The moon had replaced the sun, bathing Mystic Town in a cold, silver glow. The streets lay quiet now, the only sound the echo of footsteps against pavement, bouncing between narrow alleyways and dimly lit storefronts. George Reese, seventeen, slung his bag over one shoulder and turned down the familiar road that led home.
He raised a hand to wave goodbye to his friends.
"Later, Dane. Wolf. Ami."
"Same time tomorrow, bro!" Wolf called out, flashing a grin.
George smiled faintly. "If Mr. Keller doesn't kill me with homework, sure."
The three peeled off in separate directions, their laughter fading into the distance. George continued alone. The street narrowed; trees rose like silent sentinels on either side. The stars peeked through the gaps in the darkened sky, scattered like shattered glass across black velvet.
Then the air shifted.
His steps slowed.
He blinked.
Why is it so cold all of a sudden?
A chill crawled up his spine—not the kind brought by a night breeze, but something deeper. His fingers numbed. His breath turned visible. The atmosphere ahead, just beyond the curve leading to his house, felt thick—heavy—as if something unseen watched him from beyond the veil of reality.
Even the trees seemed uneasy. Their branches creaked and whipped violently in the wind, despite the stillness behind him.
George felt a weight pressing against his chest. His instincts screamed.
He quickened his pace.
Then—
A scream.
High-pitched. Raw. Familiar.
"Terry!"
His heart dropped.
George broke into a sprint, tearing down the final stretch toward his house. The gate was wide open. The front door—once painted sky-blue—hung broken on its hinges. He leapt over the threshold—
And froze.
A hulking creature stood in the center of the living room, its body a shifting mass of smoke, sinew, and shadow. Jagged horns curled from its skull. Its fingers ended in claws. In one massive hand, it held Terry, George's eight-year-old brother, dangling helplessly by the neck.
Behind it, their mother lay unconscious, slumped against the coffee table, blood dripping from her forehead.
"No!"
George charged without thinking.
The creature turned—its face twisted into a grin that stretched too far, filled with teeth that weren't human.
A backhand from the phantom slammed into George's ribs with the force of a truck.
CRACK.
He flew across the room, colliding with the wall. A framed family photo shattered beside him.
Pain flared across his side. His lungs struggled for air.
But he moved.
"I have to get up. I have to protect them."
Blood dripped from his mouth as he staggered to his feet.
"Terry…!"
The boy was still choking, squirming, his small hands clawing at the phantom's grip.
George didn't think. He grabbed the only thing he could—his heavy schoolbag—and hurled it with all his might.
The bag hit the creature square in the face.
It snarled, dropping Terry with a hiss. The child fell, gasping and wheezing.
George rushed forward, fist cocked back.
"Let's see how you like this—!"
His punch went straight through the creature's torso. No resistance. Just cold, suffocating nothing.
His breath caught.
Then—another strike.
The phantom's claw crashed into him, sending him tumbling through the kitchen door. Plates shattered around him. His vision blurred.
It's not human… It's not solid. I can't even touch it…
He coughed blood, struggling to his knees.
Then the temperature dropped again.
The air shimmered.
The phantom turned its smoky mass toward him, condensing, then bursting into mist—black, writhing tendrils snaking toward George.
"No—!"
The darkness slammed into him, entering his mouth, nose, and eyes. It invaded his mind like fire in dry grass.
"Inside. It's inside me."
Pain—white-hot pain. His muscles seized. Blood streamed from his nose. His teeth clenched so tightly they threatened to crack. A scream tore from his throat as something tried to push him out of his own body.
GET OUT!
He gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of willpower he had left. The pressure inside his head was unbearable.
Then—
A surge.
A pulse of energy erupted from his chest. The air twisted. The light in the room flickered.
The phantom was ejected, expelled from his body with a violent screech. It staggered back, flickering, its form unstable.
George collapsed forward, coughing.
But something was different.
He looked up, eyes burning red for a brief second.
Then he stood.
His legs shook. His vision swam. But his will didn't waver.
The phantom tried to recover—but George struck first.
This time, his fist connected.
A sickening crunch echoed through the room. The phantom reeled backward, stunned.
George didn't hesitate.
He moved on instinct, years of martial arts training kicking in. Elbow. Knee. Side kick. Palm strike. Combination after combination landed true.
Each blow weakened the creature. Its form flickered like a bad signal, pieces peeling away like burning paper.
It turned to flee, desperate now.
George grabbed its ankle, yanked it back mid-air, and drove a final crushing punch into the side of its neck.
CRACK.
The creature froze—then erupted into black flames, disintegrating in a flash of heat and smoke. No trace remained. No ash. No scream. Only silence.
George collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.
His hands trembled.
"What… what was that thing…?"
He forced himself to his feet, limping toward Terry. The boy was unconscious but breathing.
George gently cradled his little brother in his arms, checking for wounds.
"Hang in there, buddy… I've got you."
Their mother stirred behind him, groaning as she sat up, dazed.
"George…?"
"I'm here, Mom. We're safe now."
Or so he thought.
Because a boom rocked the house. A section of the living room wall exploded inward, spraying brick and wood.
George spun, shielding his brother.
A figure stepped through the smoke.
She was tall, clad in a black tactical battle uniform lined with silver symbols. A high collar framed her jawline; her black gloves crackled faintly with magical energy. Strapped across her back was a long, ornate blade—glowing faintly.
Her eyes scanned the room, then locked onto George.
"You fought it."
George stood, placing Terry behind him.
"Who the hell are you?"
"I watched the entire fight," she said, ignoring the question. "You survived a phantom possession. And you damaged one physically. That shouldn't be possible."
She stepped forward. "You're not just a human boy, George Reese. Something awakened in you tonight. You have to come with me."
George tensed.
"I don't know who you are, but I'm not going anywhere with a stranger."
She smiled faintly.
"This isn't a request."
With a flick of her wrist, a seal lit up in the air behind her—an ancient sigil burning bright.
"My name is Saya Venn. I'm an A+ ranked hunter. A field commander of the Phantom Hunters—and from this moment on, you're under our protection."
George's breath caught.
"Phantom… Hunters?"
Saya turned, stepping back through the magical seal.
"You can stay here and wait for the next phantom to kill you… or come with me and learn the truth about what you've become."
George looked at his unconscious family, then back at the woman.
He took a breath.
And followed.