Alex barely listened to the story told by the old man in the black mask. To him, it sounded like a bedtime fairy tale for children — banal and predictable. Especially considering that such ghost stories about hospitals could be heard anywhere, if one only looked for them. There were so many of these tales that they had stopped being scary long ago.

The old man’s story ended with the disappearance of the protagonist — a frail patient who, according to the narrator, saw some entity watching him day and night. During the day, it seemed to follow right behind him, and at night it would cling to the ceiling, hanging directly over him. In the end, the old man couldn’t take it anymore and “gave himself up” to that sinister, invisible force… and then simply vanished.

The storyteller finished in one breath, interrupted only by coughing fits. That was understandable — he had admitted himself that he was dying of lung cancer. Alex had a hunch about why the old man in the black mask had ended up here. Perhaps the fear of death had driven him to the Ghost Stories Society, as though clutching at a final straw, hoping to delay the inevitable and live just a little longer.

When the old man finished, another coughing fit doubled him over. He instinctively covered his mouth with his hand — the mask still completely hid his face, but the gesture seemed almost automatic. After clearing his throat, he straightened and froze, waiting for a reaction.

“An intriguing story,” nodded a man in a hooded robe and mask.

“Thank you for the compliment. Glad you enjoyed it,” the old man rasped back, giving a hoarse chuckle.

His laughter was like the caw of a crow, unpleasantly grating on the ears. Alex gave the slightest shake of his head — to him, the story had been dull and second-rate.

On both sides of the table, the masked figures leaned in, whispering among themselves about what they’d heard. Alex noticed that Chen Ge hadn’t taken his eyes off the old man in the black mask. Even despite the mask, Chen Ge’s gaze carried clear distrust toward the tale. Alex frowned, not understanding why — until it dawned on him: maybe the story hadn’t been about a hospital roommate at all… but about the storyteller himself.

He looked again at the old man in the black mask, his curiosity piqued. What sort of creature could he have encountered? Or… had the original old man vanished that night, with something else now inhabiting his body?

A glint flashed in Alex’s eyes as he studied the man more closely. He realized that the soul in this body still belonged to a human, but it was infected with ghostly energy. That meant that after death, the old man would almost certainly become a ghost — a weak, dim, barely perceptible one.

The hooded group kept whispering, occasionally glancing at the storyteller. Chen Ge, noticing something, subtly nudged Alex’s arm. Alex raised a brow, and Chen Ge gave a barely perceptible nod toward the floor. Alex followed his gaze — and saw it. The old man had no shadow. That explained why his soul seemed so faded — the shadow had clearly been stolen.

A few minutes later, the murmuring ceased. Everyone at the table turned their heads in unison, fixing their eyes on the old man in the black mask. For them, one thing mattered above all: the story had to be real, not fabricated.

“Number One’s story was very interesting. A fine start to our gathering. Now, let’s hear from Number Two. Don’t disappoint us,” said the man in the hood, looking at the figure standing beside the old man.

“Go on, Number Two, it’s your turn now,” the old man in the black mask said, coughing.

Alex leaned forward to get a better look at Number Two. He was dressed in a worn, musty-smelling jacket and a plastic harlequin mask, the kind that looked like an old piece of stage prop. The man was short, and seemed even smaller due to a pronounced stoop. His thin frame and jittery movements radiated nervous energy. Every few seconds, he darted glances around the room, as if expecting someone to sneak up on him.

“This story was told to me by a former classmate,” he began in a muffled voice. “But I guarantee you it’s true. He worked as a janitor at the city theater, where an incredibly talented ballerina performed. She outshone everyone — in looks, skill, and grace. The moment she stepped on stage, the hall would fall silent. She was like a white swan, while all the other dancers beside her were nothing more than ordinary gray ducks.”

Alex instinctively shifted his gaze to Chen Ge, then to his shadow. The thought he had been toying with became almost certain: could Chen Ge have come here for the same reason — because of the man who killed the ballerina, whose soul now dwelled inside his shadow?

His suspicion was confirmed when Chen Ge, standing perfectly still, slowly clenched his fist and hid it behind his back. It was a quiet gesture of anger.

Alex looked at Chen Ge’s wavering shadow — and it seemed to him that it was on the verge of unraveling, releasing the silhouette of a ballerina in a scarlet dress. He placed a hand on Chen Ge’s shoulder to get his attention and gave a subtle shake of his head: not now.

