The air inside the broken house was thick, like it had been waiting for this moment. The boards on the walls still smelled of fresh nails where Ethan had tried to repair them, but underneath lingered that sour scent of rot and dust. A cold draft slithered through the half-splintered ceiling, rattling the loose planks. Ethan stood at the center of his living room, still barefoot from lounging on the couch, his hand resting lightly on the back of a chair. Three figures in black stood before him, silent, like shadows that had peeled themselves off the night.
The man in the suit raised his gun at Ethan. His expression was sharp, merciless. A thin smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he already saw Ethan dead.
Ethan blinked once. "...Oh, so you're not carpenters."
The gun cocked.
Without thinking, Ethan grabbed the nearest vase from the side table and hurled it. The porcelain shattered in midair against the bullet that should've ended him, and in the blinding crack of noise, Ethan was already moving. His body moved faster than his brain could explain it—maybe adrenaline, maybe sheer stubborn survival.
Within a second, he was at the front of the suited man. His fist connected clean across the man's face, the sound like meat slamming into marble. Ethan ripped the gun from his grip with shaking hands, turned it, and without a pause aimed it at the hoodie man.
Bang!
The shot rang through the house, but the hoodie raised his hammer just in time. Metal screamed as the bullet ricocheted off, lodging in the wall. Sparks hissed out. But Ethan wasn't trying to kill him—he was trying to get close. The block opened a narrow path, and Ethan dashed low, crouching under the swing of that hammer. His foot whipped up, landing solid under Hoodie's chin. The man's teeth clicked shut as he stumbled back.
The girl in the ninja garb moved then. Silent, precise, terrifying. A presence rose behind her—a ghost clinging to her shadow like oil, its thin hands wrapping over her arms. Ethan saw the way her movements sharpened instantly, guided by something otherworldly. Her katana swung with the weight of death, every arc perfect, impossible for a human body to achieve.
"Oh, crap," Ethan muttered. He didn't have time to think.
The blade carved through the air where his chest had been a moment before. He shoved a table forward, sending it scraping across the wooden floor, and kicked a box toward the suited man at the same time.
The ninja ghost sliced the table into two halves mid-motion. The pieces fell apart like paper. Ethan didn't stop—he used the chaos, sprinting forward, legs straining. He leapt with everything in him, body spinning midair, and drove his foot into her mask. The crack of impact echoed. She went stumbling sideways, her katana slicing a gash through the wall instead of his throat.
Landing hard on the boards, Ethan rolled, gasping. He staggered upright and turned toward the suited man. The guy was already drawing a second pistol.
"Seriously?! How many guns do you people carry?" Ethan yelled. He swung forward, fist cocked, ready to slam the man down before he could aim—
—but a force like a wall of wind slammed into his chest.
Ethan flew back, crashing through a chair. The air left his lungs in one violent rush. He coughed, gagging, vision sparking.
A figure rose behind the suited man. It wasn't just a ghost. It was nightmare given shape: a tall, staggering body with no head, its neck torn into nothingness, oozing a pale glow. The air vibrated with its presence.
Ethan's throat went dry. "...You've gotta be kidding me."
The headless ghost swayed, then raised one massive hand. The air bent around its gesture. Ethan could feel the slice of it even before the blow came.
"Raaawhhh—"
The sound didn't come from the ghost. It came from Ethan's own throat, choked and ragged.
He staggered, his body trembling. Then he grinned, blood on his lips. "What are you looking at? Someone's gotta scream, right?"
The ghost's hand came down. A scything arc of pressure tore through the room, aimed at Ethan's chest.
But claws clashed against it instead.
From behind Ethan, his own ghost had risen. The pale woman in her bloodstained dress, her knife clenched tight. She blocked the strike with her jagged nails, sparks of spectral energy screeching between them.
"Don't hurt him," she hissed.
Her voice cut through the air like frost. For a moment, Ethan thought his ears might bleed from the sound.
The headless ghost shifted, groaning without a mouth, and then shoved. Its raw force threw her back. She slammed into Ethan, knocking him clear through the wall. Boards exploded into splinters.
They hit the kitchen. Ethan groaned, his head spinning, his left arm limp and useless. It wasn't pierced, it wasn't torn—but he couldn't feel it. Numb, dead weight hanging at his side.
He lay on the tiles for a second, tasting dust. "Damn it… my arm's on vacation now? Great timing."
His hand fumbled toward the fridge. He yanked it open, pulling out a bottle of water. He popped the cap, drank greedily, then spat the last mouthful out onto the floor. "Ahhh. That's better. Now… back to hell."
Dragging himself upright, he stumbled back toward the living room. His chest burned. His ghost lingered close, her knife dripping nothing, her eyes locked on him with an intensity that almost hurt to look at.
The three Ghost Users stood together again, waiting. Hoodie's hammer dripped faint traces of spectral energy, his doll twitching at his side. The ninja girl twirled her blade once, her ghost's arms overlapping hers like a cruel marionette. The suited man's headless monster loomed tallest, tilting as though sniffing the air that didn't exist.
Ethan grinned despite the blood drying on his lip. "Alright, round two. Let's break more furniture."
He snatched up a chair and hurled it like a discus. Then another. Then a stack of books. Anything he could grab, he flung. It was reckless, desperate—yet every throw forced them to block, dodge, or parry.
He charged the Hoodie first.
The hammer swung down, splitting the floor where Ethan's head had been. Ethan slid low, drove his foot into Hoodie's chest, and shoved with everything left in his good arm. The man staggered, his puppet doll writhing on his belt, its straw arm cracking as if in sympathy, Ethan caught it in mid air.
"Gotcha back," Ethan spat, chest heaving. He could move his left arm now
But the battle wasn't even close to over.