Fall and flight of the Ghostking (1.2)

"He's dead, he's dead. Tell everyone. The ghost king is dead!" he shouted.

"No! That can't be, Chengzhu has held the throne for eight hundred years!"

"What are you talking about, our king can't die ..."

"There is no one who can compete with him. Not even White Death has dared to challenge him!" Instantly, voices rose, voices that had been reverently silent until a moment ago as they sensed the immense struggle high up on the throne level.

"Spread the news, spread the news. The Ghost King has fallen!" the messenger continued unperturbed, running through the streets of Duifang screaming.

"If you don't shut your cheeky mouth right now, I'll shut it for you!" another voice roared angrily.

"But if Chengzhu has really fallen, who is his successor?"

"Who dared to overthrow the king!"

"Who is our new leader?" More and more voices rose. As if on cue, the messenger changed his announcement, turned around and ran round and round the large square.

"Honor him, praise him. Our new King Weijiezhu. The era of the red-eyed demon ends. The reign of the puppet master begins!" he proclaimed. 

But there was no pride or even reverence in his voice. He sounded depressed, almost fearful.

"I want to see his body, you bastard!" shouted the man who had been following the messenger the whole time. 

Panting, he stopped. Like most beings in Duifang, the realm of ghosts, his former human appearance had suffered greatly. 

Its eyes bulged out, its nose resembled a pig's snout and its purple, swollen tongue licked its sore, bloated lips every two seconds. Only a few spirits could maintain their mortal form after death. That was a sign of power. 

Even the cultists of the highfalutin sects knew not to underestimate a spirit with a mortal visage.

"Corpse?" the messenger echoed. He nodded, swung a hook and raced across the square and the streets again. "The corpse shows us the body of the fallen king. Proof of the irrefutable power of our new ruler..." his voice trailed off. 

A heated discussion broke out. The fact that the king was dead was indeed a great event. Even though the Spirit Realm had existed for a very long time, a clear power structure had only emerged over time. 

Zhi Cheng had been the third king and had ruled the longest. He had defended the throne for a full eight hundred years. That was a considerable amount of time, considering how murderous and chaotic the spirit realm actually was. 

Every day, even every hour, they were at each other's throats. There was always a reason to argue and kill the other person. Even if it was just the ugly hack face that they could no longer stand. 

Weijie stood in front of the throne, which looked like a black crystal with an expansive seat upholstered with red cushions, and stared at it. 

He looked like a youth, almost more child than man. Nevertheless, he was tall, sinewy and pale. His face reflected indifference, even though he was raging. 

Lost in thought, he played with the jewelry around his finger and sighed. He couldn't find it. He had wanted to kill the Ghost King Chengzhu for a long time because he had something he needed. But it was nowhere to be found in the palace.

After he had smashed all the mirrors, taken apart every box, chest and cupboard. He still didn't have it.

"Master!" Someone came running and knelt awkwardly in front of him. Weijie neither turned around nor raised his eyes. It was just one of his puppets that he had sent in search of the object. 

"Well?" He asked boredly, already suspecting what he would be told. The puppet shook its head. Weijie gritted his teeth and cursed. 

An uneasy feeling rose up inside him. A faint doubt as to whether what he had done had been right. What if Chengzhu was still alive? What if he still owned the item in question? What if.... he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

If Chengzhu was still alive, then Weijie himself would no longer be. No one had ever threatened the Ghost King's life or appearance and gotten away scot-free. No one was as bloodthirsty as him. 

Weijie was considered cruel, his dolls had once been people whose souls he ripped out and transformed as he saw fit. Regardless of whether they were already dead or not. But no one liked to spill blood as unabashedly as Chengzhu. 

With a wave of his hand, he released the puppet and called for his most loyal subordinate. Zhixin. The young man, slim and well-trained, entered the plateau shortly afterwards and bowed politely to him with a hand clasped around his fist.

"Master, you called? Do you need more material?" he asked. Weijie turned around and gave him a long look. 

He had tied his dark, short hair up in a tangled braid; it looked disheveled and the small bones jingled with every step. His large dark eyes looked pitiless and calculating. 

He wore a gray and black robe with leather armor and a three-tailed whip at his hip. Weijie nodded in satisfaction.

"I want you to look for that bastard. Just in case he's not as dead as expected," he ordered. 

Zhixin rolled his eyes behind his folded hands. 

"It shouldn't be hard to ask around in the mortal world for once. An arrogant self-absorbed fool like him stands out. Or look for the first corpse trace that comes along, that would also give him away," Weijie explained. 

Zhixin snorted. He didn't believe that Chengzhu was still alive, after all, he had seen Weijie pierce his heart himself. But if it eased his master's paranoia, he would take a trip into the mortal world.

"I will turn over every stone should Chengz..., should the former Ghost K... should the bastard still be alive, I will find him and send him back in pieces, Master," he said solemnly, suppressing an overly annoyed tone. 

Weijiezhu only tolerated his antics because he was useful, his big mouth was not allowed to outweigh his usefulness. 

He turned away and walked off with lively steps. 

Weijie turned away from the throne; it had been several days since he had pushed Chengzhu down the cliff. His renewed arm still ached and his body felt as if it was riddled with paper-thin cracks, as if it could shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. 

Outwardly, he couldn't let anything show. His power as the new king was far from secure. Most of the spirits currently living in Duifang only knew one king, Chengzhu.

Lost in thought, he played with the ring on his thumb, and the glass bead filled with billowing, dense mist. If you listened very carefully, you could hear the cries of the souls trapped inside. 

He stared into the milky gray abyss and felt the dampness of the sea. The roaring waves and the spray that splashed upwards. Not even Chengzhu could survive this fall, could he? 

With a shredded heart and a broken neck? The truth was that, like everyone else in Duifang, he had thought for a long time that Chengzhu was invulnerable, untouchable. A being of perfect power. 

Yet he had dared to challenge him, had spun a treachery and intrigue, but a faint doubt remained, what if Chengzhu really was such a being? What if he had mercilessly overestimated himself? Even his shadow, just the memory of him, the possibility that he might still be alive, robbed Weijie of sleep at night. How long would it take for Chengzhu's shadow to fade?

"I should have dangled his body over the throne. So that everyone could see him. And no one would question his immortality!" Weijie sighed. 

Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Chengzhu's face in front of him, the thieving, mean smile on his face, which inevitably raised the question: why would anyone smile in the face of inevitable death?