Chen Ge, slightly startled, nodded faintly and turned back to the storyteller.

“Everything began a few years ago,” continued the man in the harlequin mask. “That was when a famous ballerina, who had been performing abroad, returned to the city. She gave up her career there to live and work in her hometown. That same year, the theater held auditions, and when she stepped onto the stage… everyone understood they were looking at a true Prima. She was given the lead role on the spot, and all the other girls became nothing more than her backdrop.”

He paused for a moment, as if recalling the scene.

“Of course, that stirred envy. But no one dared harm her openly. Those who tried quickly found themselves confronted by one of her admirers. He was… different. Not just a fan — he was like her shadow. He knew her every entrance, every movement, every word. And when she smiled at someone else… his heart would clench in pain. That pain… fed a dark anger inside him.”

Alex caught himself wishing he had his phone. He was burning to know the ballerina’s name, because the death of someone so famous would surely have made headlines. And if she had become a red ghost, it meant her end was not only tragic, but steeped in hatred.

Now it was clear why the storyteller kept glancing around so nervously — he might have been the target himself. He didn’t look around like that without reason.

“And then came the season’s opening night,” the man’s voice grew quieter, raspier. “She appeared on stage in a pure white dress embroidered with silver. It was as if it had been woven from moonlight. Her dance was as light as the flight of a moth. Just one evening made her the darling of the public. Letters, flowers… But one admirer stood out among all the rest. He was always there with her. He…” — the man hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if to check whether someone was standing right behind him — “he didn’t just protect her. He was watching her.”

Alex kept a close eye on Chen Ge, ready to intervene if he lost control. Each word spoken by the man in the harlequin mask seemed to tighten Chen Ge’s restraint — his fist clenched harder and harder, as if he were one step away from smashing it into the storyteller’s face.

Alex tore his gaze away from Chen Ge and fixed it on the man in the pig mask. From his build alone, Alex knew — this was Zhu Xiu, the very man he had come here for.

Beneath his white mask, Alex’s face split into a broad, predatory grin. The man in the pig mask suddenly flinched slightly, clearly sensing the threat radiating toward him.

Alex quickly looked away — too soon. The key was to wait for the perfect moment… and put on a real show for everyone.

With an almost imperceptible gesture, Alex signaled to GIR, Mimi, and Stitch, who were hidden in the hall under camouflage. They instantly caught the message, and their eyes locked in unison on the man in the pig mask. No one in the room noticed as the trio began moving silently, taking up their preselected positions.

Alex looked again at the man in the harlequin mask, who continued his story:

“One evening, after a triumphant performance, the Prima ballerina was walking home alone. A narrow, dark alley lit only by the dim glow of street lamps became the scene of her tragedy. Her admirer, driven mad by jealousy, attacked her. The white dress, a symbol of her innocence, was torn and soaked in blood. Her last scream dissolved into the silence of the night. But it didn’t end there. Some time later, she returned to the theater… but no longer as a human. From that day, her spirit remained within the old walls, twisted by pain and thirst for revenge. Her pure white dress turned crimson, her eyes burned with a hellish fire. Every midnight she appeared on stage, continuing her endless dance — now for an audience of the dead. Those who dared to come to the theater at that hour became part of her audience forever, filling the empty seats among the voiceless shadows. But she always left one seat empty — the seat in the front row, where her killer once sat…”

The voice of the man in the harlequin mask wavered, as if he could feel her presence himself.

Looking at him, Alex saw nothing but a wretch — a repressed coward who had once mistaken a simple gesture of kindness for the spark of a great love. There were far too many stories like that to count. In any case, it would be up to Chen Ge… and the ballerina in his shadow… to decide his fate.

“Not a bad plot,” the third man in the row — cloaked in a hood — interrupted. “But the pacing is odd. Learn to retell other people’s stories in a way that makes people want to listen. Still… I liked it. What about you?”

“At least it’s more interesting than what the new guy told last week. Since he’s gone, now it’s your turn, Number Three,” another added.

“Wait,” a man on the left interrupted, fixing his gaze on the harlequin. “Number Two, do you know Number Four?”

“No, I don’t,” the harlequin shook his head quickly.

“Then why,” the man’s voice turned cold, “did you keep looking at him — both consciously and unconsciously — while telling your story?”

