Stalker 2 Ghost Enemy Novels & Stories

The air down here was thick with the scent of old copper, sweat, and the electric tang of the dampening fields that kept the beast at bay. ​Killian stood in the center of the main pit, his clothes reduced to scorched rags and his massive body a map of fresh, angry scars. In front of him were three “Mk-II Ghost-Wolves”—towering, mechanical constructs of brushed steel and synthetic fur that had been specifically designed to mimic the unpredictable fighting style of the Great Alphas. They didn't breathe, and they didn't bleed; they simply waited for the next command to be uploaded into their processors.

“Well… I mean… people talk.” Paulo didn’t respond. Lewis crosses his arms defensively. “I swear, I didn’t know it was him.” Before Paulo could reply, another man walks in and stops at the doorway. He was wearing a plain black shirt and moves with quiet confidence. “Paulo,” the man said. Paulo turns toward him. “What?” “Madam Stygian is awake,” the man answered. Paulo’s expression changes slightly. “That's good news,” he said to the man.

"Just don't be afraid of me. If it bothers you, don't look." With those words, he seemed to dissolve into a thick stack of black fog. His face peered from the center and took on a horrifying, almost demonic appearance, with glowing red eyes and elongated features made of the same fog. Emily opened her mouth in a silent scream, but the only sound that emerged was an almost inaudible squeak. "Don't look," he commanded, his voice sounding like a haunted howl of wind. "Hold on tight," he instructed as the group barreled through the line of werewolves and into the night.

he snivels and I walk towards him, only to feel something hit my arms, back, and legs in quick succession. I look up and see a smirking sniper and feel the red laser aimed right at my forehead, but that smirk drops from his face when my lip curls into a smile. Ghost was standing behind him, his eyes completely white as he tapped into his beast - that sniper’s head hit the floor in front of me before he could fire another shot. Ghost grins, then he disappears in the blink of an eye and I don’t even have to look behind me to know he’s ripped more sniper heads off.

i said while moving backwards then i noticed something on my t - shirt, a blood stain. "Where did this come from?" I asked myself. another drop dripped on me again, it was coming from the roof , i looked up and i saw a woman killed and hanged up, her whole body was full of blood as if he was being eaten by wolves. When i was about to get out, lights started flicking in my back , somebody was really in there. I stopped and looked back then the lights cane in at once, that was the first time i met my clone face to face, i felt like i was fainting and my whole body was quivering, he looked exactly like me.

Subtle, but I notice everything. Klaus de Luca. He didn’t see me as he entered a room alone. I didn’t hesitate. Silently, smoothly, I followed. The door was just starting to close when— CRASH! A vase flew at my head. I ducked instinctively, the ceramic shattering against the wall behind me. I straightened slowly, blade already drawn. Then I heard his voice. Low. Calculated. “So... you’re the Ghost Knife. The woman with no past. No future. Who sent you ? .”

[The Ghost Army] The heavy oak door of the wine cellar didn't just open; it exploded inward, reduced to a spray of splinters by a synchronized kinetic charge. Through the dust, four Ghost units moved with a terrifying, insectoid grace. Their tactical visors weren't glowing with the standard blue of the Regency; they were pulsing with a deep, oily black—the mark of the Heir. "Dante!" I screamed, diving behind a row of ancient, dust-covered casks.

Brandon stated. I KNEW IT!! Nobody can move that fast at a scene. Brad knows this area as he knows computers. Once he has his prey– he will strike. If he does get help, then everything will go smoother. “Holy shit, he’s a fucking genius. He is the ‘Silent Stalker,’ huh?”

"Look what crawled out of the drain." Three men stepped into the light. They wore oversized hoodies and tactical vests scavenged from the raid. In the center stood Ghost. He was thinner than I remembered. A jagged scar ran from his ear to his jaw—a gift from the last turf war I’d led before I disappeared. "Ghost," I said. I didn't lower the pipe. "Don't 'Ghost' me, you golden-eyed prick." He spat a glob of phlegm onto the concrete. He raised a heavy-duty revolver. "Except your eyes aren't gold anymore, are they? You look... ordinary. Like the rest of us rats."

It will only take half a second for whoever is out there to get a good shot and take another member of this Pack out for good. “Fuck.” Low growls when a shot comes from somewhere in the darkness, it hits the ground right next to Ghost’s foot and makes him fall back onto his ass. I glance at him and realise my mistake. Ghost is no ordinary man; he practically glows in the dark like a damn homing beacon for anyone hunting at night.