《The Resurrection》


 The Ghost

    After four long years, I was finally free. There he was¡ªmy father, standing and waiting for me. As I stepped out, he wrapped me in a tight embrace and murmured, "I''m sorry, son. I abandoned you to suffer on your own. Are you alright?" But I shoved him away. "Stay back. I don''t need you anymore. I''ve learned to survive without you." He stood there, motionless, his voice shaky as he whispered, "What did I do wrong?"


    From that moment on, I set out to find a place to stay and a way to earn a living. I found a place affordable enough to call home and began working at a construction site to make ends meet.


    One day, we were hit with shocking news: our manager had died by suicide. With no one else to step up, and because of my reputation as a problem-solver, I was appointed as the temporary manager until a replacement could be found. In that short time, I earned more than I ever had before. When the new manager arrived, I chose to resign, feeling an unsettling sense that something wasn¡¯t right.


    I spent a week without work, and soon my money ran dry. Desperate, I started looking for a job again, but found nothing. Exhausted, I sat on a bench in a park, watching children play. It was a rare moment of peace, far away from the stress and worry. In that brief instant, I wished I could just disappear.


    Then, a young man in a wheelchair rolled toward me. His legs were gone, but he had a handsome face and a warm, gentle expression. As he arrived, children flocked around him like he was a beacon of joy; it was clear everyone admired him. He looked over at me and wheeled closer. "Hey, are you new around here?" he asked with a friendly smile. "Who, me?" I stammered. "Uh, I¡¯m just a wanderer, looking for a job to make a living."


    Our conversation flowed effortlessly: "Oh! Do you have a place to live?" he asked.


    "N-no, I''m homeless," I replied.


    "Then you can stay with me and we will divide the rent."


    "Sorry, but won¡¯t I be a burden on you?"


    "It won¡¯t be a problem. I live alone, and I could use a friend."


    People like him still exist? "O-ok, but I don¡¯t even know your name."


    "Oh, right! My name is Ethen Sterling. And yours?"


    "Nero Wolfsbane." I hesitated before asking, "May I ask you something?"


    "Anything."


    "What¡¯s the reason your legs are completely cut off?"


    "Oh, my legs? Actually, when I was 7, they were crushed in a road accident."


    "Is that so? And where is your family?"


    "They left me."


    Ethen then shared his story with me. He told me about his twin brother, who was just a few minutes older and excelled in everything. His brother loved him deeply, and they came from the wealthiest family in Eabis¡ªthe esteemed Sterling family. However, after Ethen lost his legs in the accident, his parents abandoned him at an orphanage. In their eyes, having a disability was a taboo, and they believed that every descendant of the Sterling family had to be perfect to uphold the family''s pride.


    Ethen continued, explaining that after the accident, a middle-aged man, who had lost his wife, took him in¡ªbut he was anything but caring. Instead, he abused Ethen, treating him cruelly. Unable to endure it any longer, Ethen eventually escaped from the man''s home and found refuge elsewhere.


    One day, his twin brother discovered him and embraced him tightly, overjoyed to be reunited. His brother offered him a place to live and still visits him from time to time.


    Ethen then took me to his home, and I began living with him.


    Four weeks later, Ethen¡¯s brother came by for a visit. Ethen¡¯s brother was just as kind as he was, making it nearly impossible to tell them apart. The only way to differentiate between the two was Ethen¡¯s disability. His brother stayed for the day, leaving shortly after he arrived, as he had come in secret, hiding from their parents, who still disapproved of Ethen.


    Three days later, a police car pulled up in front of Ethen¡¯s house. They knocked on the door, and I answered. The officers asked for Ethen, so I called for him. When he wheeled out, one of the cops made a phone call.


    A short while later, something completely unexpected occurred¡ªEthen¡¯s parents arrived, tears streaming down their faces, and they embraced him, sobbing. ¡°What happened? Mother! Father!¡± Ethen cried out, but his parents remained silent. Concerned, I turned to the officer. ¡°What happened?¡± I asked. He delivered the tragic news: Ethen''s brother, Boyd Sterling, had fallen from a high building, leading to his death.


    After hearing that, I turned to Ethen and said,


    ¡°Ethen, may I tell you the truth about why your parents are here to see you again?¡±


    At my words, his parents shot me a furious glare. His father stood up, grabbed my collar, and hissed,


    ¡°Don¡¯t stick your nose in our matters.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to, but I¡¯m just standing up for what¡¯s right,¡± I replied.


    Ethen intervened, saying, ¡°Father, tell me the truth.¡± His father swung a punch at me, but I blocked it.


    ¡°Ethen, your father won¡¯t tell you anything. I will,¡± I said firmly.


    ¡°What is it, Nero? Tell me,¡± he urged.


