Nameless Ghouls Ghost Novelas e Histórias

“Say the name.” “What name?” Jason asks. “The name only Ghost would know,” Leah says. “The one that belongs to the song.” “I don’t—” Jason starts. Ghost whispers a word so small Jason almost misses it. The name is raw. Fragile. Private. Jason nods. “Thank you.” “Don’t say it out loud,” Ghost says, jaw tight. “Think it. Hold it like glass.” Jason holds the name in his mind. He threads it through the singing line. The web tenses. The strands vibrate in tune with the name.

"Not so much anymore but he may still have teeth and is dangerous enough for me to go after him this time. He hurt you to get to me and that just doesn't do." The 'Ghosts' as they were called, were an elite special forces group that officially didn't exist. They made video games out of the rumors but they got their name from their preference of optical camouflage that made them almost invisible to the human eye. They'd be sent in on high-risk missions, usually rescue jobs that conventional forces would have lost too many men in. Dad was mostly vague about his time in the military, he told me enough to know that he was pretty bad-ass but I didn't pry. War was horrible and I know he wanted to

Then the rider lifted both hands. Not in surrender. With caution. Like someone approaching a wounded animal. Their voice came out distorted through a modulator. “Ghost,” they said softly. Everything inside me stilled. Only three people ever called me that. One was dead—Saint. One should’ve been dead—Shade. And the third… The third was an ally long buried in the dark. A ghost from my old life. The rider reached up and slowly—very slowly—removed their helmet. My breath caught.

As I touched the soul, My eyes gleamed and saw a weird black spirit. “It’s the black spirit that I saw recently. “ I mumbled. It touched the innocent spirits that were slowly forgetting their memories. The repenting spirits need to forget everything before they ascend to heavens but looking back to what happened. This evil thing triggered their memories just in one touch and it turned them into ghouls. The painful past that they were trying to forget, they were remembering it all again. “You evil sneaky thing!” I’m slowly panicking and the wrath living inside me is getting stronger.

He was tense earlier because of the stares, but I'm sure he was enjoying their adoration of him. Ghosts don't favor crowded spaces. Their real name is Myles McCormick, aka Ghost. He's only a few years younger than me before he joined the team. He has been given the name Ghost because of his code name. He is good at not being spotted. He's a great master of disguise, and you wouldn't think twice to know who or where he is. He's like a wandering ghost who came to fuck you.

But it didn't matter to her anymore. "Do you know what you are?" "A Night... Hallow." she answered meekly. "Indeed. But do you know what kind of a Night Hallow you are?" She shook her head. "What is your name?" "Lana." she answered briefly. "Lana. Lana the Ghoul." the male repeated. "A ghoul?" "A phantom. Perhaps you have been associated with the graves before?" the male asked. Lana nodded. "Maybe... when I was alive, I remember working as a gravedigger."

said Easy Street as he pulled the machete out of Curtis’s chest. Curtis lay unmoving. Jeannine couldn’t process what had happened. She was feeling nothing, thinking nothing. She was like a radio tuned to a station that played only static. “Shall we go?” asked the ghoul, pointing the ancient blade at Jeannine. “Your escort awaits, dig?” Dozens of Civil War ghouls materialized silently from shadows, pointing their weapons at Jeannine.

Ghost is a dark fae, which means he’s greedy, likes death, and likes pretty women with spunk. His short white hair is spiked. Ghost wears a black sleeveless hoodie and black and white checkered jeans with black boots. His eyebrows, nose, and lips are all pierced with gages in both ears. His pointed ears give him away that he is fae. Ghost has all black eyes, much like one would think a demons would be if they were real. Some things are just stories made up of distorted truths. Demons and angels fall into that category. Ghost's pasty white skin almost glows under the glow of the flashing lights.

The possessive way he fucked me like he both hated and needed me. I forced a grin. “You’re crazy, man. You watch too many movies.” He stepped aside but whispered as I passed, “Run while you still can. He’ll ruin you.” Later that day, I overheard two employees gossiping near the cafeteria. “Did you hear about The Ghost? Some billionaire who shows up masked at underground parties. Pays good money, fucks like a demon, then vanishes. Nobody ever sees his face.” I laughed it off again. But deep inside of me, i was worried for myself.

He wasn’t summoning beasts. He was dragging the in-between into the now. Cracks tore open in the sky. The air turned sharp, cold, wrong. Ghosts spilled through the veil—wolves, twisted and lost, turned half-mad by unfinished lives. Not just spirits. These were memories that had forgotten they’d died. They surged toward me. I roared, driving my dagger into the ground. A ring of light exploded outward. The ghosts wailed, some vanishing instantly, others dragged back into their graves by unseen hands.