The harlequin froze. All this time he had been feeling that long-forgotten sensation… the presence he had once tried to escape from. And it was coming from Chen Ge.

From the corner of his eye, Alex noticed Chen Ge’s shadow trembling, its shape shifting, ready to take on the form of the ballerina. He needed to act without drawing attention. At that moment, Zhang Ya came to his aid — Alex’s shadow briefly took her form, slipped over to Chen Ge’s shadow, and touched it. Instantly, the trembling stopped. It all happened too quickly for anyone to notice.

By then, the harlequin had already lied, claiming he didn’t know Chen Ge. Which meant it was now the turn of the man in the pig mask. Alex grinned broadly and cracked his knuckles. The moment the pig opened his mouth — he would strike. The need for secrecy was gone now; he was certain this was Zhu Xiu.

“I’d say this evening is getting more interesting,” one of the men remarked. “Number Five, do you know Number Three?”

“Sounds like none of your business. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” Alex smirked.

“You’re right,” the man replied calmly. “But you’re breaking the club’s rules. So I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“And if I don’t? What, you gonna cry?” Alex chuckled.

“Then,” the man’s voice turned hoarse, “I’ll insist on it.”

When the man’s voice fell silent and his words came to an end, the doors quietly swung open, and the Plague Doctor appeared — the same one who had earlier guided Alex and Chen Ge into the room. The man at the table cast a brief glance at him and, with a barely noticeable nod toward Alex, indicated what needed to be done.

The Plague Doctor bowed slightly and, slowly approaching Alex, extended a hand, inviting him to step forward. Alex squinted behind his mask, then gave a faint smirk. With calm, deliberate steps, he moved toward the exit, catching Chen Ge’s worried glance out of the corner of his eye. With a subtle gesture, Alex signaled that everything was fine.

They stepped out of the hall. The Plague Doctor followed behind, taking deep, drawn-out breaths, as if savoring the trail of scent emanating from Alex. Once they had reached a safe distance, Alex suddenly stopped and turned his head toward him.

“I think I already told you that if you keep sniffing me, I’ll break your beak,” he said quietly, his voice cold as steel. “Apparently, you have a hearing problem. But don’t worry… soon you won’t be able to hear anything at all.”

“He-he-he-he…” the Plague Doctor chuckled nastily. “Go ahead. We’ll have a good time.”

Alex’s grin widened beneath the mask. In the next instant, his hand shot out and grabbed the opponent by the collar. With his other hand pulled back, he delivered a sharp, precise strike to the face. The Plague Doctor’s head jerked, but instead of a groan of pain, he only laughed.

Alex yanked him toward himself and struck again. Then a third time. Again, laughter tore through the silence. Irritation built in Alex’s chest. He lifted the Plague Doctor higher and slammed him back-first into the wall with force.

“I told you I’d rip your beak off,” Alex hissed quietly, pressing him harder. “And now I’m going to do it.”

Without giving the opponent a word, Alex grabbed the beak and, with a single powerful tug, broke it. A scream of pain tore through the corridor, and thick, dark-red blood gushed from the shattered piece.

Playing almost casually, Alex turned the fragment in his hand and drove it forcefully into the Plague Doctor’s eye socket. Still unsatisfied, he struck the fragment with his fist, driving it deeper until the sharp end pierced the back of the head, pinning it to the wall.

Knowing he had to end it, Alex straightened his hand and thrust it into the enemy’s throat. A sharp yank to the side — and the head separated from the body. Along the corridor wall stretched a long, jagged streak, as if carved by a giant knife.

The decapitated body crumpled to the floor, limp and lifeless, while the head remained pinned, skewered on the beak fragment.

“I warned you…” Alex said quietly, kicking the body. “Sniffing me was a bad idea. Now you’re dead. Your fault.”

He slowly surveyed the apartment doors on the 24th floor, behind which the local ghosts lurked. The corridor fell into a deathly silence. If they had once feared the Plague Doctor, dreading becoming his prey, now they faced someone far more dangerous.

No one dared to respond. Not a rustle, not a breath. Alex smirked beneath his mask and ran a hand across his face, wiping the blood. The red streaks smeared into a chilling, painted-in-blood smile.

“Since no one objects,” he said quietly, but loud enough for all to hear, “that means I can return. It’s time to finish what I came here to do.”

