The street racer froze, her heart pounding as she realized braking had saved her. If she hadn't, she would've been part of the wreck.
"Haha—he ditched me," Elisabeth Chan laughed breathlessly, staring at the chaos. "I almost ended up in a triple collision."
He'd deliberately cut off the taxi, forcing it into a delivery truck—blocking her path while he slipped away.
"Not even I would've thought to pull something like that," she muttered, shaking her head. "That guy's insane."
She smiled.
"He'd rather cause an accident than race me properly. Guess he really had something important to do."
Elisabeth—Liz, to her friends—pulled the lollipop from her mouth with a soft pop.
"Well," she sighed, "better get out of here before Grandpa gets mad that I stayed out late again."
She reversed off the curb and sped away, not wanting to get caught up in the legal mess brewing behind her. One of the drivers was already calling the police—and that was the last thing she needed.
Buzz. Buzz.
Her phone vibrated.
"Hello?" she answered, flipping it open.
A voice came through the line.
"How was the ride? Did you have fun, you ungrateful grandchild?! Do you think I wouldn't find out when you put pillows under your covers, huh? You better not be racing again!"
Liz's smile froze.
"Of course not, yéye," she said. "I'm… taking a walk in the garden."
Twenty minutes later, Qiren reached his destination, parking two hundred meters away from the gang's auto shop.
"That woman really knew how to keep up," he finally let out a breath. "If she worked with the police, dealers all around the world would be in trouble."
He opened the door as the rain thinned into a drizzle.
A swarm of mosquitoes gathered around him.
He swatted them away, then stepped out and began loading Falco's revolver.
Afterward, he secured it to his pants.
He still didn't really understand how he'd conjured the extra clothing he was wearing. Otherwise, he would've used the same principle to duplicate his revolver instead of tracking through the woods.
Leaving the car behind, he hiked the last hundred meters until he reached a rundown warehouse, crouching low through the brush.
He blended into the vegetation, shadows swallowing his form.
Various cars were parked outside—half-stripped, missing wheels, left sitting on bricks. Inside, mechanics worked on modifying vehicles belonging to top Red Flag gang members.
His eyes shifted from the auto shop to the guards patrolling its perimeter.
One carried a wrench. Another had a double-barrel shotgun, with a strap of twenty to thirty shells worn like a sash across his torso.
Great. Job complete—if I want to be shot to hell by the snipers up top.
Qiren looked toward the second-floor railing. With his knowledge, he knew better than to rush in and steal a patrolman's gun.
Above him stood a group of men in unofficial uniforms—red shirts, biker jackets with red flags stitched on, or red bandanas tied to represent loyalty.
They were enforcers, monitoring the guards and mechanics below.
Their role was to oversee operations, scout the forest, and lead attacks in the event of an ambush—armed with military-grade rifles.
He might've been classified as a ghost at this point, but risking his life against whatever firepower they had ready would be about as wise as cursing his own nine generations.
He still planned on taking the shotgun—just not now. First, he needed a way in.
Backing through the brush, he circled the building. That's when he spotted a man walking deeper into the woods.
An unexpected but welcome gift.
The revolver on the man's waist sealed the decision. Instead of searching for a back entrance, Qiren followed him.
The man stopped at a tree to relieve himself.
"Ah, God…" the gangster muttered as urine streamed against the bark.
He never noticed the ghastly figure rising behind him—until it was too late.
Qiren lunged, clamping a hand over the man's mouth and pulling him into a chokehold.
"Shhh."
The gangster reached for his revolver but began gasping as a foul fog poured into his throat like dark mist.
His windpipe closed. Fibers and muscle melted together, stitching into an unbreathable knot. His eyes reddened as his lungs strained and failed, internal bleeding spreading rapidly.
His heart pumped frantically while his brain tried to force the airway open—tearing the sealed flesh into a gore-soaked wound that continued to close.
Qiren watched with cold calculation.
The words he might be classified as a ghost weren't metaphorical. His body was compressed spiritual matter, directly stitched together by his consciousness.
This left his "matter" unstable. Without constant concentration, his body would fade—or sink through physical objects.
The arm holding the choke shifted into the man's neck, half tangible and half intangible—but the man could feel it blocking his airways from the inside.
"Shhh… give up," Qiren whispered. "It'll be okay. I'll continue living for you."
