William’s instincts screamed. He hefted his black coffin and bolted forward without a second thought.
The other two paled, summoning their bound ghosts in an instant and racing hot on his heels.
In the blink of an eye,
the three led the charge to John’s door.
“Boss John, we—”
William’s words died in his throat. He froze mid-sentence, his face draining of all color.
John was pinning a translucent figure to the floor, pummeling it relentlessly, each brutal fist slamming straight into its head.
Hearing their commotion, John glanced over his shoulder. Rooster’s blood spattered his cheeks from the fight,
and when he curled his lips into a smile for the three men,
it was the most bone-chilling grin they’d ever seen, set against the carnage of the room.
Their minds went completely blank. They stumbled back a step on pure instinct, their blood running cold in their veins.
John paid them no mind, turning right back to his beating.
It took the three a long moment to snap out of their daze, their gazes locking onto the translucent figure beneath him.
The Footstep Ghost’s spectral form was on the verge of shattering, forcing it to reveal its full shape at last.
Its body was slathered in burning rooster’s blood, a pitiful, mangled mess—and what drew their eyes most was its feet, a sickening crimson, as if forged from congealed blood itself.
It clicked for them in an instant. This was the vicious ghost that had been hunting them all.
At the sight of the three men, the ghost stretched a hand toward them, as if… begging for help.
“Uh…”
The three stared at each other, dumbfounded.
Hadn’t they come to save John? So why was the ghost begging them for mercy?!
This was straight-up insane.
John glanced down. The ghostly visage on his chest had fully materialized, fixating on the Footstep Ghost with ravenous hunger, as if it planned to devour the spirit down to the last wisp.
“Give me a minute,” John said flatly. He knew exactly what was about to happen—and he had no intention of exposing his secret to the others.
“This ghost’s got a mountain of sins to atone for. I’m taking it to the bathroom to send it to the afterlife.”
With that, he stood, grabbed the ghost by the neck, and slung it over his shoulder like a dead dog, striding toward the bathroom.
“Send it to the… afterlife?!”
The three swallowed hard in unison. That was the understatement of the century.
They didn’t for a second believe John—this man who looked like a demon straight from the pits of hell—had any intention of performing a merciful exorcism.
Sure enough,
moments later, bloodcurdling wails of terror echoed from the hotel bathroom, making their scalps prickle.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Just from the sounds alone, they could picture the abject horror the ghost was suffering.
“So the teacher was telling the truth,”
William muttered, still in a stupor. “Ghosts can actually feel fear…”
“My brain’s short-circuiting,”
one of the other two gasped, his body trembling slightly.
“Which one of them is the real ghost here? The thing in the bathroom, or him?”
…
The three’s eyes twitched violently. This whole scene had turned their understanding of the world on its head.
The third man spoke up, his voice dry.
“Honestly? I don’t think either of them are human.”
They’d never seen anyone so deranged—someone who could beat a ghost within an inch of its spectral life like it was nothing.
Soon, the sound of a toilet flushing rang out, as if John was washing something away.
A moment later, John stepped out, his white shirt spattered with blood, a warm smile on his face.
He was tall and lean, not an ounce of muscle to be seen—but in that moment, his lean frame exuded an overwhelming, suffocating aura.
“B-Boss John…”
Joe, one of the two, forced a shaky smile, his mind blank for words.
William was John’s oldest friend, though. Shocked as he was, fear was the last thing on his mind—only pure, unadulterated excitement.
With a big shot like John in their corner, they’d be untouchable from here on out!
“Boss, what happened to the ghost?” he asked, practically bouncing on his toes.
“Taken care of,”
John smiled faintly. “You three can head back and report the mission done.”
“It’s really dead?”
The three exchanged a look, already knowing the answer.
John nodded, then said casually,
“As for the two ghost shards from the mission reward…”
Joe’s brow shot up, and he cut John off before he could finish.
“Boss John, don’t even mention it! Those shards are yours, fair and square!”
…
William and the third man stared at Joe in disbelief.
Since when was this guy so damn quick on the uptake?
Joe kept his face calm, shooting them a subtle glance.
Are you kidding me? Who the hell wouldn’t be scared after that show?
Just thinking about John dragging that ghost into the bathroom made his legs turn to jelly. What if he was the one getting dragged in next?
“Then I won’t stand on ceremony,”
John smiled, then clapped his hands. “Alright, let’s go.”
Joe and the third man practically fled the room, as if escaping a nightmare.
“Boss, you’re insane—in the best way!”
William said, holding up a thumbs-up. “My admiration for you is like a never-ending river—”
John chuckled, waving him off. “It’s just basic stuff. No need for all the fuss.”
Basic stuff?!
William’s eyes shone with even more reverence.
“Boss, I always knew you were tough, but I never thought you were this tough!”
“?”
John raised an eyebrow. Was that a compliment?
“Times have changed,” he said, leaning in slightly. “Back in the day, I’d be locked up for beating someone like that. But ghosts? It’s a different story entirely…”
His eyes glinted with a feral, bloodthirsty smile as he spoke.
…
William couldn’t help but shiver.
The arrival of the Age of the Supernatural seemed to have unlocked John’s true, unhinged nature.
“Alright, these ghost shards might be useful to you, right?”
John’s smile faded, and he turned serious.
“Boss, no way—you keep ’em!”
William refused immediately. “I didn’t lift a finger for this. I can’t take ’em.”
They were close, sure—but taking a reward he’d done nothing to earn would sour even the best of friendships.
William wasn’t an idiot. A big shot like John was someone to cling to for life—and a couple of ghost shards were nothing compared to that.
“But if you don’t have a use for ’em and wanna sell ’em for cash, I’m your guy,” he added quickly.
The official Supernatural Guild bought ghost shards from hunters, but you’d never find them for sale—no amount of cash could buy one these days.
“Fair enough. Let me check ’em out first,”
John nodded. He planned to let the ghostly visage on his chest try to devour the shards first.
If they were useful, he’d keep them. If not, he’d just sell them to William.
Moments later, the two headed downstairs together.
The rest of the hotel’s guests were gathered in the lobby, their faces alight with excitement, standing in a neat group.
The second John appeared, they swarmed him, showering him with grateful thanks and praise.
Clearly, Joe and the third man had already filled them in on what happened—making sure everyone knew John was the one who’d taken down the ghost single-handedly,
and they’d just been along for the ride… as cheerleaders.
“Everyone, it’s fine—we’ve all been neighbors for years,”
John waved a hand, dismissing their thanks.
“It’s late. Go back to your rooms and get some rest.”
The guests nodded, filing back up the stairs one by one.
“Alright, I need to catch some Z’s too. You two make yourselves at home,”
John stretched lazily, muttering to himself. “That late-night workout really wore me out.”
…
Joe’s face twisted with amusement. Workout? John had been beating that ghost within an inch of its life, and he hadn’t looked the least bit winded the entire time.
Watching John pummel that vicious ghost into submission had made one thing crystal clear: his seemingly lean, unassuming frame hid a strength that was anything but ordinary.