Alex’s gaze lingered on the Plague Doctor’s head, still pinned to the wall by the shard of his own beak. He grabbed it by the edges of the mask and, in one swift motion, tore it from its mountings. Holding the head in his hand, Alex moved back down the corridor, humming a carefree melody that sounded disturbingly sinister in this setting.

At the red door, he lifted his foot and with a powerful kick tore it off its hinges. The door flew across the room, slamming loudly against the far wall. Everyone inside instinctively flinched and turned their heads toward the source of the noise. What they saw made them shudder even more: in the doorway stood a man in a white mask, now smeared with blood forming a terrifying “smile.” In his hand, he held the mutilated head of the Plague Doctor — broken beak, shattered eye socket, a shard protruding from it.

“Hello, girls!” Alex said in an almost cheerful tone. “Didn’t expect me? I’m back. And I brought you a gift.”

With that, he tossed the head onto the table. It arced through the air, bounced a couple of times off the tabletop, and came to rest squarely in the center. Dark blood quickly spread from the wound where the beak had been.

Alex slowly approached the table where ten people were seated, grabbed a chair, and sat down in the center, throwing his legs onto the table. Chen Ge, observing everything, was stunned — Alex’s behavior was drastically different from just minutes ago.

“Since I’m back, the rules change,” Alex continued, his voice carrying a sense of amusement. “You love scary stories, and I love games. The game is simple: all you have to do is walk through the door behind me. Easy, right?”

“Do you even realize who you’re talking to?” growled the man sitting closest. “You think you can just kill our cook and…”

He didn’t finish his sentence.

“I don’t like being interrupted,” Alex said lazily, glancing toward the man who had spoken. “Teach this idiot to keep his mouth shut.”

No one understood who he was referring to until the man’s head suddenly slammed against the table with a dull thud. The GIR camouflage dropped away, revealing a strange green dog in a ninja outfit methodically smashing the man’s face against the table. The sounds of the blows repeated over and over until blood began to flow from beneath the destroyed mask.

Another strange creature approached — a blue dog. It grabbed the man by the arm and pinned it to the table with a knife.

The old man in the black mask, the man in the harlequin mask, and Zhu Xu in the pig mask tried to retreat, but metal clicked behind them. Turning around, they saw a pink dog holding a large gun at the ready.

“I suggest everyone take a seat. No one leaves until I say so,” Alex said, then, turning to Chen Ge, added, “And you sit down too. Don’t worry, you’ll get what you came for.”

Chen Ge wanted to refuse, but sensing Alex had no intention of harming him, he sat down beside him. Meanwhile, the pounding of the man’s head against the wooden table continued unabated.

Alex slowly removed his mask and placed it in front of him. Beneath it was a young man, which surprised many. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, exhaling the smoke upward, then cast a glance at the mutilated face of the man GIR was still beating.

Raising his hand, Alex signaled them to stop. GIR delivered one last “farewell” strike and released the victim. The man collapsed onto the table, unconscious.

“You know,” Alex said, flicking the ash, “I’ve changed my mind. The rules are changing again. But first…” He pointed to the five in masks and robes whose shadows were missing. “You five — you’re out.”

The five Alex pointed at were ghosts meant to possess the bodies of the newcomers in the Ghost Story Society. But they didn’t even have time to move — five shots rang out in the room, and their decapitated bodies fell to the floor almost simultaneously.

On the table stood GIR, MIMI, and Stitch, holding smoking weapons from the shots. No one had the courage to make a sound. The echoes of the gunfire hadn’t even faded, and the tension in the room was almost tangible. Everyone pressed into the backs of their chairs, trying to become as inconspicuous as possible, fearing the next bullet might be theirs.

Chen Ge, on the other hand, was stunned not by the ghosts falling, but by the cold determination with which these strange creatures, who had appeared to him during the day, killed without hesitation at the first command.

“Well, now that the pesky leeches are gone, it’s your turn,” Alex said, drawing a knife and lazily plunging its blade into the center of the table. “New rules: to leave this room, each of you will leave a part of yourself. Or… a part of the person sitting next to you.”

Everyone looked at the knife lying in the center of the table, and then at each other, suspiciously. Doctor Gao was particularly thoughtful, his gaze fixed on Alex the entire time, as if trying to decipher his true identity. Alex was curious to see how the others would act — whether they would cut a part of themselves or attempt to take a part from someone else at the table.