The man's shaking hand reached his gun, eyes burning as he fought to stay conscious despite the blur creeping into his vision.
He aimed it at Qiren's eye.
Qiren wasn't frightened in the slightest. Perhaps witnessing the abyss and its creations firsthand had numbed his fear.
"It's over," he said, moving his hand from the man's mouth to the gun.
He smelled the fear—it made the soul even more tantalizing. Qiren drooled unconsciously. He hadn't felt hunger like this in a very long time.
The thug's eyes welled with tears, his body trembling as he stared at the thing above him.
"D-d… devil…"
Qiren's lips split at the seams. His teeth sharpened—more growing in jagged rows along both jaws.
His mouth expanded with each addition, stopping only when it was wide enough to bite through a skull.
Saliva drenched the terrified man as he gazed into the depths of hell itself.
Crunch!
The dripping jaws clamped shut, biting through bone with a sickening crack. Blood, brain matter, bone—Qiren tasted it all.
It was intoxicating.
His mouth widened again—then split his lower jaw in two to make room.
…
"For fuck's sake, Xu Kang, don't just walk out of the woods like that."
Swish… Swish…
A dark-haired man emerged, wearing a black leather jacket emblazoned with a red flag. The front hung open, revealing a white tank top.
Mud clung to his leather boots and stained his black denim jeans.
"What are you afraid of, with a nice toy like that hanging around you?" Xu Kang teased, pointing at the man's semi-automatic rifle. "Wanna trade for a bit? I'll give you my revolver."
"You're lucky I didn't start firing the moment I saw you. Now get back to work," the guard snapped, gesturing with his weapon.
"Alright, alright. Guess you can't take a piss anymore," Xu Kang grumbled as he walked off.
The moment he passed the higher-ranking patrolman, his face turned cold.
What have I become?
It's like every soul I eat gets incorporated into mine.
Whatever I've become, this new form makes the incorporating effect of my Bronze Body Incineration talismans look like child's play, Qiren thought as a ripple crossed his skin.
The downside is soul compatibility. This Xu Kang persona won't last more than a few hours—the opposite of Falco's layered beneath.
Now that he'd digested Xu Kang, the difference was night and day.
Xu Kang's soul was more delicious—seasoned with terror—but unstable.
Falco's soul had been drier, confused, yet higher grade, nearly forming a spiritual visage at death. That quality had allowed Qiren to maintain his form far longer.
Even humans had varying grades of quality.
Qiren walked around the building unobstructed, his belt carrying two pistols as he pretended to be on guard duty.
When he entered the warehouse, the smell of motor oil hit him immediately.
Inside were stacked tires, stripped frames, stolen license plates hanging from rusted hooks. The storage area held tarped-over cars—old, damaged shells kept for parts.
Graffiti coated the walls, layered around a door leading into a corner corridor. The buzz of drills, wires, and blaring music echoed through the space.
That corridor led to the front of the auto shop—where mechanics worked nonstop.
He didn't plan on greeting them.
Instead, he turned toward the iron stairs leading upward. The rafters clinked as footsteps descended.
Qiren pulled back as he spotted a firearm.
He slipped behind a tarped vehicle, peering out at the solitary figure yawning his way down the stairs, a silver chain swaying side to side.
"A rifle…"
His body rippled—then cracked.
I thought I had a few more minutes as Xu Kang, he hissed internally as fissures split across his form.
A chunk of his jacket fell away, dissolving into smoke—revealing the gray sleeve of Falco's trench coat beneath.
Falco's soul really is sturdier.
He repositioned behind the tarp just as the enforcer reached the floor.
The man scanned the area.
Then—
Something shifted.
"Who's there?" the guard snapped, raising his rifle. "Hands up, I know someone's—"
Qiren burst forward, yanking the tarp over the man's head and wrenching the rifle free before he could fire.
Clink.
The weapon hit the floor.
"Mmm! Mmm!!!"
Qiren dragged him into the vehicle, slamming the door shut.
The knife flashed.
STAB! STAB!
Muffled screams turned to agonized cries as metal plunged again and again into the man's chest.
Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.
A demon. I'm a demon. If I stop and he survives, it's over.
Qiren pierced the heart and held him there until the body stilled.
"Two down," he muttered, swallowing the rising soul whole.
When he stepped out, he was already changing.