Novel & Cerita Mythical Ghost

Half of his head was blown off, brains and dark red blood clinging to his eye socket. He must have been one of Marco's hired guns in life. There was no way he was among the living now. "Careful, little kitty. Nosing around can get you killed," the spirit said with a ghastly smile, black blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. A ghost. "Another one of Marco's guard dogs?" I asked coldly. "I'm the master of this pier," the spirit said, closing in. "But I took the boss's offering, so I have to clean up any bugs that crawl in."

After doing his best to shake some of the fear off, Gerald cleared his throat before respectfully saying, “…Good day, sir. You see, I’m a half human and half ghost cultivator who’s come to borrow the Phangrottom Talisman in order to save all the souls in the world… The anaconda has died, you see, which means that the large entrance of the ghost world is now open…” “Hah! Everything is simply going according to destiny! With that in mind, nothing will change even if you do take my scepter! Regardless, since the entrance of the ghost world is now open, I’m sure that vast changes have already taken place in the world. Perhaps you’ll even find everything to be foreign once you return!” sneered Gr

As I drift into unconsciousness I start a chant of protection against demons *Whether thou art a ghost that hath come from the earth, or a phantom of night that hath no couch… or one that lieth dead in the desert… or a ghost unburied… or a hag-demon, or a ghoul, or a robber-sprite, or a weeping woman that hath died with a babe at the breast… Whatever thou be until thou art removed, until thou departest from the body of the man, thou shalt have no water to drink. Thou shalt not stretch forth thy hand… Into the house enter thou not. Through the fence break thou not...*

A voice echoed from the mist—deep, ancient, and cruel. “You thought you could trap me?” The orb shattered, and from within rose a figure of translucent green, tall and regal, his eyes burning with spectral fire. His form shimmered, half-solid, half-ethereal. Caleb’s jaw dropped. “Is that… a ghost?” Fianna stumbled backward, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Uncle Vaelen?” The spirit turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “So, my dear niece remembers me.” Lyra’s fangs glinted as she stepped in front of Fianna. “Your uncle’s a ghost? That’s new.”

With a click, the clasp came undone, and the pendant fell to the floor. In a flash, Zoe’s eyes widened. She grabbed my collar like a madwoman. “Y-You… You didn’t switch fates? You lied to me?!” I looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about?” Miles suddenly exclaimed, “Ow, Maisie. My neck feels itchy.” He pulled down his collar, exposing his collarbone, and clearly revealed who was actually wearing the demonic fate-swapping lock.

“And this picture is older than both of us.” Ethan’s hands shook as he set it down. “He has been lying to me for decades.” Footsteps sounded behind us. Theo entered, his expression already grim. He took the photograph from the desk, studied it carefully, then exhaled slowly. “I was hoping I was wrong,” he said. I looked at him. “About what.” Theo lifted his eyes to mine. “Scottie is a Nephilim.” The words felt like another layer of the ground collapsing beneath us.

Lyra asked, her obsidian blade appearing in a flurry of violet sparks. The Shadow-Heir didn't answer with words. He raised the rusted scalpel, and the air around him turned into "Grey Static." He was a "Narrative Ghost," a version of Kaelen that would have existed if Lyra had never found the Shadow Claws, if the silver-poison had been allowed to finish its work.

* The black cloud finally arrived over the palace spires, and as it parted, hundreds—then thousands—of shifting, translucent shapes began to descend into the courtyard. They were not living, breathing shadow beasts. They were not soldiers of the Moon Guard, nor were they physical dragons. They were ghosts. They were the spectral, weeping remnants of ancient dragon spirits—their colossal forms hollowed out, their scales made of pure, roiling silver-gray smoke, and their eyes glowing with a twisted, crimson madness. Eryx unleashed a deafening roar of pure fury. *"Impossible! The elder councils buried them beneath the crust centuries ago!"* Morwen’s face turned completely pale, her wooden staff

Natpok asked. "Boss Natpok, they seem to be literally ghosts. They are visible, but intangible." A disciple shrieked. "Don't be afraid, they definitely can't touch you either!" Natpok said. But he did not expect what happened next. The skeleton ghost warriors pulled the souls of Natpok’s disciples from their bodies so their bodies fell to the ground one by one as if they had just fainted. But their souls were still conscious, trembling with fear when they saw that they were about to be eaten by the skeleton ghost warriors. "Aaaaah!" Screamed Mok-Ong gang disciples.

"These ghosts don't have materialized forms. Their figures are erratic, and they can be immune to and avoid many physical attacks!" Zephyr Khan frowned and explained to Ye Qing'er. "Ah!" "So powerful?" "Zephyr Khan, what should we do now?" Ye Qing'er covered her eyes and her pretty face turned pale. She was so scared. After all, she was just an underage little girl. She would naturally be afraid of something she had never seen before. "Swoosh!" The ghost laughed and pounced on Zephyr Khan again. "Humph!" Zephyr Khan's eyes were cold and fierce. He snorted and a spirit energy burst out from his sea of consciousness and swept toward his opponent.