dark, illuminated only by the bleak, monochromatic light of the pre-dawn sky. She turned slowly, her dark eyes tracking his silhouette in the gloom.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. The door creaked, and Phantom strolled in with his trademark calm, though tonight he wasn’t wearing his pristine white suit. Instead, black clung to his frame, sharp as a blade. His smile was venomous. “Well, well,” Phantom drawled, circling Damon like a predator. “How the mighty have fallen. You’re not looking so sharp, Damon.” Damon lifted his head, spitting blood onto the floor. “Go to hell.” Phantom chuckled. “Oh, we’re already there.” His voice dropped, sharp with menace. “Where’s the flash drive?”

I cut him off impatiently as we geared towards the front door. It abruptly opened and in front of us was an old butler. My eyes narrowed, he looked human. To make more caution, I threw a dose of wolfsbane powder at him. It had no effect, only making him cough instead with a frown on his face. “Can I help you gentlemen?” “He seems human.” Sebastian whispered from behind me. I scowled deeply, “We’re looking for someone. Asher Blackwood and Aurora Thompson to be precise.” I studied his face greatly for any sign of a facade, he remained stoic, eyes expressionless, “I don’t think I know who that is.”

Her boots echoed in the cavernous space as she stepped onto the cold cement floor. A mechanical hum started. Lights flickered on. Dozens of masked men emerged from the shadows. Silent. Armed. And then— Ghost. He wore a sleek matte-black helmet, no features, voice warped by a modulator. “You came,” Ghost said. “I don’t break promises,” Juliette replied, chin high. He stepped closer. “And yet, you’ve broken everything else. The empire. The legacy. Damon’s illusions.” She didn’t flinch. “Where’s the boy?”

“They never let you go.” Before we could react, a black mist swirled behind him, and from it emerged a shape—tall and draped in shifting darkness. Its face was obscured, but glowing eyes peered through the veil of shadow. A Phantom. The man turned to run, but the Phantom was faster. It lashed out, and the moment its shadowy tendrils touched him, he let out an agonized scream. His body convulsed, his face twisted in horror as he disintegrated into dust before our eyes.