Chapter 8: One Gamble Won't Hurt..
March 4th, 2026
The ghostly anomaly stood before Aboutrika… a cool wind drifting beneath them.
Silence.
…
…
…
Suddenly—
Aboutrika flicked open a penknife and lunged forward.
The blade passed straight through the ghost, sending ripples through its form.
A hollow miss.
The ghost laughed.
A low, mocking sound.
Aboutrika's eyes widened—
Before the ghost seized his wrist, effortlessly knocking the knife away.
A force lifted him into the air—
Then slammed him down violently onto the cold, sandy ground.
A harsh impact.
"You will comply with me," the ghost said, voice steady and cold,
"and I will decide whether it's the easy way… or the hard way."
Aboutrika groaned, struggling as he pushed himself up.
His clothes were torn. Blood marked parts of his body.
He spat to the side—
Then smirked.
"What's a good fight without some difficulty?!"
He didn't ask.
He demanded.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, brushing dust from his shoulders.
⸻
"Now listen here, boy."
A 500-pound banknote appeared in his hand—glowing faint green as it formed.
"If I told you… you could multiply that tenfold… what would your reaction be?"
Aboutrika glanced at it.
Then crumpled it.
Dropped it.
Stomped it into the ground.
"Tsk. I don't need your dirty money. You think you can enslave me with a few banknotes?"
He scoffed.
"Try harder."
The same crumpled note reappeared in his hand.
"…What?"
He tried throwing it again—
It didn't leave.
As if it were glued to his skin.
He shook his hand.
Pulled at it.
Nothing.
"What, are you deaf?!"
"Listen to me," the ghost continued calmly.
"I can make you rich. You would have everything."
The words lingered.
Echoing.
Something about them… stuck.
Aboutrika crossed his arms.
"Try your worst."
⸻
A blue pill appeared in his right hand.
A red pill in his left.
"Choose."
"Pffft… blue."
The pills vanished instantly—
Replaced by a 5,000-pound banknote.
Aboutrika froze.
(5,000…? My dad didn't even spend that much raising me…)
From a distance, the ghost watched.
"So… was I lying?"
Aboutrika clicked his tongue.
"I ain't your dog. Watch your tone."
The ghost smiled faintly.
"You're stubborn. I like that."
A pause.
"What's something sweet… without difficulty?"
Aboutrika narrowed his eyes.
"…You've got my interest."
Then—
(…Wait. Did I really just say that?)
⸻
"Now," the ghost continued,
"a simple question."
"Answer correctly… and you gain more."
"Answer incorrectly…"
Silence.
"…you know what happens."
A thin green fog began spreading across the area, forming a wide circle.
Aboutrika glanced around, alert.
(Weird… is this thing trying to poison me?)
He stood firm.
"Make it quick."
…
"…If 7 people gambled for 7 rounds.. and one of them took his own life after losing everything.. how many people are left in the casino?"
(What the hell is this piece of shit saying..)
Aboutrika blinked.
A pause.
Silence.
Then—
"Not sure what kind of corny ass question is this, but there are 6 people left."
⸻
"Congratulations."
Coins began falling.
One by one.
Then dozens.
Then hundreds.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
"AY—!"
Aboutrika raised his arms, wincing as they hit him.
He tried stepping away—
The rain followed.
It didn't stop.
He looked down.
They weren't ordinary coins.
Gold.
Each one worth thousands.
His breath caught.
"All of this… for me?"
He crouched, picking one up—examining it closely.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
(…Why am I acting like this?)
(He's obviously a Disposition user…)
A pause.
(…But if it's this easy…)
(…why not go further?)
The sound intensified.
Relentless.
Sharp.
Head-piercing.
The fog thickened, turning the world around him into a glowing green haze.
From afar—
The ghost smiled.
⸻
Aboutrika straightened.
Forcing focus.
"I've got two things to say."
"The first—this isn't gambling."
His voice tightened.
"You're just giving me—"
Something caught in his throat.
Forced.
"…a generous amount of money."
(Again… he's controlling my words.)
He clenched his jaw.
"And second—"
"I'm cashing out."
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
He grabbed his head.
"…and you're stopping this rain."
⸻
The ghost's voice echoed—layered, distorted.
"Ohohoho…"
"One last challenge…"
"And I'll grant you more than you can imagine."
Its form shifted.
Growing.
Darkening.
Fangs emerging.
Aboutrika's breath grew heavier.
(So… it really is a demon.)
⸻
"Now…"
Two images appeared in the air.
Tariq—on the left.
Harith—on the right.
"…who do you bet… dies first?"
⸻
"WHA—?!"
The words hit like lightning.
(HOW DARE YOU?!)
Aboutrika's expression snapped.
He pulled out a toy pistol—
It transformed instantly.
He fired.
PAW
PAW
PAW
PAW
Each shot thundered with raw emotion.
The bullets passed through the ghost—
All but two.
Those two vanished—
Reappearing through small green portals above the images.
Then—
They struck.
⸻
Tariq.
A clean shot through the head.
He dropped instantly.
His chef's hat slipped off—
Revealing his dark orange hair.
Blood spread.
Stillness.
⸻
The pistol slipped from Aboutrika's hand.
His body… went rigid.
(T-TARIQ…?!)
⸻
Harith.
A shot through the heart.
He staggered—
Then fell onto his back.
His hand reached out—
Weak.
Pointless.
Too late.
⸻
Silence.
…
…
…
It stretched.
Endless.
Heavy.
⸻
Aboutrika didn't move.
Couldn't move.
His body felt… hollow.
His breathing stopped.
Tears overflowed, falling silently to the ground.
(No… no… no…)
(T-this isn't real…)
"That bastard… he's lying…"
He dropped to his knees.
His fists slammed into the ground.
Hard.
(T-this isn't natural…)
(IT'S NOT REAL.)
(IT'S A LIE.)
⸻
To be continued…
Character Spotlight:
…