Chapter 25: "I Lit a Fire, Stole a Girl, and Now There's a Ghost DJ Trying to Kill Me"
In which I jump through windows, run like hell, and question all my life choices... again.
If you ever feel like your Friday night is too calm, I suggest breaking into a haunted house party run by a ghost masquerading as a DJ and lighting it on fire.
Really spices things up.
I didn't stop to admire my handiwork—the flames, the screaming, the growing sense of uh-oh.
Nope.
I went full action hero, sprinting downstairs like I was trying to escape a boss battle I hadn't leveled up for.
And that's when it happened.
The house...
noticed me.
The supernatural strings that had once pulsed gently now shivered, like someone had just turned the thermostat down to Arctic Doom.
My breath fogged.
Goosebumps prickled.
And worst of all—
The DJ noticed me.
Tall.
Too tall.
Blank white mask.
Twisting its head like an owl made of nightmares.
The music didn't stop.
It just shifted.
Slower.
Deeper.
Wrong.
I felt its rage before I heard it.
And I didn't wait around for a remix.
I reached the bottom floor in seconds.
The girl I'd told to get Talia outside hadn't made it far. She was slumped against the wall near the entrance, looking dazed, while Talia had collapsed beside a couch as the supernatural influence tightened around the room again.
Great.
Fantastic.
My evacuation plan had lasted approximately thirty seconds.
Talia blinked at me like I was a dream.
"Evan...?"
"Talia, we need to leave!"
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her upright.
She giggled and—because life hates me—started planting sloppy, lipstick-smudging kisses on my cheek.
"Not the time or place!" I whisper-hissed, dragging her upright like a panicked waiter hauling a guest out of a burning kitchen.
Which, technically...
I was.
"Hey!"
One of the green-eyed wannabe demons stepped forward.
"What do you think you're doing?"
I thought about responding.
Maybe something clever.
Heroic.
Dramatic.
But I chose Option B:
Don't die.
I adjusted my grip on Talia, ran straight past them, and headed for the nearest clear window.
Then I jumped.
Yup.
Through it.
Glass shattered around us like we were filming an action trailer.
I twisted in the air, holding Talia against my chest and turning my back toward the ground.
We hit hard.
Pain shot through my shoulder and spine.
But—
No broken bones.
Probably.
Minor bleeding.
Definitely.
Totally fine.
Totally.
My phone was already out.
"911," I barked, fingers shaking. "There's a house fire at this address! People are still evacuating!"
I gave them the location.
Then hung up.
That was all the time I had.
Because behind us...
The ghost screamed.
Not just a sound.
A command.
And every glowing-eyed partygoer still under its influence surged from the burning house almost simultaneously.
Dozens of them.
Like a zombie rave flash mob.
The glowing threads connecting them to the building snapped and twisted through the air, dissolving into smoke.
"Evan..." Talia mumbled weakly, still clinging to me.
"Not now, Talia."
I grabbed her hand.
"Maybe later. If we live."
I ran.
The streets blurred around me.
My legs screamed.
My lungs burned.
And the mob behind us was moving way faster than drunk partygoers had any right to move.
I could've abandoned her.
With the Movement Skill and Asterion feeding a little ki into my exhausted muscles, I probably could've escaped alone.
But Asterion's voice came through my mind.
"Keep moving. Keep her alive."
Simple.
Direct.
No grand speech.
So I kept moving.
I pulled on every bit of strength I had.
My own muscles.
The movement technique.
The small amount of ki Asterion was helping circulate through me.
My legs accelerated.
The world blurred.
My breath came in sharp bursts.
But I never let go of Talia's hand.
Because sometimes being a hero doesn't mean punching ghosts or setting houses on fire.
Sometimes...
it means refusing to abandon someone when running alone would be easier.
So, remember when I said things couldn't get worse?
Yeah.
That was adorable.
Talia, bless her heart, was apparently having the time of her life.
Unfortunately, it was the worst possible time to be completely out of it on whatever ghost-laced garbage had been served at that party.
She giggled like a kid on a carousel, flopping around in my grip like she had zero bones.
I was basically dragging a living spaghetti noodle through a supernatural warzone.
"This would be so romantic if we weren't being chased by demon party zombies," I muttered, trying not to fall over as her high heels caught on every pebble in existence.