    "Your brother Boyd has died. Now that your parents don¡¯t have anyone else to call their descendant, they¡¯re coming to you again."


    Ethen turned to his parents and asked, "Is it true?"


    The room fell silent. Frustrated, he shouted, "I asked if it''s true that my brother Boyd died!"


    His mother nodded, tears streaming down her face, and said, "Please, Ethen, come back. We are sorry."


    "How can I? The only person who loved me is gone, and I know, you know, everyone knows that I can''t replace him."


    "Ethen, you have to come back to us, please."


    In the end, Ethen¡¯s parents succeeded in bringing him back home, though his father still despised me. However, they allowed me to live with them at Ethen¡¯s demand.


    After that incident, Ethen seemed somewhat hollow. He hadn¡¯t even begun to heal from the trauma when another blow struck him: his brother¡¯s death wasn¡¯t an accident¡ªit was a murder. I asked Ethen if he wanted to find his brother¡¯s murderer. He looked at me, a mix of hope and uncertainty in his eyes, and replied, "Can we?" I responded with the iconic line, "Nothing is impossible," and from that moment on, we became our own investigation team.


    First, I visited one of Boyd¡¯s friends, Nathaniel. He greeted me warmly, even offering me coffee, which I politely declined.


    Wasting no time, I dove straight into my questions. "So, did Boyd have any enemies or anyone who disliked him?" I asked.


    Nathaniel shook his head. "I don¡¯t think anyone could have a problem with someone like him. Boyd was the kind of guy who¡¯d apologize even for mistakes he didn¡¯t make."


    "Okay... then, could it have been something related to an inheritance issue?" I probed.


    Nathaniel thought for a moment. "Well, it was just Ethen who could be involved in the inheritance."The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "You have a point," I admitted, "but Ethen has been with me the entire time, and he never left home. Plus, he¡¯s disabled." I continued my investigation, but I found no solid leads.


    Next, I went to the crime scene where Boyd had died. I began by questioning the building¡¯s watchman, who told me,


    "I just started here yesterday. The previous watchman resigned and moved to Virmip, a city in Eabis."


    Not wanting to waste any time, I headed inside the building and asked security to show me the footage from the day of Boyd¡¯s death. To my shock, the footage was missing¡ªit had been completely erased.


    I hurried back home and began packing for Virmip. It seemed likely that the former watchman might know something and could be either threatened or manipulated by the murderer. I needed to find him before it was too late.


    Ethen and I traveled to Virmip and asked the locals about Elias Granger, the former watchman. After some searching, we finally tracked him down. Ethen stayed at the hotel while I went to Mr. Elias¡¯s home and knocked on the door. His wife answered, greeting me warmly,


    "Oh! A good young man! How may I help you?"


    I asked if I could speak with Mr. Elias, and she invited me inside.


    "Come in,"


    she said kindly. When I entered the house, Mrs. Granger directed me to sit on the couch and then called for her husband. Mr. Elias walked into the room, but something about him seemed off¡ªhis expression was tense, and there was an unsettling unease in the air.


    As soon as Mr. Elias saw my face, his expression shifted to one of anxiety, and he suddenly began screaming, "Get me my gun! Give me my gun!" before collapsing to the ground, unconscious. I quickly took Mr. Elias to the hospital, and his wife came along. Once we arrived, I gave Mrs. Elias my phone number, asking her to call me when her husband regained consciousness.


    Some time later, I returned to the hospital with Ethen to check on Mr. Elias. Thankfully, he had regained consciousness. I turned to Mrs. Elias and asked if her husband often fainted like this or if it was a rare occurrence. She assured me that he was a strong man and that this had never happened to him before. Meanwhile, Ethen was engaging in a polite conversation with Mr. Elias, trying to help him feel more at ease.


    Mrs. Elias and I entered the room to see Mr. Elias. This time, he smiled upon seeing me and politely asked for his bag. However, something about his demeanor didn¡¯t sit right with me; it felt too calm given the circumstances. Mr. Elias asked for his bag, and his wife handed it to him. As he reached inside, I remained cautious, unsure of what he was after. I asked,


    "Uh, so... did you by any chance see anyone with Boyd at the crime scene?"


    He laughed, pulling out a pistol and saying,


    "Why are you asking when you already know everything?"


    Suddenly, he pointed the gun at his wife. I lunged to stop him, managing to wrestle the gun from his grip. But in a flash, he grabbed a vase and hurled it at me. I dodged, but he rushed at me, overpowering me and snatching the gun back. Before I could react, he shot his wife.


    He then turned the gun on Ethen, laughing maniacally. Ethen, unable to fight back due to his disability, tipped his wheelchair over and scrambled to hide beneath the hospital bed. Seeing that Ethen had hidden under the bed and realizing he couldn''t get to him in time, he pointed the gun at himself and... bang... shot himself. The sound echoed in the room, and in an instant, he was gone.


