CHAPTER 150: GHOST WALK

The air suddenly dropped a degree. Then two. Then five.

A strange, unnatural stillness enveloped the field like a dark fog creeping over a battlefield before dawn.

The moonlight flickered as though something was interfering with reality itself.

Elius’s pupils glowed faintly with a ghostly blue light.

"Ghost Walk," he muttered, his voice low and thunderous, echoing through dimensions beyond the four’s comprehension.

Then, in a fraction of a heartbeat, his entire form shimmered—flickering like a candle on the edge of extinction. His body blurred into vapor.

Ethereal mist devoured the definition of his form.

His legs lost their solidity, feet barely touching the ground. His robes trailed off like wisps of spirit-smoke. Where once stood a man, now lingered a phantom.

Zhark’s jaw clenched. "He—what the hell is this?"

Fraven narrowed his glowing eyes. "I can’t track his mind! He’s—he’s not even on the same plane!"

Keith’s fists tightened, muscles straining, veins bulging. "Shania—stay close!"

But it was already too late.

"Girls first," came a voice. Calm. Cold. Icy and mocking.

It whispered behind Shania’s ear.

Her eyes widened.

Before she could even scream, Elius struck.

A palm to the back of her neck. Silent. Swift. Precision honed to perfection. His movement was fluid as moonlight across steel.

CRACK.

Shania’s eyes rolled back. Her mouth fell open.

She collapsed forward without a word, crumpling like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. Her illusions flickered erratically, then shattered like shards of broken glass dissolving into the void.

"Shania!" Keith roared, leaping forward.

But he was met with emptiness.

Elius vanished again—his form dissolving into smoke, evaporating into the ether like a reaper with no physical tether to the world.

Ghost Walk.

Not teleportation.

Not stealth.

He existed in the spaces between perception.

The three remaining stood back-to-back, forming a tight triangle around Shania’s unconscious body. Keith stood at the center, shirt torn and blood trailing from his ribs. His fists were raised, wrapped in layered muscle like forged steel. Zhark’s arms sparked violently, lightning snapping from fingertip to elbow in chaotic arcs. Fraven floated slightly above the ground, surrounded by a faint purple sphere that twisted and warped the air around him with pure telekinetic force.

"Where is he?" Fraven hissed. "WHERE?!"

A ghostly silhouette flickered behind them, to the left. Then right. Then above. Then inside their shadows.

"He’s not moving normally," Zhark said, electricity surging through his hair. "He’s skipping dimensions—jumping through folds of space like he’s stitched into the dungeon’s fabric!"

"Then we hold position!" Keith growled. "Form the triangle and DON’T BREAK RANKS!"

Keith dropped to his knees, shielding Shania’s body with his back.

And then the nightmare began.

SWOOSH—THUNK!

A sword flew from the dark, silent and lethal, aimed at Fraven’s head.

Fraven spun, caught the sword mid-air using a burst of focused telekinesis, and launched it away, but not before another one appeared—then another—then five, dancing like specters in the air, whirling in impossible patterns, each one gleaming with cold, silent death.

Keith caught one with his arm, gritting his teeth as the blade sliced through flesh and muscle and embedded into his bone.

"KEEP FORMATION!" he yelled, using his other hand to block a second strike that nearly grazed Shania’s temple.

Zhark hurled bolts of lightning in all directions, trying to strike the space where Elius might be hiding, but the bolts missed—always narrowly.

"He’s playing with us!" Zhark spat. "He’s toying with us!"

Fraven gritted his teeth, throwing out telekinetic shockwaves in every direction, the air around him bending and pulsing like underwater ripples. Rubble was flung skyward. Broken stones hovered and rotated like miniature moons. Everything trembled—but not Elius.

Because Elius was nowhere.

And everywhere.

The silhouette returned again—above them, then under them, rising from the cracks like a phantom made of despair and intent.

CLANG!

Keith’s arm was slashed again. Blood sprayed across the ground, but he held.

THUD!

Zhark was nearly knocked off his feet as a flying blade sliced across his thigh. He counterattacked with a flash bomb of lightning that illuminated the ruins like a second sun—but the shadows remained thick. Unbroken.

Elius whispered into Zhark’s ear.

"Missed me."

Zhark turned, screamed, and hurled a thunderbolt.

It hit only mist.

Another whisper behind Fraven.

"Wrong again."

Fraven screamed in rage and sent out a wave that shattered the wall behind them.

Keith began to pant.

He wasn’t just bleeding.

He was cracking.

Inside and out.

His bones screamed under the pressure. His knuckles bled from defending against phantom slashes. His mind began to blur.

But he didn’t fall.

He protected Shania with his body. Zhark and Fraven closed in tighter.

Three boys guarding a fallen comrade.

Their breath was ragged. Their faces pale. And though they never said it aloud—they were afraid.

Of him.

Of what Elius had become.

This wasn’t just power.

This wasn’t even dominance.

It was mastery.

Of sword.

Of spirit.

Of phantasm.

Each moment that passed without seeing him was a second of torment. Every step they took forward became a trap. Every defensive stance failed to guard the right direction.

He was a ghost.

A nightmare made real.

And still—

Keith blocked.

Zhark countered.

Fraven pushed back.

The three of them stood together in a formation of desperation, sweat dripping, blood flowing, hearts pounding in perfect sync.

Minutes passed. Or seconds. Or hours.

Time had no meaning in that surreal state of ghost-fueled fear.

And still, Elius did not finish them.

He watched.

He waited.

Until—

A breath.

A twitch.

A groan.

Shania.

She stirred.

Her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings fighting gravity.

Keith glanced down, expression momentarily unguarded.

"She’s waking up," he whispered.

Elius, wherever he was, felt it.

And as Shania’s golden eyes opened once more—filled with confusion, pain, and fragments of her last memory—

Elius felt something shift in the flow of the fight.

A stalemate.

A standstill.

The ghost walk faded, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Elius stepped out from the shadows... whole again. Solid. Visible.

Watching.

Waiting.

Breathing.

Shania looked up at the sky and whispered, "Why... can’t we win...?"

Elius didn’t answer.

Not yet.