If you are a ghost, I am a magician, bitch!

There, atop the rusted, weather-beaten container, sat a man whose presence seemed to drain the light from the air around him. 

His hair was a void of black, slick and unyielding, like oil spilled across a dark sea. But it was his eyes that held the true menace—pools of abyssal black, deeper than the darkest night, swallowing all light and hope.

Sett's throat tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. This man was no ordinary foe.

This guy is strong.

He is not Tier 1. Tier 2?

The system can't sense it from this distance.

"Be on the move," he warned the girls, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The man rose slowly, his movements deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. He stepped to the edge of the container, his boots scraping against the metal, and gazed down at Sett with a look that was both bored and menacing.