    Ethen, hearing the gunshot, thought that Mr. Elias had killed me and was coming for him next, screamed,


    "HELP! HELP! HE WANTS TO KILL ME NOW!"


    Hearing the gunshots and Ethen¡¯s desperate cries, the hospital staff rushed into the room. Seeing Mr. and Mrs. Elias dead and Ethen hiding under the bed, they immediately misunderstood the situation. Without hesitation, they tackled me to the ground.


    They called the police, and despite my attempts to explain, no one listened. I was locked behind bars¡ªmy second time being captured by the police.


    Ethen was in deep trauma, unable to say anything in my favor. Five days later, the police received a call from Victoria Hospital, saying they had footage of the incident. Meanwhile, Ethen still believed I was dead. The police checked the footage, which clearly showed what had happened, and they released me, apologizing for the mistake. But despite being cleared, those five days were gone, wasted, with Ethen and I left to deal with the aftermath of the tragedy.


    When I met Ethen, he was overjoyed. His eyes lit up, and he said,


    "Come here!"


    As I approached, he pulled me into a tight hug, holding on as if he never wanted to let go.


    "I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re completely okay," he whispered, relief evident in his voice.


    We went back to Hcaraka, the city where we lived. I resumed my investigation into the Elias family''s deaths as well as Boyd''s. Determined to uncover the truth, I knew that there were still unanswered questions lingering in the shadows.


    Now I want *you* to narrate, Ethen.


    Okay... now it''s my (Ethen''s) turn to narrate.


    So, over a month later, when Nero was out on investigation at 21:11, I heard a scream¡ªit was my mother. Hearing her scream, I wheeled out to see what was happening. As I emerged, I found my father and some servants outside my mother¡¯s room, knocking on the door mercilessly and shouting,


    ¡°Honey, what happened? Open the door!¡±


    I told one of the servants to break the door. He quickly ran outside and returned with a hammer. With one powerful swing, he shattered the door open. Inside, we found my mother curled up in a corner, trembling and gasping,


    "It''s the end! The ghost is here!"


    Everyone rushed closer to my mother to calm her down, but I remained the farthest from her, nearest to the door. Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me and turned to see a figure wearing a hard mask with a carved smile. He was dressed in a coat and a necktie, standing there calmly, one hand raised as if signaling something. I asked,


    "Who are you?"


    But he remained silent. A wave of danger washed over me; I could sense that he was after something truly sinister. In a panic, I shouted,


    "RUN!"


    To everyone in the room. But in the end, I was the only one to escape before the room erupted into flames with a deafening blast, my wheelchair shattering in the chaos. I crawled desperately outside, my heart racing. Just then, the masked man emerged, gun in hand, singing a creepy, slow, and gloomy song:


    "Run as far as you can,


    Through the night, through the pain.


    Can you hear the haunting call?


    Flee from the ghosts that rise and fall."


    I gathered my strength and asked again, "Who are you?"


    He stopped his eerie singing, tilted his head slightly, and replied in a chilling, almost mocking voice, "Ghost." The word echoed in the air, sending a shiver down my spine. His presence felt otherworldly, as if he truly embodied the name he gave.


    I stared up at him, my voice trembling as I asked, "What do you want?"


    He began walking toward me slowly, each step deliberate, his voice calm yet filled with an unsettling conviction.


    "This world is rotten," he said, his tone cold and final, "and I am going to restart it."


    There was no hesitation in his words¡ªjust a quiet, terrifying certainty. The closer he got, the heavier the air became, as if he was pulling the very life from the world around him.


    I screamed, crying out for someone, anyone, to help me. But no one came. He continued his slow, menacing approach, his presence suffocating. When he finally reached me, he crouched down, his cold breath brushing against my ear. In a chilling whisper, he said,


    "You are in hell, now."


    His words froze my blood, and I felt trapped, as if the entire world had closed in on me.


    Suddenly, without warning, he picked me up with ease and carried me out of the burning mansion. I was too shocked to struggle or resist. Once we were outside, he handed me my phone, his eerie demeanor unchanged. He spoke just two words, his voice cold and commanding: "Fire brigade."


    My hands trembled as I took the phone, unsure of what to make of his sudden shift. He had just threatened me, yet here he was, calmly telling me to save the house. I quickly dialed the emergency number, my mind racing.


    A car suddenly sped towards us, screeching to a halt. The masked man glanced back at the mansion one last time before climbing inside. The number plate was covered by a cloth, making it impossible to trace, and I couldn''t recognize the vehicle at all. As soon as he was in, the car took off into the night with terrifying speed, vanishing into the darkness.


