Novel & Cerita Stalker 2 Ghost Enemy

It’d make too much noise, and Priscilla needed me quiet, smart… deadly, but in control. Footsteps. Several. Closing in fast. I spun behind a crumbled archway just as the first one emerged from the shadows—Stinger. Its skin was a dull gray, cracked like old stone, its eyes hollow and glowing dimly like coals waiting to reignite. Two more followed, moving in a formation I didn’t like—fast, tactical, meant for tearing intruders apart. No time for subtlety.

Seras is a walking inferno, green ghost-fire mixing with her normal red. Remy fights like a wolf possessed, claws and dagger and pure refusal to let anything touch me. I’m everywhere at once: Mirror Step through broken reflections, blood-lightning carving trenches in the fresh spring ground, Vinča symbols flaring across my skin for half a second before my healing erases them again. We’re losing. Then the ghosts show up. Al Capone and the boys step out of the steam like they were waiting for the cue. Tommy guns made of moonlight and 1920s wrath.

Unless. My mind raced with the implications. Only one type of enemy could hide their scent so effectively: trained assassins. The kind who knew how to erase their trail, who knew how to hunt werewolves. A chill ran down my spine. I'd faced many foes, but never ones this skilled. "Damn it," I growled, my eyes scanning my surroundings with renewed urgency. Who were these ghosts? And what did they want from me?

Dad's voice cut across the room the second I stepped inside, as if he were an announcer at a red carpet gala, welcoming celebrities. He was by the fireplace, with a drink in hand, and slightly leaning on his stick. He had changed the normal black walker to the golden one, which he only used for special occasions. This must be one for him. And there they were, Jonas Schmidt. He looked older and fatter, but with the same pig eyes I remembered from the trial days. His mistress stood next to him, thin and brittle, clutching a glass like a shield. And him. Stein Schmidt. He was unlike his father, tall and broad-shouldered. Just like me, he was putting on a black suit with no tie, as if he also th

Then I saw a figure watching the carnage with what looked like satisfaction. It wasn’t an anomaly. It was a Human. Someone had led the creatures here on purpose. I moved toward the figure, shadows already forming into weapons. But before I could reach them, something hit me from behind. I went down, my chest wounds screaming in protest. A Stalker. Bigger than the others. It pinned me, its claws digging into my shoulders. I reached for my shadows. Nothing happened. The venom hadn’t cleared completely. In my weakened state, under pressure, my ability was failing.

The time was now 1:14pm and she could make out some movement at the glass door which opened as two huge Japanese men in black suits walked out, followed by another of average height behind them. She moved her sniper slowly to the right as the men made their way across the parking lot to their black sedan. Looking through the scope of the magnified glass attached to her weapon, she held her breath as the chest of one of her target’s bodyguards appeared on the crisscross mark, which was immediately followed by the bald head of the yakuza boss.

It resembled heat haze over a frozen pond. Roric raised his lance, but Kael gestured for him to wait. "Don't waste the charge." Out of the gray mist emerged a wolf. But it wasn't an ordinary wolf; it was a Ghost-Packer. It stood nearly seven feet tall, made of a translucent, oily smoke that shifted and swirled. Instead of eyes, it had two hollow cavities filled with flickering violet static-the remnants of a soul deleted by Liora's "Link," yet refusing to leave the physical plane.

The other men in the van rushed to catch their fallen comrade, when a familiar face popped into existence. Ghost melted from thin-air, his eyes black as night. In his hand was the blood-soaked blade that had gone through the throat of the male that had planned on raping me. He smiled at the others, this deadly, flat thing that had the hairs along the back of my neck rising. I’d never say this aloud, but Ghost was even more frightening than my would-be rapist.

Then, from the darkness, a figure emerged. The Ghost. He was older, but his presence was as formidable as ever. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Dino, assessing, calculating. “You’ve grown,” the ghost said. His voice was rough, but there was something else there—a trace of regret. Dino didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Why now?” The ghost exhaled. “Because you’re not just fighting a war, Dino. You’re fighting a trap.” Dino’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”