Ikora Ghost の小説・ストーリー

The enforcer exhaled slowly. “Well,” he said. “That’s… inconvenient.” Icarra’s gaze locked onto him. Cold. Unforgiving. “You wanted to see what I could do,” she said. Her voice echoed. Layered. Not just hers anymore. “Now you have.” He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “Not quite,” he said. Then he raised his hand again. But this time something else answered. The ground beneath them split open violently. Not from her. Darkness poured out. Thick. Alive. And from within it figures began to rise. Not wolves. Not entirely. Something twisted. Something corrupted.

Elena hissed, her voice sounding distorted, like a recording played at the wrong speed. "I’m not in your head, Elena," a voice whispered not from the speakers, but from the base of her brain. It was Lira. But it wasn't the broken, weeping Lira from the servers. This voice was cold, precise, and ravenous. "I’m in your synapses. I’m the ghost in your machine. And honestly? It’s much warmer in here than it was in the glass."

CHAPTER 27: THE SOUL-CRACKER The server room was no longer a room; it was a battlefield of ghosts and static. The Echo-Saint I had blocked didn’t recoil. It didn't have a nervous system to tell it to be afraid. Its visor pulsed with that sickly white-gold light, and it lunged again, its movements flickering through space like a glitching video.

Dangerous. She was still thinking about it when the message arrived at 9:47 PM. Ghost: Private session. One hour. I want to see you in something new. Aria’s stomach flipped. She sat on the edge of her bed, heart already beating faster. Aria: What do you want me to wear? Ghost: Crimson lace teddy. Sheer. The one with the deep V in front and open back. No bra. No panties underneath. Hair down. Lights low. Be ready in fifteen minutes.

KAIDA I stood between realms, a fragile dam against a rising tide of spirits. Following the light radiating from each apparition within the estate, I anchored as many souls as I could, ushering them into the afterlife. My body felt like a hollow vessel; I could no longer feel the ground beneath my feet, yet I moved with desperate resolve. I had to protect my pups and my mates from the Gashadokuro’s impending assault. I could sense its birth—a dark, rhythmic pulsing that hammered against my skin.

When I turned back around, I noticed a new note pinned to the table. It was the same familiar handwriting, but the strokes seemed to carry a hint of chill this time. "Squanderer." I froze, then started laughing out loud. So this ghost couldn't just cook—she was also a thrifty, budget-conscious woman. I liked that. I immediately grabbed a pen and wrote back, "Sorry, Ivy. I was just joking. From now on, let's stick to regular dishes. I won't bring up such ridiculous things anymore." I made sure to apologize sincerely.

I turned around to face her, “We need protection here. I want to make this place a safe haven from Joharres and his minions for all my subjects, including other packs that swear their allegiance to me.” “Hmm,” Ikea squinted her eyes, thinking about what I just said. “What can we do?” I asked her. “With your permission, I could make this whole place seem like a ghost land,” She placed her palm on the air as she suggested the idea. “A ghost land?” “It just means that eyes we do not wish to see us would not see us at all. They would come here but they would see nothing and nobody,” Ikea explained. I smiled at her, “That is a terrific idea! Why haven’t you done that all this while?”

It was a Psychological-Horror landscape—the sanctuary had become a gallery of Elara’s maternal trauma. "Elara, stay back," Kazimir warned, drawing his Glitch-Blade. The flickering edge hissed as it moved through the air, sensing the Corrupted-Code of the ghosts. "The garden is dying, Elara," the ghosts whispered in unison, a hundred different voices creating a Polychromatic Chorus that shook the ground. "The General is gone, but the shards remain. We are the 'Infection' you can never delete." One of the ghosts—the one in the lab coat—walked toward Elara. She didn't have feet; she drifted across the grass, the moss turning to gray ash beneath her. She stopped inches from Elara’s face.

He muttered and smiled a sad one before walking out of the room; then, I went close to my body to look at it intently. "I felt his touch. I felt my father's hand holding mine!" I let out when I noticed the four ghosts who just passed through the wall on my right. They must have seen my father walking into my room. One of my new ghost friends is Ericka, who got here three weeks ago because of a motorbike accident, and Lucinda, a middle-aged woman who got a heart attack a month ago. "Really?" Clinton asked in surprise and examined my physical body closely, and Dylan tried to touch my left barefoot.