    I sat there, still in shock, the flames roaring behind me. Moments later, the fire brigade arrived, but by then, everything was already lost. The mansion was consumed by fire, and the masked man, the


    "Ghost,"


    had disappeared.


    As I sat at the fire brigade station, numb from the shock, the weight of the tragedy finally hit me. My parents, the servants¡ªeveryone inside the mansion¡ªhad been killed in the fire. The masked man, that


    "Ghost,"


    Had left me with nothing but fear and unanswered questions.


    With trembling hands, I called Nero. When he picked up, I barely managed to get the words out,


    "Nero... the mansion... it''s gone. My parents, the servants... they''re all dead. The fire... it took everything."


    For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the line. Then Nero responded, his voice calm yet full of concern,


    "I''m on my way, Ethan. Hang in there."


    Nero arrived at the fire brigade station, sprinting toward me as soon as he spotted me sitting there, my face pale and my body trembling. He knelt beside me, his eyes filled with concern and urgency.


    ¡°Ethan, are you alright? What happened?¡± he asked, his voice soft yet firm.


    I could barely speak, my voice shaking.


    ¡°It was... it was him, Nero. The man in the mask... he burned everything. My parents, the servants... they¡¯re all gone.¡±


    Nero¡¯s expression hardened, a mix of anger and determination. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°We¡¯ll figure this out, Ethan. I promise. Whoever that masked man is, he won¡¯t get away with this.¡±

 An Old Friend

    Now I am tired, would *you* like to narrate, Nero?


    Alright, now it¡¯s my(Nero) turn again to narrate.


    At the funeral, Ethan was inconsolable, his grief consuming him as he cried with no end in sight. I stayed close, trying to offer him whatever comfort I could, but his sorrow was too deep.


    As I spoke softly to calm him, a young woman about our age approached. She placed a gentle hand on Ethan¡¯s back and said quietly, "Ethan, is that you?"


    Ethan looked up, his tear-streaked face lighting up briefly with recognition. "Grace! It¡¯s been a long time," he managed, offering her a hollow smile before breaking down again.


    Grace gave him a sympathetic look. "Ethan, I¡¯m so sorry for your loss. Can you tell me... what happened?"


    Ethan continued to cry in silence, unable to speak, so Grace turned to me, her expression both curious and concerned. "What happened?" she asked softly.


    I took a deep breath before answering. "The same person who killed Boyd¡­ set fire to the mansion."


    Grace¡¯s face went pale with shock. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ horrifying,¡± she whispered.


    I nodded solemnly. ¡°Ethan witnessed it all¡­ he saw everyone die right in front of him.¡±


    Grace¡¯s eyes widened, her voice breaking with empathy. ¡°No wonder he¡¯s so scared and traumatized¡­ Anyone would be.¡±


    I shook my head. "We can¡¯t afford to be paralyzed by fear¡ªnot now. We don¡¯t even know when or how that Ghost will make his next move."


    But Ethan, gripping the armrests of his wheelchair with a newfound resolve, interrupted. His voice was fierce, unwavering. ¡°He won¡¯t get away with this. It doesn¡¯t matter who he is or what he wants... I¡¯ll make him pay.¡±


    Grace visited Ethan a few days later, sitting beside him to offer comfort and support. I stayed nearby, listening to their conversation. As they spoke, I learned that Grace was the daughter of General Kane Roderick¡ªa name I recognized immediately.


    When she left, I casually asked Ethan, ¡°Where does she live?¡±


    He glanced over and replied, ¡°In Arcuss Town. Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Just for general knowledge,¡± I answered, trying to play it cool, though her connection might prove helpful in our investigation.


    Grace returned a few weeks later, her expression twisted in anger and sorrow. ¡°My parents are gone,¡± she announced, her voice quaking with emotion. The weight of her words settled heavily in the room, and I could see Ethan¡¯s face fall as he processed her loss.


    ¡°What happened?¡± I asked, trying to grasp the full situation.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who did this,¡± she replied, tears streaming down her cheeks as she leaned her head against my chest. ¡°But they were both murdered.¡±


    Ethan, with a grim determination, said, ¡°I know who it must be. It¡¯s that Ghost. He wants to turn the world into hell.¡±


    I let out a bitter chuckle, replying, ¡°As if it isn¡¯t already hellish enough.¡±


    ¡°He wants to make it worse,¡± Ethan insisted.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Grace pulled her head from my chest, still sobbing. ¡°It¡¯s already the worst it can be.¡±


    After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I said, ¡°We¡¯re wasting time. This Ghost is unpredictable, and we¡¯re nowhere close to catching him.¡±


    Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could finish, the front door of the mansion burst open. Officers stormed in, guns drawn, and shouted, ¡°Ethan Sterling!! You are under arrest!¡±


    Ethan fought against being taken away, desperate to understand what was happening. He asked the officers repeatedly for answers, but they were indifferent to his pleas. To my disbelief, they also escorted Grace and me to the police station for questioning.


