To subdue an enemy is first to seize them alive—or, failing that, to strike so true that resistance dies within them. Zhang Kui bore the Netherfire of the Underworld; capturing him intact was folly. Only a killing blow would suffice.
In fact, Mo Lin had briefly contemplated employing the Five-Organs Ghost-Sealing Technique, but with Zhang Kui's demise, such drastic measures proved unnecessary. Hong Ye watched enviously as Chen Xi and Chu Xing feasted ravenously upon the phantom's remains—such flesh was said to grant potent fortitude. Although Mo Lin's triumph held little to do with her, Chen Xi mercifully plucked off a solitary leg and offered it to Hong Ye. Overjoyed, Hong Ye tore into the succulent limb, murmuring her thanks between bites.
The man in the black cap, seeing Zhang Kui's body crumble at last, faltered in panic. He fumbled a pistol and fired wildly at Mo Lin—each bullet rebounding harmlessly against Hong Ye's spectral barrier. Netherfire intrigued Mo Lin greatly; should he master its dread power, his own might would soar to unprecedented heights.
Advancing on the masked man to extract information, Mo Lin paused at his side—and then came a deafening crack. A bullet spat crimson across Mo Lin's cheek. The black-capped man had chosen self-destruction over interrogation, leaving Mo Lin with only a trickle of blood and an unanswered question.
All around, Minghai Tower groaned as if in agony, its very spine buckling under unseen strain. The structure threatened to collapse at any moment.
…
At Ghost-Controller Headquarters, Li Bingyan's brow was creased with concern. "Minghai Tower harbors a fifth-rank specter: a nightmare-class wraith," she reported gravely.
"A fifth-rank ghost?" one agent echoed.
"Another fifth-rank?" murmured another.
"A nightmare-class wraith…what shall we do?" voices trembled through the chamber.
"Isn't Mo Lin on assignment at Minghai Tower? Can't he handle this enemy?" ventured a hesitant agent.
"Wraiths, like any spirits, possess gradations of power," Li Bingyan replied icily. "What if Mo Lin's contracted phantoms prove unequal to this nightmare-class host?" Her steel-edged question fell like a gauntlet upon the assembly.
Silence ensued—a testament to the peril a rogue nightmare-class wraith could threaten. "If Mo Lin falters, and that wraith despises humanity, then Yunchuan will become a living hell—and none of us shall be safe," another agent ventured.
"What of Headquarters? Will aid not arrive?" a third pressed.
"Headquarters will dispatch fifth-rank controllers and arcane devices—but only if we survive long enough," came the sober reply.
All hearts clenched at the stark truth: no distant reinforcements could quell immediate doom. Worse still, nightmare-class wraiths were notorious for malevolence beyond mortal comprehension. Their appearance signaled catastrophe.
"Contact Headquarters. Call in support."
Li Bingyan issued orders with clinical efficiency. "Summon every available controller to Minghai Tower. Offer aid to Mo Lin."
"Understood," came the chorus.
Moments later, Li Bingyan led a procession to the tower's beleaguered entrance, over a hundred controllers arrayed behind her. Others remained on distant missions, unable to return; thus this small army represented Ghost-Controller Society's full mobilization. Alongside them stood uniformed police—with rifles useless against spirits but vital against human threats—and sharpshooters already positioned to cover the tower's perimeter.
A monstrous groan shook the earth as another floor collapsed, debris scattering like macabre confetti. Shattered windows, collapsed balconies, fractured columns: the edifice bore witness to the ferocity within.
Li Bingyan inhaled deeply, channeling every reserve of her spirit energy. Every contracted ghost at her command stood tense and ready, awaiting her signal.
"Prepare to enter," she commanded, and a hush fell so profound it amplified the distant rumble of falling masonry.
Then—silence. The once-deafening cacophony of battle within the tower ceased entirely, replaced by an uncanny stillness that coiled about their hearts.
"Something is emerging," someone whispered, and in that moment the tension snapped taut.
Shadows moved beyond the shattered doorway, swelling in size until the form of Mo Lin materialized from the gloom. His tunic hung in tatters, one sleeve singed away; a crimson gash marred his right arm. The assembly's collective gaze shifted beyond him, drawn to the two nightmare-class wraiths trailing in his wake.
One wraith, ravenous and unearthly pale, gnawed at a mystery object in her clawed hand, crimson ichor staining her maw. The other, expressionless and cool, ripped at flesh with detached hunger. Their very presences exuded dread, a pressure so suffocating that lesser ghosts curled back into their hosts, unwilling to be seen.
"Two nightmare-class wraiths…" an agent gasped, voice trembling. "He truly is terrifying."
Apprehension rippled through the crowd—they gazed at Mo Lin with a mixture of reverence and fear. Li Bingyan's pulse quickened, but she steadied herself.
"Um…w-was there not supposed to be only one nightmare-class wraith?"
"Yes…"
"And…has it been dealt with?"
"Indeed," Li Bingyan confirmed, relief flooding her features.
A collective exhale swept through the controllers. Each had feared the worst, yet Mo Lin stood unbowed.
Mo Lin surveyed the assembly with casual appraisal. "Why summon so many?" he inquired of Li Bingyan.
"They came at my behest," she replied evenly. "To aid you against that nightmare-class wraith."
Mo Lin chuckled, brushing soot from his coat. "It was but one wraith. I could have handled it alone—no assistance required."
The agents exchanged furtive glances. Such bold indifference only he could afford—few adepts boasted two bonded nightmare-class phantoms, let alone dismissed an entire legion of controllers so cavalierly.
Li Bingyan dared no retort; Mo Lin's reputation rendered her arguments moot. He alone could defy the impossible.
Mo Lin's gaze drifted to the threshold where the black-capped man had fallen. "That fellow in the hat—trace his origins. I want every detail of his identity."
His curiosity alight with the promise of Netherfire knowledge, Mo Lin turned away, the corridor echoing with the whispers of ghosts and men alike.
o4-mini