They all exchanged glances, each now seemingly fending for themselves. And the weapons GIR, MIMI, and Stitch had aimed at them pressed even more on the seven seated at the table — except for Doctor Gao, who remained calm amid the chaos.

The first to break was the old man in the black mask. With one swift motion, he grabbed the knife from the table and cut off his pinky. He pressed the wound after severing it and looked at Alex.

“Now I can go?” he asked, a restrained groan in his voice.

“Yeah, get lost, old man,” Alex waved his hand. “And don’t let me see you again. Spend your remaining days quietly.”

The old man in the black mask nodded and headed for the door, clutching his injured hand. Alex didn’t even look at him — he hadn’t come here for him. The man in the Harlequin mask and Zhu Xu glanced at the bloodied knife, contemplating whether they, too, should cut off a pinky.

After all, none of them wanted to end up with a hole in their head. The first to grab the knife was the man in the Harlequin mask, who cut off his pinky. Immediately after, Zhu Xu seized the knife and did the same, cutting off his own pinky as well. Both men then looked at Alex, waiting for his permission to leave.

Alex smirked, his smile full of something predatory:

“Unfortunately, you two are staying.”

Both men jerked back, their faces contorted with terror, eyes filling with despair.

“You never intended to let them go,” Doctor Gao rasped.

“Ding-ding! Correct,” Alex said, stretching his lips into an even more horrifying grin. “But there’s no prize for the right answer. You see, there’s someone who thirsts for revenge. And I, as a good husband, cannot disappoint my wife. Right, Zhang Ya?”

When the name Zhang Ya rang out, Zhu Xu broke out in a cold sweat. Without a second thought, he dashed for the door. But just as he reached the exit, a door — one that shouldn’t have been there — slammed shut with a crash right in front of his face. Hitting his forehead against the wood, he slid down helplessly, leaving a smear of blood across the smooth surface.

The man in the Harlequin mask felt that primal fear as well. His eyes darted around the room until they caught a familiar, painfully unsettling presence. Turning his head, he met burning, hate-filled red eyes. He trembled, stepping back as the realization hit him — he knew who stood before him, and all he wanted was never to see her again.

While Alex and Chen Ge watched those they had come for, five members of the Ghost Story Society took advantage of the distraction and slipped into the darkness. Alex noticed their escape but didn’t even flinch. The remnants of the Society were now Chen Ge’s problem.

“Don’t come near! Go away! Disappear!” the Harlequin mask shouted, backing away from the approaching figure.

The ballerina in the blood-red dress moved slowly, yet inexorably. Her steps were precise, like a predator stalking before the strike. The man backed up until his spine met the cold wall. One more moment—and an icy hand touched his chest. He only had time to meet the soulless eyes of the ballerina.

Her hand slid effortlessly into his ribcage. Her fingers closed around his beating heart. With one smooth, almost elegant motion, she tore it out, and blood sprayed across the wall like a painter’s brushstroke.

Chen Ge flinched involuntarily. This monster lived in his shadow, but witnessing her cruelty in person was an entirely different ordeal. The ballerina approached him with light, almost dance-like steps and extended the bloodied heart.

“Um… and what am I supposed to do with this?” Chen Ge asked dryly, not touching the offered gift.

“For the love of the creator, just accept the gift from the girl,” Alex smirked, kicking the chair Chen Ge had been sitting on.

Under the mask, Chen Ge grimaced but reached out his hand. The moment the heart touched his palm, it crumbled into ash, settling in gray flakes on his skin. No matter how much he rubbed his hands, the ashes didn’t disappear—they seemed to soak in, as if leaving a mark on him.

Alex just shook his head, watching his futile attempts, then turned his gaze to Zhu Xu, who was still tugging at the closed door. A sharp whistle—and GIR, MIMI, and Stitch leaped from the table.

Within seconds, Zhu Xu lay on the floor: beaten, tied up, with a sack over his head. Alex nodded in satisfaction, giving the trio a thumbs-up—they had acted quickly and precisely, turning the man into a helpless “caterpillar.”

He had gotten what he came for. All that remained was to put Zhu Xu through a marathon of pain and amusement. Alex already knew where he would send him—into the Red World, where he could “entertain” himself with the local inhabitants. If luck favored him, Zhu Xu might even meet Bison and Simmons, who were also having a fine time in Red City.

To be continued…

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep