With a mere passing thought, Wraith’s clothes were replaced and his blazer turned into the red robe once more. His pace was fast as he walked down the enormous white marble entryway to the dining hall. A loud crash was accompanied as he threw open the doors, causing everyone in the room to whip their heads towards him. The followers of the specter sat at the tables feasting, not caring about the mess they made, but neither did Wraith, hence the dining hall was always draped with all shades of red stains and leftovers. Although he had it cleaned after every meal, it would dirty nearly immediately. His followers stopped eating and went on one knee upon his arrival, particularly two spirits came directly in front of him. On Wraith’s left was a large empty suit of black armor which emit a dark smoke, while on the right was an orc-like man with four arms, blue skin, and a long white ponytail. They were typically considered his generals, while others call them his right hand men. The terminology made no difference to Wraith, what mattered to him was that he knew he could trust them.

“Boss, you look upset, what’s up? We picking a fight?” Neio, the orc, asked; although his head was still down, he could feel the immense fiery aura coming off of Wraith. Although Dahlia, the suit of armor, didn’t- or rather couldn’t- speak, it was clear to Wraith that they had the same question. Somehow, Dahlia was always understood without uttering a word.

“Ianthe invaded the territory.” Those were the only words that they needed to hear. Neio and Dahlia rose to their feet as Wraith left the room. “To arms!” Neio roared, the other spirits rallying to the cry in response.

Wraith sat in his room spinning his kiseru pipe, thinking about how he wanted to go about Ianthe. The room was fairly simple, although incredibly large. There were few decorations, and even fewer sets of furniture. At the far end was an immense vermillion bed, which surprisingly took up most of the room and was draped with a canopy, which was more opaque than most. The only other set of furniture in the room was the lounge area matching the bed in color. He only really used the room for resting and intercourse, so he didn't care if others came in uninvited, as long as they paid their respects. Regarding Ianthe, she had a spell active which kept the world oblivious about the murderer’s actions. If he killed her, then the spell would be released and the murderer would be caught, so Izumi wouldn’t be credited. Whether he wanted to or not, he had to keep Ianthe alive in order to keep his promise to Izumi. It wasn’t all bad though, as he had already come up with an ingenious plan as to how to repay her for the kind act of trespassing in his territory. Regardless of the reason, Wraith wanted to make it clear to her that she made a mistake, one that she would live long enough to regret. It didn’t take much time for Wraith’s followers to prepare, they were always itching for a fight, but Wraith was always a theatrical person. To start with, he only took Dahlia and Neio and set off.

Ianthe fancied the medieval European style of buildings, so she had her home designed the same. It was made primarily out of stone and the decorations were more melancholic and mostly devoid of color, which many would describe as tacky, but she liked them nonetheless. To add to the charm of the castle, she always wore a dress, one that was modern yet still extravagant; in addition to keeping her long hair cared for everyday, which was black to her shoulders, while the rest was indigo. By all means, she was a beautiful woman, and many followed her based on that alone. The specter of guilt didn’t enjoy her job, however. She detested getting filthy, so she always tried to carefully devour her victims, although she was always unsuccessful. On the other hand, Wraith didn’t care. Most of the time he enjoyed making a mess of his victims, only giving care to those he doesn’t care to eat. Nothing vexed her more than him, as he was the complete opposite of her in every way. And with that, she finally decided to put an end to his vile behavior.

“Wraith.” Ianthe sat upon her throne, knowing exactly why he has appeared before her. In comparison, Ianthe had a total of six generals by her side, who stood at the foot of the stairs which led to the throne.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke from his kiseru pipe, Dahlia and Neio standing behind him. “Ianthe~ I really am busy, so I won’t waste your time. Before I liquidate every spirit in this building, you mind telling me why you had the most incredibly deranged idea as to set foot AND cast a large scale spell in my territory? You can’t tell me it’s just because you hate me, because everyone hates me, but they all have the common sense to not deliberately piss me off.”

“It goes beyond hate, Wraith. You’re disgusting, repugnant, arrogant, putrid, disagreeable, vile, foul, beastly, abominable. You’re the entire reason why our world has shifted. With your growing power you reach a complete monopoly over the human world. Before we know it, you’ll have conquered every territory and the human race will reach extinction under a leader such as you. Without humans, our own race will follow and subsequently die off. Utter chaos. Anarchy. You feign power and you rule by fear, yet I am the only one willing to act because only I can see definitively what you’re planning.”

