Ghosts Graphic Novels & Stories

Marcus, the quiet guy from accounting leaned against the door, arms crossed, with a bitter smirk twisting his lips. “McAllen,” he said. “You’ve been looking real happy lately. I see you enjoy your late night with the boss.” My stomach dropped. “What the hell are you talking about?” He stepped closer, I could see the jealousy in his eyes. “ I saw you leaving the private elevator. Looking like a man whose ass has taken some cock. You’re not the first, you know. The Ghost destroys anyone who tries to get close. You’re just the latest toy.” “The Ghost?” I laughed it off, but my voice sounded shaky even to me. “Sounds like some movie legend bullshit.”

“Is it about your werewolf friend?” Ghost sighed. “Well, he’s not the only one...” He trailed off. Scar’s eyes snapped in his direction. It took a moment, just a moment for him to comprehend the implication, and then he watched as Ghost’s eyes changed color, from bluish-grey to a glowing amber. His jaw dropped, his mouth gaped open...

​The Ghost-Archive ​"They’re ghosts, Aara," I realized, touching the flickering wall. The static reacted to my "Presence," momentarily forming the shape of a face, a city, a line of alien script, before dissolving back into chaos. "This is what happens when you don't ground your story in the stone. You become a 'Residual-Echo.'"

At the same time, he finally saw the enemies attacking him— It turned out to be four green, translucent, ghostly figures. These transparent figures were extremely eerie, pale green in color and looking like specters. One could faintly see them dressed in the tattered clothing of the distant past, not in contemporary style. Their threadbare clothes appeared to have been weathered for tens of thousands of years— now no more than scraps on their bodies, like unearthed antiques that had undergone the vicissitudes of time. The faces of these pale green figures were stiff and zombie-like. Their figures were at times distinct and at times vague. There was a faint green spiritual light in their eyes

Almost at the same time, Ghost Scene Female General had two twinkling eyes, and the corner of his mouth raised a sharp ray of cold killing intent. The punch suddenly straightened, tu la god of war. The punch didn't waver, in the blink of an eye dozens of times, Haunt Uncle only felt the original flicker, around the body of the grave. It seemed that each one was covered by the punch, and even the soul, bloodline, true essence, and will became panic and chaos in an instant. In front of him, the misty punch of purple color, including the foggy punch in the depths, is a beautiful face, and a set of illusory ghosts.

For not staying in the Arena. I don't care. My feet make soft noises in the snow as I run, nothing but a flicker of black between the trees. There're already a pair of knives ready at my hands. And I see them. Four Ghosts— three small, newly formed ones, and a giant one that must've ended up here from the battle yesterday. It makes me sick to my stomach when I see how much the face of the three Ghosts still resemble humans. But even that's disappearing by the second, into the distorted face of a monster.

Snow started falling—hard and fast. I stood there on the curb, freezing, shaking. Three hours in, my phone died. Sonia never came. Before the screen went black, one last thing flashed—Pierre's post. A selfie. Him and Sonia in front of some car, her face turned halfway. Caption: [Under the same snow, our hair turns white. Close enough to growing old together, right?] In the dead glass, my reflection stared back—smiling. Not bitter. Just done. The hundredth promise, traded for a concert and a boy toy.

It was displayed. My chest tightened as I lifted it with a gloved hand. The scent hit immediately, chemical, sharp, layered with something metallic underneath. Chlorine and cold steel. A smell I had not encountered in years but recognized all the same. It was the same ghost note that had clung to the air the night my parents died. This was not chaos. It was not a fight gone wrong or a rogue passing through. This was intent. Someone had gotten close enough to Owen to inject him, or had taken him elsewhere and left this behind as a message. Either option required control, preparation, and knowledge of what we were.

A soft beeping sound echoed through the room. Luca frowned. "That's strange." "What is it?" "My laptop..." "It's receiving a wireless signal." The signal strength rapidly increased. Then— The underground lights suddenly flickered. Every monitor switched off. Seconds later... One screen came back to life. Static filled the display. A familiar silhouette slowly appeared. The Ghost. Evelyn's expression instantly hardened. "No..." "That's impossible." The figure tilted their head. "Hello, Evelyn." The voice was distorted. Cold. Mocking.

But the images kept bleeding through, sharp and fast, like shards of broken glass: * A lock clicking on the outside of a door. * The muffled sound of her own voice begging. * Laughter, low and cruel, in the next room. Emily pressed her palms hard against her eyes until the pressure blotted it out. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. ________________ “Too loud in there?” She dropped her hands, startled. Ghost had appeared at her side, silent as always, moving like smoke. He didn’t sit, didn’t hover. Just leaned against the wall a few feet away, arms folded.