The Phantom’s Game: A Battle of Will and Wraith

The unexpected shock hit me hard. Ghost or not, even if it were a person, that kind of scare would have me shaken for days. But this? A decades-old phantom, glowing with an eerie crimson light—now that's something that chills the blood. What made it worse was that I wasn't prepared. Everything had gone far too smoothly up until that point, lulling me into a false sense of security.

Liam Blackwood, on the other hand, reacted instantly. But he was halfway through an exorcism ritual, drained and fully immersed in his task. If he were to stop now, not only would he suffer grave injuries, but no one would be left to contain the three malevolent wraiths roaming the mansion. That would be a disaster.

The phantom slammed into me with the force of a speeding truck. I flew backward, my vision dimming, the pain surprisingly absent as I was hurled through the air. Before I even hit the ground, something tightened around my neck—like a noose. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the floor, dazed, being dragged out of the room. It all happened in the blink of an eye, faster than I could comprehend. When I finally gathered my senses, I found myself in the dressing room, where the large vanity mirror stood ominously in the corner.

With a deafening thud, the phantom flung me against the wall by the window. This time, pain exploded in my chest, leaving me gasping. My head spun, my thoughts clouded as I struggled to comprehend the situation. In the moonlight, I saw it—the phantom held a string of blackened prayer beads, radiating a thick, suffocating aura of death. The red glow from his body contrasted sharply with the beads, amplifying the terror that gripped me.

He raised his hand, and the beads began to hover, releasing a dark mist that encircled us both, creating a barrier I couldn't break. My heart sank. This was a trap. I should've known. The phantom had waited for the right moment. But now it was too late—I was trapped, staring into the eyes of my doom.

The phantom let out a low, sinister chuckle as he slowly turned to face me. His movements were deliberate, like something out of a horror film. His eyes were a deep, bloody red, and the tattered old robes he wore radiated an ominous red mist. His face was deathly pale, his expression cold and cruel.

He was smiling. Smiling at me.

Was he mocking me? Anger flared up inside me. I had tried to help this ghost, to give him peace through an exorcism, and this was how he repaid me? I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small Bagua mirror I'd brought, my fingers gripping it tightly. With a surge of adrenaline, I scrambled to my feet and shouted, "What the hell are you laughing at?!"

Fueled by fury, I charged at him, brandishing the mirror. It caught the moonlight, glowing with a silvery gleam as I swung it toward him with all my strength. This was it. I was going to take him down. But the phantom moved with unnerving speed, dodging my attack effortlessly.

It threw me off for a moment, but I quickly realized this wasn't a bad thing. If he had dodged, that meant I had a window to escape. Without a second thought, I spun on my heels, ready to bolt out of the room and find Liam. We could regroup and come up with a plan to deal with this monster together.

But as I made my move, something dark and cold slammed into me. The mist from the beads had thickened, forming an invisible wall in front of me. I crashed into it and was violently thrown back against the wall once more, knocking the breath from my lungs. Everything went black for a moment, the world spinning as I hit the floor again.

"Liam!" I yelled, my voice desperate as I struggled to get up. "Help me!"

There was no answer, only the faint sound of Liam's chanting from the other room. I could hear the strain in his voice, the urgency. He wasn't ignoring me; he was in the middle of something critical. I had failed him—I was supposed to guard him, and now I was the one needing protection.

Swallowing my panic, I stopped shouting. I couldn't afford to distract him. If he was at a critical point in his ritual, any break in his concentration could be disastrous. Instead, I focused on the phantom, who loomed before me, calm and deadly, the mist swirling around him like a living thing.

Why wasn't he attacking Liam? If he had, Liam would've been just as defenseless as I was. What was the point of going after me? Was I just an easier target?

I glared at the phantom, trying to suppress the fear bubbling inside me. His expression didn't change—calm, emotionless, watching me with those blood-red eyes. Slowly, he drifted toward me, his feet never touching the ground. I scrambled to move, trying to put some distance between us, but he was too fast. Before I could even blink, he was right in front of me, his icy hand reaching out.

There was no way to escape, but instinct kicked in, and I tried to dodge. His fingers brushed my shoulder, and suddenly, there was a hissing sound—white smoke rising from his hand.

The phantom recoiled, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "What…?" he murmured, his voice hollow. "You're wearing a blessed garment?"

My mind raced. That's right—I had forgotten about the protective clothing I was wearing, blessed by a monk before the mission. It had protected me when he'd first slammed into me, and now it had saved me again. My confidence surged.

"That's right!" I shouted, holding up the Bagua mirror again. "Let me go, or I swear I'll end you right here!"

The phantom sneered. "Foolish mortal," he whispered. In an instant, he was beside me, his cold grip tightening around my throat. "Your clothes might protect your body, but not your neck."

A wave of icy coldness spread from where his fingers touched me, like I'd been plunged into an arctic ocean. My body shivered uncontrollably as the freezing sensation seeped into my bones. He lifted me effortlessly, dangling me in the air as he let out that bone-chilling laugh.

I could barely think, the cold numbing my mind as my vision blurred. This was it—I was done for. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end, but it never came.

When I finally opened my eyes again, the phantom was still there, holding me aloft, but he wasn't finishing me off. Instead, he was staring at something, his expression unreadable.

Why wasn't he killing me?

I managed to croak out, "Why… why don't you just end this?"

He didn't answer right away, but after a long pause, his eyes flickered with something like amusement. "You think I want to move on? To be exorcised? Do you really believe I need your pity?" His voice was laced with scorn. "I was a warlord, feared across five provinces. I don't need your exorcisms."

Suddenly, Liam's calm voice echoed from behind me. "Is that why you've stayed behind all these years? Because you're afraid?"

The phantom's grip on my neck tightened, but I could feel his attention shift to Liam. I turned my head slightly and saw him standing in the doorway, pale and visibly weakened, sweat dripping from his brow. Yet, despite his fragile appearance, his eyes were sharp, locked onto the phantom with deadly focus.

"You're trapped here," Liam continued. "The prayer beads you hold—they were blessed by a monk, right? Their power protected your soul when you died. That's why you've been able to stay here so long. But they also bind you to this mansion, don't they?"

The phantom's laugh was chilling. "You think you've figured it out, boy?"

Liam ignored the taunt. "You can't leave because those beads hold you here. But now you want to corrupt them, to break free."

I could feel the tension in the room rising as Liam's words struck home. The phantom's smile faltered for just a moment.

"Your sins run too deep," Liam said softly, his voice like a blade cutting through the air. "No matter how long you hide, there will be no peace for you."

The phantom's face twisted with rage. "And you think you can stop me?"

Liam met his gaze steadily. "I know I can."