Wraith erupts into a roar of laughter, which only serves to enrage Ianthe even more. “You think I want to what now? HAH and you think I’m the insane one! If I really wanted to do that, I would’ve done that a long time ago, don’t you think? Or, let me guess, you think I’m going to do it all nice and slow, slip the rug from right underneath your feet one day. You’re killing me!” He continues to maniacally laugh, Ianthe on the verge of ending him sooner. “Then let me tell you why YOU’RE the dunce. Once I kill you, I’ll have added your territory to my own, which only adds to my ‘growing monopoly’ as you call it. Have you ever thought about that?”

Ianthe clicks her tongue in anger. “I have no intention of losing.”

“Then, my little pierrot, why don’t I show you why that’ll be your fatal mistake.”

As though on command, a tear in the air appears behind Wraith and his generals in the form of a claw. The sky peels back, revealing a fiendish swarm of spirits, all ravaging with bloodlust as they’re pushing each other to be the first to be released into the castle. Roaring voices and cries fill the throne room, and for a passing of a moment, Ianthe debates if she made the right decision. Wraith slowly lifts his hand, the feral spirits coming to a halt in the same beat. With a motion downward, the spirits flood out of the tear in the sky. A highly exhilarated Neio draws his four swords and rushes down a hallway with a section of the flock of spirits following in suit, while the others follow behind Dahlia, who charges down a corridor on the opposing end. Ianthe’s six generals launch forward in an attempt to cut down Wraith to end the battle before blood can hit the stone, while Ianthe stays behind, biting the bullet and sacrificing her generals to see what she’s truly up against. With a casual motion, Wraith tosses his kiseru pipe towards them. Rather than the pipe disappearing as it usually does, it morphs into a six legged colossal malformed beast, whose skin is peeled tightly onto its body. Its head is split into three unequal pieces, all of which are roughly triangular in shape and lined with jagged teeth all around. There are no distinguishable eyes, and the claws of the beast are layered several times, while on its back are two long malnourished human-like arms. Before the generals could react, they were shredded and torn to pieces by the beast, not even coming within twenty feet of Wraith. The small chunks of meat rain down as the beast lands, making its way back to Wraith like a hound to its master. Ianthe knew that a fight against a specter would be difficult, but she still didn’t expect her generals to be defeated so easily, and all without Wraith taking a single step forward. Down the individual halls nightmarish shrieks could be heard, but judging by Wraith’s unbothered nature, Ianthe knew it wasn’t the cries of his men. As the monstrosity paced around Wraith, Ianthe observed. Observed his nonchalant demeanor that she hated so. Observed as he smoked a cigarette while blood began to leak out of the corridors and into the main hall where they stood. Observed as it pooled around his feet while he merely stood, uninterested, and returned her stare. Nothing irked Ianthe more than the fact that she never knew what he was thinking. She believed all spirits to be the same, with only bloodshed and their next meal on their mind. She believed the same of him, given his past records, yet here he stood. Nearly motionless, aside from the occasional inhale from his cigarette, which he lit in place of his transformed pipe. She didn’t know what he was waiting for, but she didn’t want to initiate combat either. Whether she wished to admit it or not, the creature which circled around him terrified her, more specifically, the fact that he made it with ease. A careless toss of a smoking pipe resulted in the deaths of the entirety of her generals which she had spent centuries with. Ianthe nearly considered them as close as blood, and they were gone without so much as putting a scratch on the opposing specter. Despair. For a brief moment the emotion flickered in her heart and she shook it off immediately, but it was futile. He knew. The man cloaked in red which stood in a pool of blood at the center of her grandiose throne room wickedly beamed from ear to ear, his creophagous white teeth matched those of the beast that stood beside him. He flicked the cigarette into the scarlet bath beneath his feet, extinguishing it immediately. Recalling the disfigured beast, which vanished rather than reforming into his pipe, he finally took a step forward. The emotion pounded on the door to Ianthe’s heart, but she knew that if she let it in again that it would overwhelm her, and against this opponent, it was the one thing she couldn’t afford. As she stood from her throne, she stretched out her hand as the indigo segment of her hair detached itself and formed a spear in her hand, but the moment it materialized she found the barbaric hellhound of a man in front of her and the gate in her heart flooded open as the color drained from her face. The speed of his movements were unmatched as he emerged before she could finish rising from her throne, her unparalleled distress causing her to collapse into the throne once more. His mismatched eyes burned as she gazed upwards, completely static, like a deer in headlights. Ianthe was always a confident person, and despite odds being against her, she would always keep her head high and face the obstacle head on. But she couldn’t. Vast emotions overwhelmed her as the man before her moved slowly and apathetically. He placed his right foot between the gap of her legs. Leaning on his knee, he slipped the spear from her hands; Ianthe too distraught to prevent the action. With one hand, he tightened his grip on the spear and it shattered like glass, showering by the foot of her throne. Not for a moment did his eyes part from hers. There wasn’t a shred of emotion displayed on his countenance, juxtaposing Ianthe’s inordinate range of sensations. Delicately, he lifted Ianthe’s right arm, with a hand on her wrist and the other by her elbow. With each passing second, Ianthe’s breath and heart rate grew more and more rapid before he finally squeezed the area by her elbow and pulled her wrist, effortlessly detaching her forearm. The screams fell onto deaf ears as her followers were reduced to the vermillion pool which lay beneath them. Without a word or a wince, he repeated the process for the other arm. Using her legs, Ianthe attempted to launch herself out of the throne in an effort to escape, which was thwarted immediately by Wraith pushing her down into the throne and grabbing ahold of her remaining arm. This time, he was slow. As he pulled the arm, her skin, muscles, and tendons could be seen detaching like the torn sleeves of a worn down coat. Crimson ichor poured out of what remained of her arms while he moved onto her legs, Ianthe now too defeated and drained to attempt to resist his removal of them. She sat motionless on her throne as Wraith lifted her chin. He placed both of his blood soaked hands on her cheeks and seemed to carefully plan his next action. Leisurely, he slid his hands up her cheeks and placed his thumbs over her indigo eyes before finally gouging them out, allowing the last sight she saw be his depraved smile which equally matched his eyes. On the right arm of her throne, he set down her eyes. Using the blood on his hands as makeshift paint, he slid his fingers across to make a smile. Her voice was hoarse from screaming, but it didn’t matter, as the last thing he did was remove her ability to speak. He placed a hand on the backboard of the throne. Lifting her chin, he locked his lips with hers. Briefly, she graced his tongue, which became the last sensation that she felt before his carnivorous teeth bared into her tongue, removing it completely. Detaching his lips, he spit her tongue onto the floor. There was nothing left of Ianthe. A husk of her former self. Never did she think to herself that she would know what it’s like to lose her sense of being, but now, she did. And to her most loathed foe, the specter of despair.

