Chapter 3: Ghosts, Blood, and Maverick’s Blade

Everyone crowded together as the lights in the lobby snapped off.

The sound of fabric scraping the floor crept through the darkness. Every player held their breath. Total darkness. Players are basically screwed. There’s always some hidden rule before the lights flick back on.

And this round’s rule? Don’t make a sound, or you’re toast.

I froze, heart pounding, then realized that even with the contract broken, team voice chat was still open.

"I know, I’m really smart..." Brittany’s voice piped up for a second, then went silent. "Are you reminding her? Where is she?"

"Mm, just at our eight o’clock, not far. She probably still wants to group up with us."

Kevin’s voice was flat. I hadn’t realized I was actually this close to them—even after trying to stay away. Should’ve seen that coming.

But now wasn’t the time to move; any noise would bring the ghosts running.

Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. I held my breath, focusing hard—when suddenly, something slapped me hard from behind.

A marionette puppet clung to my back, trembling and giggling in a voice that sent chills down my spine:

"Come catch me, come catch me, I don’t wanna live anymore! Hee hee!"

The second it spoke, everyone near me panicked.

They shoved me out—like I was a hot potato.

I tumbled into the center of the room, and I could practically feel Brittany’s smug little smirk.

Kevin’s familiar was a puppet master—loyal, protective, the kind who’d cut you for looking at their boss wrong.

Brittany wasn’t about to miss a shot at me.

Kevin’s voice cut through the chaos: "Brittany, I already broke the contract with her. Why are you going after her?"

"Didn’t you hate her? Take the chance—she’ll never bother you again."

Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I heard a flicker of panic and anger in Kevin’s voice. Too little, too late.

I had seconds to react. Suddenly, the overhead fluorescents blazed to life, searing my eyes.

The lights finally snapped on... but too late. I’d already been "found."

The ghost’s face was burned into my memory: gray, hooded, skin melted and dripping off its bones.

It raised its scythe high, swinging at me from behind, throat twisting out a guttural, broken sound:

"Caught you. This time it’s a... pretty succubus!"

I couldn’t dodge fast enough—the first swing missed, but it hacked off a chunk of my black hair.

My ponytail hit the ground, and I shook, scrambling to activate my totally useless skill.

No top player on my side this round. I was on my own.

I met the ghost’s eyes and my pupils shrank—

A figure vaulted up from behind, closing in on the ghost like some vengeful shadow.

His fingers curled, grabbing the ghost’s throat and slicing it clean.

*Hand up. Blade down.*

Blood sprayed across my face, hot and real.

[First blood!]

The other ghosts froze, then rushed him, howling. But the player in the middle? Cool as ice.

Silver hair gleamed under the lights, black earrings catching the glare, lips curled in a lazy, dangerous smile—like this was just another Tuesday night.

He even tossed me a short blade, casual as anything.

"Be good. You go ahead."

I picked up the blade, but I didn’t run. I stayed, watching his every move.

The guy was fast, sharp. Five ghosts, four left—he’d get hurt if they all jumped him at once.

I gritted my teeth, dagger up.

[Activating group skill: Charm!]

Early game, this skill’s a joke. All it does is stall the enemy for two seconds—barely enough to blink. But I threw everything I had into it.

But this player? He could work with anything.

The ghosts froze, eyes blank, bodies stiff. For two seconds, the world held its breath.

He and I struck together. Two ghosts down, just like that. He retreated, the last two ghosts dazed and colliding.

That split-second was all he needed. Another kill.

[Double kill!]

[Triple kill!]

[Quadra kill!]

He made a quadra kill look easy. The last ghost panicked, finally realizing what it was up against.

It wasn’t smart, but it knew enough to go for the weak link. It lunged at me—the succubus who’d gotten its friends killed.

I was dead meat. It even faked out the top player, spinning and charging straight at me.

The player couldn’t reach me in time—this was it.

But just as the ghost’s scythe came down, the player blinked.

—faster than a ghost, he was suddenly at my side.

He caught the scythe in his gloved hand, stopping it cold.

His face was inches from mine, lips smiling, but his hazel eyes were pure winter.

"Sorry—try to hurt someone I’m protecting right in front of me, and you’re going straight back to hell."

He flicked his wrist. Blades flew from every direction.

The ghost barely had time to scream before it exploded into pieces.

Ghosts don’t die pretty.

I wouldn’t light a candle for it; I’d dance on its grave.

He lowered his arm from in front of me.

He wiped the blood off the short blade with his thumb—smearing it red—then peeled off his glove and leaned in close.

His hand was big and rough, knuckles sharp, palm dry but stained with blood. The metallic scent mixed with something warm from his clothes. Weirdly comforting, considering the massacre.

He grinned, showing off those sharp canines.

"Hey, where’s your boss? Why didn’t he come protect you?" His tone was all teasing, like he knew exactly what had gone down.

I grabbed his hand and pulled myself up, only then catching the chill in his smile.

Suddenly it hit me—his gloves weren’t always black. That was just blood. Lots of it.

The victory icon flashed, and the lobby erupted in gasps.

After a beat, someone blurted out, sounding like they’d just seen their long-lost dad:

"You’re Maverick, right? Maverick, I’m a huge fan—oh my God—I never thought I’d see you in a lowbie match. Are you here to carry newbies? Can I squad with you next round?"

He lunged, but the player with the username "Maverick" just dodged, looking disgusted.

"Tsk, I wasn’t talking to you. Can’t you take a hint? Are you even human, butting in like that? Even a ghost’s got more chill."

Honestly, you couldn’t blame the guy for being a little extra—the rest of the players were just starstruck, too scared to get close.

If you can catch a ghost’s scythe barehanded, you’re the boogeyman’s boogeyman. No one messes with you.

When I didn’t answer, Maverick’s eyes narrowed.

"Social anxiety? If you don’t wanna say it in front of them, pull me aside and spill."

Honestly, there wasn’t much to say.

Not far off, Kevin was watching me, Brittany glued to his side.

The ghost just outed me as a succubus—Maverick definitely heard.

Would he think I was dirty too?

My hands curled into fists at my sides. "It’s none of your business... I don’t have a boss anymore."

I turned away, ignoring the flicker of something in Maverick’s smile, and started to walk off.