Then she faceplanted into my side.
"Okay, nope."
I crouched.
Scooped her up bridal-style.
"Congratulations. You're officially carry-on luggage."
The neighborhood blurred past in streaks of moonlight and sweat.
Every nearby house was dark.
Every door closed.
Not that I wanted to lead this nightmare into someone else's home.
Behind us, the burning party house cast an orange glow over the rooftops.
Sirens were beginning to rise in the distance.
For one dangerous second...
I thought we might actually be clear.
Then the ghost screamed again.
Not a normal scream.
A take-control-of-someone-and-send-them-to-murder-you scream.
I turned.
Most of the partygoers had collapsed.
Some stumbled around in confusion.
Others were coughing and trying to understand where they were.
But one man remained standing.
Big guy.
Varsity-linebacker build.
And his entire body glowed sickly green.
His eyes burned with supernatural light.
"Oh, fantastic."
I carefully lowered Talia.
"Ghost-Hulk."
The possessed man cracked his knuckles.
BOOM.
Then he didn't run.
He launched.
Straight at me.
Every survival instinct I possessed screamed:
RUN.
Asterion disagreed.
"Stand."
"What?"
"Think."
Easy for the ancient Sect Head to say.
He wasn't currently staring down a possessed refrigerator with fists.
Okay.
Technically he was.
Through my eyes.
But still.
I wasn't Asterion.
Not even remotely close.
But maybe I could fake competence for thirty seconds.
I gently set Talia against a parked car.
"Stay."
She smiled dreamily.
"You're bossy."
"Great. Stay bossed."
Then I ran.
Not away.
Toward a nearby yard.
Bushes.
Fence.
Wooden planks stacked beside someone's unfinished porch.
Perfect.
"Sorry about this!"
I grabbed one.
The possessed man charged.
I swung.
WHAM.
The plank slammed into his shoulder.
The impact rattled through both my arms.
For half a second, I thought:
That was awesome.
Then he slowly turned his head toward me.
Completely unimpressed.
"Oh, come on."
I backed up.
"That was at least a double."
He snarled.
Charged again.
Faster.
The plank got knocked from my hands and went spinning down the road like a sad piece of kindling.
He was on me before I could blink.
Fist pulled back.
Glowing.
Angry.
And yeah—
this is the part where I almost died.
Let me be clear.
I'm not a singer.
I'm the guy who got kicked out of middle school choir because my rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" made three kids cry and a fourth develop a lifelong distrust of lullabies.
So naturally, while facing a ghost-powered juggernaut with the murder stats of a Final Boss, I heard one word from Asterion.
"Sing."
I almost got punched because I was too busy being confused.
"WHAT?!"
I dodged badly.
The fist missed my head by approximately one nightmare.
"The ghost is controlling them through sound and resonance. Disrupt it."
I stared.
"With WHAT?!"
Asterion paused.
Then:
"Your voice should be sufficiently unpleasant."
...
I hate this man.
The possessed guy charged again.
Fine.
Singing.
Sure.
Why not?
My life had already abandoned reason several chapters ago.
I opened my mouth.
And unleashed hell.
🎵 "So everything that makes me whoooole—" 🎵
Imagine the screech of a rusty violin being strangled by a goat.
Multiply that by ten.
That was my voice.
The possessed man stopped.
Actually stopped.
The green energy around him flickered.
I stared.
"No way."
He clutched his head.
The ghost screamed.
Not him.
The ghost.
Asterion spoke.
"Again."
Oh, this was happening.
I sucked in a breath.
Then doubled down.
🎵 "Belongs to youuuu, I'll give you my heaaaart and sooooul!" 🎵
I flailed one arm dramatically because apparently if I was going to weaponize bad singing, I was committing to the performance.
The possessed man staggered backward.
Green mist began leaking from his mouth and eyes.
His expression twisted between rage and the unmistakable horror of someone being forced to listen to me sing.
"Yeah!" I shouted between lyrics. "You don't like that, do you?! Neither did my choir teacher!"
The supernatural glow destabilized.
Asterion's voice cut through my panic.
"The connection is breaking. Keep going."
"My throat is breaking!"
"Keep going."
Fine.
I kept singing.
The ghost howled.
Green energy erupted from the man's chest in a violent burst.
I stumbled backward.