It takes time for specters to die, especially from blood loss, this, Wraith knew. As such, he knew he didn’t have to rush to cauterize her wounds, but at the least, she was immobile, so he didn’t have to worry about her escaping his grasp. Wraith licked his lips, letting the blood of another specter swirl inside his mouth, savoring every second of it. If there was one regret he had, it was the fact that he couldn’t devour her just yet. He turned and gazed upon the empty throne room, the massive hall’s floor now covered with a red blanket. It didn’t take much time after he finished with Ianthe for his generals, Neio and Dahlia, to return to the throne room with their legions. The tear in the sky was still present in the hall, allowing for Wraith’s followers to take their leave after they had their fill. Neio and Dahlia, however, knelt before Wraith at the foot of the stairs. At times like these, they’re grateful to be on his side. If he could reduce a specter to a pitiful sight such as that, then what about them?

Wraith began to lick the blood off of his hands while he addressed his generals. “The castle is clear?”

“Yes boss.” They both responded, with Dahlia responding telepathically and Neio orally.

“I don’t really like this place. Quite tacky. Have the servants come in and salvage what they can, food and the like. If either of you want the castle after that you can have it. Here, for your effort.” Wraith tossed them each an arm, which once belonged to Ianthe. They lifted their heads in disbelief.

“Are you sure boss? We can have this??” Devouring a specter yielded incredible power, and rarely has a spirit ever even tasted the blood of one.

“Or would you prefer to give it back?”

They rapidly shook their heads and bowed once more. “We’re eternally grateful, but may we ask, what do you intend to do with...the rest?”

“I need her alive, unfortunately. I’ll eat the legs for now, probably keep the eyes as a token. What remains of her though, I’ll keep as a toy. Go ahead and eat, after you can leave. In the meantime, I’ll make sure she doesn’t bleed out.”

Neio and Dahlia nod; obeying his order, they feast on the gift presented to them. The taste of a specter was unlike anything they’ve ever consumed in the past. It was incredibly savory and with each bite they could feel their prowess increasing ten fold. Some would ridicule Wraith for allowing spirits to consume a specter, even if it was only a small segment, but he didn’t care. He knew that no matter how much they ate, or anyone for that matter, specters included, they would never surpass him, and that was all he cared about. Wraith sealed Ianthe’s wounds with magic before wrapping them in a black tape and circling a chain around her neck. He had a sweet spot for dogs, their blind loyalty was cute to him, especially the way that they would gaze upon their masters with glittery eyes. Since Ianthe was unconscious, Wraith decided to teleport her to his room. He materialized a steel container upon arrival and threw her inside, sealing it shut. Ghosts didn’t need to relieve themselves, and neither did they require a constant supply of fresh air, so all that was with Ianthe was her thoughts, or what remained of them.