    Once there, we shared everything we knew about Ethan, hoping to clear his name. The officer, trying to be sympathetic, reassured us, ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. You¡¯re victims in this situation.¡±


    Curious about the unfolding chaos, I asked the same officer, ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    His response left me stunned. ¡°Ethan Sterling is a serial killer. From February 19th until now, he has killed 18 people.¡±


    The date hit me hard; it was just three days after Boyd was murdered. My heart raced as I processed this information, realizing how deeply intertwined our lives had become with tragedy and despair.


    I leaned closer to Grace and whispered about the date, but her mind seemed distant, lost in her own turmoil. Just then, another officer rushed in, breathless and urgent. ¡°There¡¯s been an explosion in Nicorf Town!¡±


    My heart sank; that was the town where I had lived with my parents. Panic coursed through me as I thought about what might have happened. The weight of the situation was suffocating, and I knew we had to get to the bottom of this before it was too late.


    I turned to Grace, trying to shake her from her daze. ¡°Grace, we need to figure out what¡¯s happening. This could be connected to the Ghost!¡± I could see the fear in her eyes, and I knew that our time was running out.


    We followed the police and fire brigade to Nicorf Town, my pulse racing. As we approached, the scene came into view: it was the very house where I¡¯d once lived with my parents. Oddly, I felt no sadness; memories of my father and his wife brought only bitterness. But then my thoughts turned to my half-brother, only six years old, innocent of the cruelty that plagued the rest of my family.


    The house was engulfed in flames, a wall of smoke pouring into the sky. As firefighters fought the blaze, I scanned the crowd, hoping for some sign that my brother might have escaped.


    A tug on my shirt jolted me out of my thoughts. I turned and saw a little boy, face streaked with tears. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked gently, kneeling to his level.


    ¡°Owen,¡± he replied, his voice trembling.


    ¡°Full name?¡± I needed to confirm who he was, even though a part of me already suspected.


    ¡°Owen D. Wolfsbane.¡±


    It hit me like a lightning strike¡ªmy half-brother, standing here completely unharmed. The explosion had leveled the house, yet here he was, without a scratch. Anxiety gnawed at me. How had he survived such a devastating blast?


    I passed Owen to one of the officers, still dazed. After the firefighters managed to contain the blaze, Grace and I returned. Grace was visibly shaken, still processing the revelation about Ethan and reeling from the shock of the explosion. With Ethan absent, I couldn¡¯t look after Owen properly, so I had no choice but to place him in the care of a nearby orphanage. It all happened so quickly, a whirlwind of chaos that left us all scrambling to make sense of it.


    A few days later, I returned to Nicorf Town to investigate further, and Grace insisted on joining me. We started by speaking with locals, who claimed they''d seen a young man with white hair, in a wheelchair, carrying a large bag into the house a week before the explosion. It matched Ethan¡¯s description precisely. I knew Ethan too well to believe he could be a murderer¡ªbut this sighting only complicated things.


    We checked nearby security cameras, and there it was, clear as day: Ethan, wheeling up to the house with that large bag in tow. My mind raced. If he wasn''t responsible for the explosion, what was he doing there, and what could have been inside that bag? The unsettling question hung between us: *Why was Ethan at my father¡¯s house before the blast?*


    A few days later, the news broke that Grace K. Roderick had been identified as the killer of her father, General Kane Roderick. My heart sank as I processed the shocking revelation. How could she, the girl who had shown such compassion and support to Ethan, be involved in something so heinous?


    The implications were staggering. If Grace had indeed killed her father, it could connect her to the recent wave of violence and chaos surrounding us. I wondered if her grief over losing him had driven her to madness, or if there were deeper motives at play. My thoughts raced as I tried to piece together the fragments of this tangled web¡ªwas she linked to the "Ghost" in some way, or was she just another victim of the unfolding tragedy?


    I needed to confront her, to understand the truth behind her actions and the chaos that had engulfed both our lives.


    Now Grace should explain what happened, right?


    U-u-uhh, y-yeah I would love to.


    After I was arrested and taken to prison five days later, I discovered I¡¯d been assigned a cellmate: none other than Ethan Sterling, the alleged serial killer. His face lit up with surprise and relief when he saw me.


    "Grace! You came to save me, right? Do you know why they brought me here?" he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.


    I looked at him, my voice shaking with anger and confusion. "Save you? Ethan, how could you¡­ I can¡¯t believe you. Did you really kill 18 people and set that bomb in Nero''s father''s house?"