A shadowy figure appeared above him for an instant—
white mask.
Long limbs.
Distorted shape.
The DJ.
Or part of it.
The thing shrieked as the sound controlling the host collapsed.
Then it tore free.
It shot upward like smoke caught in a hurricane, disappearing into the darkness above the rooftops.
The possessed man dropped.
Silence.
I stood there.
Panting.
My throat felt like I'd swallowed sandpaper.
The man remained on the pavement.
Alive.
Breathing.
I stared upward.
"Evan: one."
I coughed.
"Ghost DJ: zero."
Another cough.
"My dignity..."
I rubbed my throat.
"Missing in action."
Asterion was quiet.
Then I heard it.
He was laughing.
"Don't."
That made him laugh harder.
"ASTERION."
"I said nothing."
"YOU'RE LAUGHING."
"Your technique was effective."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Annoyingly...
He was right.
I staggered back toward Talia.
She was standing almost exactly where I'd left her, leaning against the car and swaying like a plastic flamingo in a wind tunnel.
She blinked slowly.
"Evan..."
"Yeah?"
"You're like..."
She squinted at me.
"My knight..."
Oh no.
"...in glowing..."
She seemed to forget the rest.
Then:
"What was that song?"
I covered my face.
"Nothing."
"It hurt."
"Good."
"But, like..."
She put a hand over her chest.
"...it moved my soul."
"Yeah."
I picked her up again.
"Moved something directly out of someone's body."
She melted against me, mumbling about me smelling nice and saving her life.
It might've been sweet.
If she wasn't drooling on my shirt.
I carried her into the shadows of the quiet street.
Sirens were getting closer.
The party house was still burning.
Oops.
The neighborhood was waking up.
Double oops.
And I had officially become the kind of person who committed emergency arson and weaponized terrible singing against ghosts.
This was my life now.
Thanks, Asterion.
I don't know if you've ever tried getting a half-conscious, slightly delirious, probably drugged rich girl to tell you her address while she's mumbling about "the stars being made of spaghetti."
But let me assure you—
it's not as fun as it sounds.
"Where do you live?" I asked for what had to be the fifth time, gently shaking Talia's shoulder.
She blinked at me, pupils still unfocused.
"In a house..."
Good start.
"...made of feelings."
Bad finish.
"With Sofia."
Progress?
"Sometimes she's a cat."
"...Right."
I sighed.
"Gonna need more than that."
Eventually—through a series of yes-or-no questions, wild guesses, checking landmarks, and what I can only describe as divine intervention—I got enough information to figure it out.
Turns out Talia lived in a mansion that looked like it belonged to a Bond villain or a TikTok cult leader.
Iron gates.
Ivy-covered walls.
Uniformed guards.
The whole:
Please don't breathe too hard near our gold statues
vibe.
Luckily, I'd managed to retrieve the Fireblade from where I'd left it once the immediate chaos died down.
Getting Talia onto it safely was another adventure entirely.
By the time I rolled up to the mansion gates, she was secured behind me and leaning against my back like a sack of designer potatoes.
One of the guards immediately hurried over.
He looked at Talia.
Then me.
His expression changed.
"...What happened?"
"She went to a party."
Technically true.
I removed my helmet.
"Something was wrong there. She was drugged or affected by something. You should probably have a doctor look at her."
The guard's expression sharpened immediately.
Good.
Responsible adult mode.
Thank God.
"Was she hurt?"
"I don't think so. But don't take my word for it."
He opened the gate and called for someone.
Another guard appeared.
They carefully helped Talia off the motorcycle.
She immediately tried to lean back toward me.
"Evaaaan..."
The first guard gave me a look.
I ignored it.
"Make sure she gets inside."
"We will."
"And seriously—doctor."
He nodded.
"I understand."
I watched them carry her toward the mansion.
Talia lifted her head weakly.
Mumbled something.
I couldn't quite hear it.
It sounded suspiciously like:
"Evan the firebird prince..."
I decided I hadn't heard that.
I stood there for a moment after the gates closed.
Hands heavy on the handlebars.
Body aching.
Throat destroyed.
Heart...
Strangely heavier than before.
Because beneath all the jokes and panic and explosions, Talia could've died tonight.
A lot of people could have.
I looked back toward the distant orange glow over the city.
Asterion was quiet.
For once...
So was I.