Phantom Novels & Stories

Not long after, the black glow began momentarily swirling in the air before finally forming the silhouette of a phantom-like humanoid! Upon closer inspection, the phantom appeared to be a young man who had a hooked nose, and a pair of upward-slanting brows that laid above eyes that occasionally glinted evilly. Who would’ve imagined that this phantom-like humanoid—who had supposedly already existed for tens of thousands of years—would still retain the appearance of a young man!

Bright

Should we all be saying: Poor Phantom? Or is this his karma? Thank you for reading ✨️ See you in the next chapter 💕

“We’re not losing them now.” *I won’t,* Phantom rasped. His breath came in white clouds. His vision blurred from exhaustion and cold, his muscles bulged, refusing to give up. Every few minutes, he looked down at Storm, terrified that the tiny body in his coat would stop moving. But his little chest still rose and fell, steady as a heartbeat against his own. The storm above had finally broken, leaving behind a sky the color of pewter. The silence that followed was eerie, broken only by their crunching boots and Phantom’s ragged breathing.

I said, and I meant it in a way that had nothing to do with the Westbrook account. "Oh," Eli said, and there was understanding in his expression. "That kind of processing." "I don't know how to do this," I said, and I was terrified by how much vulnerability was in that admission. "I don't know how to exist outside of my control structures. I don't know how to let someone actually see me." "You already are," Eli said. "You're doing it right now." "It's terrifying," I said. "I know," Eli said. "But you're still doing it. That's what counts."

The thick silver gate trapping me was violently kicked from inside, bent and broken by brute force! The dust settled slowly. Through the dim light, the phantom of an 18-year-old werewolf in a white shirt emerged, carrying me out step by step. Stunned, Ronan turned. He came face-to-face with the nightmare that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

I close the page, return back there again and retry, end up on nothing again. I spin it fifteen more times with no luck. It is either rigged or I just have no luck. Sighing, I drop the phone, hoping both of them are safe.

Cricket “Christina, where are you?” the creepy voice echoed through the house. I turned the gun’s safety switch to off. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “Your friends call you Cricket, don’t they? Well then, I’m gonna call you that, because you and I are gonna be really good friends.” Where the hell is Minus?

"Time to go to hell, you old bastard." Cassian's hand clenched tightly, and with a loud, cracking sound, Phantom's throat snapped. His body went limp and crumpled to the ground, still convulsing as his eyes remained fixed on Cassian. After about 30 seconds, Phantom's body finally stopped moving. He died with his eyes wide open.

“No. But he left a message. One word.” Carl leaned in. “What word?” “Echo.” Something shifted in Carl’s expression. “What?” she asked. He swallowed. “That’s the name of a discontinued Bloodborn project. One they shut down years ago.” “Why?” “Because it didn’t have a singular ability,” he said slowly. “It mimicked others.” Ophelia froze. “You’re saying this Phantom… is an Echo?” “Not just an Echo,” Carl said. “The last one.”