    Ethan looked utterly bewildered. "Grace, why would I do that? I don¡¯t have the nerve to even look at a dead body, let alone kill 18 people. And how would I even know where Nero''s father lived?"


    His response gave me pause. The doubt in his eyes made me wonder if there was more to this situation than I¡¯d realized.

 Escape

    The first morning in prison, a warden arrived to escort us to breakfast. He seemed unusually polite, addressing Ethan with great respect. I couldn¡¯t ignore it, so I asked, "Why are you speaking to him like that?"


    The warden smiled and replied, "Oh, it''s because I know Sir Ethan wouldn¡¯t do anything like what they¡¯re accusing him of."


    His confidence startled me. "How can you be so sure?" I asked.


    The warden gestured proudly. "Because he¡¯s a friend of Mr. Nero D. Wolfsbane."


    I froze, caught off guard. "What? Nero? How do you know him?"


    The warden''s face lit up. "He''s a savior. Someone who has helped more than you could imagine."


    Curiosity got the better of me. "How did you meet him?" I pressed.


    The warden''s demeanor shifted, his tone sharp. "I won¡¯t tell a murderer like you."


    Anger and frustration bubbled within me. "I¡¯m not a murderer!" I insisted. "It¡¯s all a misunderstanding. And that so-called savior of yours, Nero, happens to be my friend too."


    The warden gave me a skeptical glance but said nothing more. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder how Nero had earned such reverence¡ªand why it felt like he was still tied to every thread of this tangled mess.


    As we entered the chow hall, something felt off. I quickly realized that I was the only female in the entire facility. This wasn¡¯t just any ordinary prison section¡ªit was the male wing. My heart raced as I processed the implications. Why was I brought here?


    I turned to Ethan and whispered, "Do you notice anything strange? I''m the only woman here."


    Ethan froze, his face instantly paling. He stared around the room, taking in the surroundings. The look on his face was one of pure concern and fear. He grabbed at his hair, a look of stress overtaking him.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I asked, my voice filled with worry.


    His voice was low, almost a whisper. "This... this is exactly what he wants. We¡¯re in Ghost¡¯s trap now. He wanted us in this prison, together. He orchestrated everything¡ªthe murders, the accusations, bringing us here. This was all part of his plan."


    I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. Ghost had been one step ahead, pulling the strings behind everything that had happened, manipulating us into this situation. The realization sent a chill down my spine. Whatever game Ghost was playing, it was far from over.


    As we entered the chow hall, I quickly realized something none of the others seemed to notice. I was the only female in the entire prison. That meant I had been placed in the male section¡ªsomething didn¡¯t add up. I leaned closer to Ethan and whispered, "Did you notice that? I¡¯m the only woman here, so why was I brought to the men¡¯s section?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Ethan¡¯s face went pale as he processed it. His usual calm demeanor cracked, and he gripped his hair tightly, stress washing over him. "This isn¡¯t good," he muttered, his voice tight with fear.


    I pressed him, concerned. "What¡¯s wrong? What are you thinking?"


    He stared at me, eyes wide with realization. "This is Ghost¡¯s trap. He wants us together here for some reason. He orchestrated everything¡ªthe murders, the false accusations, and now this. We¡¯re in his hands."


    My heart sank. "So, we¡¯ve been framed?"


    Ethan nodded grimly. "Exactly. He¡¯s manipulating everything. We need to tell Nero. He¡¯s the only one who can help us."


    I bit my lip, trying to think quickly. "But how? We¡¯re stuck here with no way out."


    Ethan looked helpless, but then I had an idea. "The warden... He knows Nero, and he seems to respect you too. We can use him as our messenger."


    Ethan looked thoughtful, weighing my suggestion. "It might work, but we have to be careful. Ghost is always watching."


    I nodded, feeling the weight of our situation but also a spark of hope. If Nero could find a way to help, maybe we could finally stop Ghost''s twisted game.


    After breakfast, we were escorted back to our cell. I urged Ethan to ask the warden for help. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and approached Dorian, the warden.


    "I understand," Dorian said, nodding. "I¡¯ll pass your message along to Mr. Wolfsbane."


    A few days later, on Sunday, Dorian returned with a letter from Nero. The letter read, "I was preparing to help you guys escape, and everything is already planned. Dorian will assist you in getting out, and I¡¯ll be waiting for you outside."


    Relief washed over me as I read the note. Finally, a glimmer of hope. Ethan and I exchanged grateful glances, our tension starting to ease a bit. We knew we still had a long road ahead, but with Nero¡¯s plan in motion, there was a chance we could make it out of this nightmare.


    The next morning, Ethan and I were awake early, trying to keep our nerves under control. It was time. Dorian, ever the trusted ally, arrived at our cell, appearing casual. He pretended to drop the keys as if by accident, not noticing they had fallen. It was a small act, but it was enough. I quickly snatched the keys and unlocked the bars, my heart racing.


    As planned, I grabbed the knife Dorian had slipped to us earlier in the chow hall and pointed it at him, ensuring the cameras would see me as the one in control. I had to make it look real, so I threatened him and held him as a hostage. It was the perfect cover. In case anyone else showed up, Dorian would be our protection.


    We moved through the prison, each step calculated. I opened another cell along the way and pushed Dorian inside, locking him back in, making sure our escape remained undetected. Everything was going exactly as planned.


    When we reached the prison labor facility, I spotted the rope hanging on the wall. I knew it was a signal from Nero. My excitement soared. This was it. Our way out.


    I wheeled Ethan closer to the rope, my hands trembling. First, Ethan grabbed hold and waved it, signaling the person on the other side. Almost immediately, the person pulled Ethan up, and he was out of the prison. Then, I heard the sound of a fight¡ªchaos breaking out on the other side.


    The rope descended again. This time, I grabbed it tightly and, with a final surge of hope, was pulled up and out of the prison, free at last.


    But when got out there was a stunning moment, there wasn''t just Ethen and Nero but another Ethen. no one of us knew who the real Ethen is Except the Ethen and fake Ethen them selves.

 Confusion

    As soon as I climbed over the wall, I froze in disbelief. There, standing beside Nero, wasn¡¯t just Ethan¡ªbut two Ethans. The sight sent a shiver down my spine. They were identical in every way, down to the worry on their faces. None of us knew who the real Ethan was, except for the two Ethans themselves.


    Nero, looking as composed as he could under the circumstances, said sharply, ¡°We don¡¯t have time to figure out who¡¯s who. We take them both!¡± Without hesitation, Nero grabbed one Ethan, hoisting him over his shoulder. I crouched down and helped the other Ethan onto my back, ignoring the heavy weight of confusion pressing down on my mind.


    We bolted along the prison''s riverbank, following the edge of the River A''ab. My breath came in short gasps, the sound of rushing water matching the pounding in my chest. But then, disaster struck. My foot hit a jagged stone hidden in the grass, and I stumbled hard, falling forward. The Ethan on my back tumbled off, and both Ethans, along with Nero, rushed to help me.


    As Nero pulled me to my feet, he slipped a gun into my hand. ¡°I don¡¯t know what might happen next,¡± he said, his voice low and serious. ¡°But we need to be ready. Stay alert.¡±


    I nodded, gripping the gun tightly. The weight of it felt unnatural in my hand, but I knew there was no room for hesitation now. We took off running again, the Ethans both keeping pace as the tension between them grew palpable. The mystery of who the real Ethan was hung over us like a storm cloud, but survival was all that mattered now.


    Just as we were about to run, the tension broke like a snapped wire. Nathaniel stepped out of the shadows, a gun in hand, and pointed it directly at Nero. His cold, calculated voice cut through the air like a blade.


    "Stop right there... Nero."


    Nero turned to face him, his expression sharp. "Huh... Are you out of your mind? We''re in a situation of life and death."


    Nathaniel smirked, his grip steady on the weapon. "And the player controlling this game... is me."


    Nero narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"


    Nathaniel replied with unnerving calmness. "I allow Grace and the twins to keep moving. But you, Nero, will stay right here."


    I felt my chest tighten as Nathaniel motioned for me and the two Ethans to continue. Reluctantly, I obeyed, knowing there was no other option. With every step away, the weight in my heart grew heavier. As we ran, I couldn¡¯t shake the dread, a single thought echoing in my mind: Nero, please be okay. We¡¯ll come back for you. We¡¯ll rescue you, find out which Ethan is real, and put an end to this twisted game of the Ghost.


    And then, as if summoned by my very thoughts, the Ghost appeared before us. He seemed to rise from the shadows, his presence suffocating. His pale mask glinted in the dim light, and his voice dripped with malice.


    "Where do you think you¡¯re going? The only destination for you... is Hell."


    My legs froze as a wave of fear washed over me. Anger sparked deep inside me, but it was no match for the terror gripping my soul. Gritting my teeth, I managed to retort, "You¡¯re not the one to judge if I¡¯m going to Hell or not."


    The Ghost tilted his head, his tone mocking yet final. "This... is my judgment. And my judgment... is your fate."


    His words reverberated in my ears like the toll of a bell. My hands trembled as I clenched the gun Nero had handed me. My mind raced with a thousand possibilities, but only one thing was clear¡ªthis was far from over.


    I couldn¡¯t take it anymore. I raised the gun Nero had given me and pointed it directly at the Ghost. My hands shook, but I was determined to end this nightmare. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    He remained as calm and unshaken as ever, his cold eyes boring into mine. His voice was deep and steady, like an unyielding storm.


