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Novel Catalog
Chapter 117
Henderson hurled himself against the couch and shoved Stellar with all his strength. “Colonel Orwell—wake up!”
When Stellar remained unmoving, Henderson pinched his cheek until he groaned, “Ugh…” and blinked awake.
Above his face, a grotesque specter hovered, its twisted features contorted in fury. Exhaling a curse, Stellar swung a fist, only to pass through the black mist. His eyes flew open as he sat upright, heart hammering. All around the room, countless ghostly visages drifted in the storm-light, shrieking with otherworldly rage.
“Colonel,” Henderson stammered, “Nash wants you!”
Stellar pushed himself upright and surveyed the scene: thirty-six offering bowls, each aglow with flickering flames, circled the levitating warden.
Nash’s voice rang out: “Stellar—add more corpse oil to the bowls.”
“Where?” Stellar gasped.
“In the white flask on the coffee table!” Brian called, his voice quivering from behind the couch.
Stellar lunged for the flask, but three phantom faces lunged at him. Nash’s calm command cut through the chaos: “Stand firm. These spirits cannot harm you. Channel the presence you wield on the battlefield.”
Trembling, Stellar inhaled. Fury sparked in his gaze, and a low, lethal aura seeped from his bones—the hard-earned power of countless campaigns. The ghosts recoiled, frozen by his wrath.
He slipped beneath the formation of bowls and poured fresh oil into each that flickered low. As the liquid soaked in, the flames blazed taller, and the tigers’ spectral heads reemerged, roaring down the phantoms into retreat.
Stellar stood sentinel beside Nash, vigilant whenever a bowl’s light dimmed.
Outside, the storm raged on as thunder and fire lit the sky. The clock struck six.
—
In the city, Hera emerged from her office building into the drenching rain. Clutching her briefcase overhead, she squinted at the downpour. Hunter, umbrella in hand, hurried over. “Rara, let me walk you home?” he offered, hopeful.
Hera’s lips curled. “Leave me alone.”
Hunter pressed the umbrella toward her. “I know you despise me, but give me one chance. I’ll prove I’m worthy of your love.”
A cool voice cut through the patter of rain. “Why don’t you look in that puddle and see a real reflection?”
Both turned to see Olivia approach, umbrella unfurled. She glanced scornfully at Hunter. “She told you to get lost. Have some dignity.”
Hunter’s face hardened. “Olivia Lee—”
“Pig,” Olivia spat. “Stupid heir to a third-rate family. You have no right to speak to her—or me.”
Their insults collided with the storm’s roar as Hera slipped inside, determined to ignore the drama unfolding in the rain.