"Ahhh!!!"
A bone-chilling scream pierced through the desolate outskirts, echoing for miles.
Damien and Vincent hung limply from the writhing black hair, like broken dolls. Their arms dangled uselessly.
Under the moonlight, the long-haired ghost revealed its true face. Its maw stretched open wide, inching closer to the brothers.
"What now, bro?" Vincent's voice was strangely calm, even in the face of death.
Damien let out a bitter smile. "What else is there to say? This is it. Ever since we became Specter Wardens, we knew this day might come."
"Grandma's probably still at home praying for us right now. We told her gods didn't exist, that it was all superstition..."
"If only there really were gods..." His voice softened to a whisper, as if recalling that old woman respectfully lighting incense before the nameless shrine every time they left for a mission.
The long-haired ghost's massive jaws expanded just inches away, reeking of blood and rot. The stench alone was enough to make them gag.
But then—
Everything changed.
Just as the ghost was about to bite, it suddenly flinched. It froze, then flung the brothers aside with a flick of its hair. Its bloodshot eyes stared into the distance.
From the darkness, a thick ghostly fog began to rise.
Clang—clang—clang.
Chains rattled against armor in the mist.
The brothers, groaning on the ground, instinctively looked toward the sound.
And what they saw froze them to their core.
A legion emerged from the night—an army that seemed to march straight out of the abyss.
Clad in ancient bronze armor, wielding ghost-forged sabers, their chains gleamed with spectral frost. And at the front stood a towering specter, cloaked in overwhelming ghostly might—but it wasn't cold. No, this presence carried solemn, regal authority.
Vincent's pupils narrowed to sharp points, fixed on the sudden apparition.
Damien choked, unable to speak. His hands clutched the grass beneath him, knuckles white.
The long-haired ghost screeched in horror. It turned to flee—but too late.
The army moved like a shadow, silent and instant. In a blink, they surrounded the ghost.
Clang!
A chain cracked the air, shattering the ghost's dark aura and locking around its throat.
It struggled—briefly.
Then the general's blade came down.
Shhk!
With one clean cut, the ghost's head fell.
The entire execution took less than five seconds.
The terrifying specter that had toyed with them like rag dolls was now no more than mist in the wind.
The ghost general turned, crimson eyes empty of emotion, regarding the brothers as if they were insects.
Their fear was primal.
Vincent felt it most—because he sensed his own ghost, the one always whispering in the back of his mind, had gone utterly silent. Pretending to be dead.
Thankfully...
The ghost general only glanced at them, then turned toward the Gate of the Dead.
Clank—clank—clank.
The ghostly army marched toward the gate, shrouded in swirling fog.
And strangely, though they were made of specters, the sight filled the brothers not with dread... but awe.
Boom—!!!
A pulse of energy burst from the gate.
Its membrane cracked, then shattered.
"Hahaha!!! We're free! Humans, here we come!!"
"Hungry! I'm starving! Give me food!!"
"Wanna play with me? You can lend me your head!"
A tide of ghosts poured from the shattered gate, shrieking with delight.
The first one out had a twisted grin of lust and hunger—until his expression froze.
Shhhk—!!
A ghost-forged blade pierced his gut, and in an instant, he dissolved into smoke.
"By order of the Commander... Exterminate all evil."
"Let no soul escape judgment."
With the ghost general's whisper, three thousand ghost soldiers surged forward like wolves.
The demons—so terrifying to humans—stood no chance.
Not one ghost could last more than a second.
With each swing of their blades, another horror fell.
Damien and Vincent could only watch in stunned silence.
They remembered something their grandmother once told them when they were kids—an old story from a forgotten time.
Eight simple words...
"When the ghost army marches, all evil falls."