    **"Your toy isn¡¯t going to do anything,"** he said, almost dismissively.


    I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stand tall. **"So what do you think you are? Do you consider yourself a superhuman? Or¡ª"**


    Before I could finish, his voice cut through mine like a knife. **"I am not a superhuman... I am a kid."**


    The absurdity of his words caught me off guard. **"Your phrases don¡¯t even make sense,"** I snapped, trying to regain control.


    He tilted his head slightly, his tone eerily calm. **"Does it have to make sense?"**


    Before I could respond, one of the Ethans¡ªreal or fake, I didn¡¯t know¡ªstepped forward. With a sudden burst of motion, he grabbed the gun from my hands and pulled the trigger.


    The bullet hit the Ghost in the shoulder, and blood began to seep through his coat. But he didn¡¯t flinch, didn¡¯t stagger. He stood there as if nothing had happened, his cold presence more terrifying than ever.


    His deep, resonant voice broke the silence again. **"Nathaniel... has died."**


    The words hung heavy in the air, each one more chilling than the last. My grip tightened around nothing now that the gun was gone. My heart raced, and I could feel the weight of something far darker than we could comprehend pressing down on all of us.


    As the Ghost''s chilling words faded into the cold night air, the other Ethan, the one who hadn¡¯t fired the gun, erupted in rage.


    **"YOU LIED... I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"**


    He charged toward the Ghost, fury burning in his eyes. But before he could even get close, the Ghost calmly raised his gun. His voice, as steady and cold as death itself, rang out.


    **"Farewell... Boyd Sterling."**


    The shot rang out, and everything froze. Boyd crumpled to the ground, lifeless.


    I stood there, stunned, as the truth settled over me like a suffocating weight. The other Ethan wasn¡¯t a clone or some twisted double. He was Boyd Sterling¡ªEthan¡¯s twin brother.


    But the shock hit Ethan harder than anyone. His face contorted, his wide eyes filling with a mixture of grief and disbelief. Boyd, his brother, had been alive this whole time¡ªalive and right in front of him since the morning. And now... he was just a corpse.


    **"Boyd..."** Ethan whispered, his voice trembling. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stumbled toward his brother''s body. But grief quickly turned into rage.


    He grabbed the gun again and pointed it directly at the Ghost. His hands trembled with a mix of fury and despair.


    But before he could pull the trigger, a voice called out from behind us.


    "Ethan, stop!"


    We all turned to see Nero approaching, carrying a barely conscious Nathaniel on his back. His voice was firm, yet tinged with exhaustion.


    "This isn¡¯t the way," Nero continued, his eyes locking onto Ethan¡¯s. "If you do this, you¡¯ll become the very thing he wants you to be. Don¡¯t let him win."


    Ethan¡¯s hands quivered, the weight of the gun almost too much to bear as his emotions warred within him. And in that moment, everything seemed to hang in the balance¡ªthe weight of all our choices pulling us toward an uncertain and dangerous future


    .


    As the tension in the air thickened, the Ghost''s cold demeanor suddenly cracked. His voice, usually so steady and terrifying, trembled.


    "M-Mr. N-Nero..."


    Slowly, the Ghost raised his hands to his mask. With shaking fingers, he removed it, revealing a familiar face beneath.


    "Dorian...?" I gasped, unable to believe what I was seeing.


    Dorian¡¯s eyes were filled with tears, but his expression was one of strange relief, almost as if he had been waiting for this moment. He looked directly at Nero, a warm, yet heartbreaking smile spreading across his face.


    "Did I repay the favor, Mr. Nero?" he asked, his voice soft and broken.


    Nero''s expression shifted from confusion to anger, then sorrow. He took a step forward, his tone sharp but tinged with desperation.


    "What do you think you¡¯re doing, Dorian? What is this madness?"


    But Dorian only smiled wider, tears streaming down his face.


    "I wasn¡¯t of any use," he whispered. "I was ashamed... I wanted to be someone worthy of your trust. To make amends for all the times I failed you."


    And before any of us could stop him, Dorian raised the gun to his temple.


    "Goodbye... Mr. Nero," he said softly, the warm smile still lingering on his lips.


    The gunshot echoed through the night, silencing everything. Dorian¡¯s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.


    Nero froze, his face an unreadable mask, though his clenched fists and trembling shoulders betrayed his emotions. Ethan, still clutching the gun, sank to the ground next to Boyd¡¯s lifeless body, while I stood frozen, unable to process the whirlwind of chaos that had just unfolded.


    Nero finally knelt down beside Dorian, his voice low and strained.


    "You fool... you didn¡¯t need to repay anything."


    The words hung heavy in the air as silence swallowed us once again, leaving only the sound of the river and the haunting weight of everything we had lost.