Mysterious Awakening - Chapter 109: Discovery

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

In the lore of thirty-six stratagems, which is the most effective one?

The answer lies in the wisdom of retreat.

Miles, having a sharp intuition, quickly perceived that the situation was not in his favor. Rather than confronting the impending danger head-on, he judged that it would be wiser to make a hasty retreat. His power to control two spirits paled in comparison to the overwhelming force he was up against. Even with an added advantage of controlling a third spirit, he realized that it would not tip the scales in his favor.

On this particular occasion, he had only just managed to extend the duration of a vengeful spirit’s existence, a move that had temporarily spared his life. It would indeed be tragic if he were to lose his life now due to a fleeting error in judgment.

As a thick fog began to fill the hall, Miles sought sanctuary within a peculiar vessel known as the ghost coffin.

The interior of the coffin was pitch-black and felt oppressive. Aside from the suffocating darkness, there was nothing else remarkable about it. Yet, there was this eerie sensation as though there was a weight pressing up from the bottom of the coffin, causing discomfort.

To an unsuspecting eye, it might just look like an ordinary coffin.

Suddenly, Miles noted an oversight. “Oh, the coffin’s lid hasn’t been secured!” He noticed that the lid was separate from the coffin. He surmised that the true nature and function of the ghost coffin might only be revealed when both components were combined.

Acting quickly, he aligned the lid with the coffin and closed it.

As the lid settled with a muted “thud”, everything went pitch black.

Inside, it felt as though Miles was being swallowed by a deep void. Even when he strained to open his eyes, he was greeted with nothing but darkness. “Is this all?” he wondered.

Moments later, a peculiar sensation washed over him.

He felt as though he was gradually sinking. But upon closer introspection, he realized he wasn’t sinking; rather, his physical form was disintegrating.

Piece by piece, Miles sensed his physical self dissolving. Yet, this process was devoid of pain or the sensation of death. No fear gripped him. Instead, the sensation hinted at not an ending, but a new beginning. A sense of curiosity and anticipation welled up within him.

Eventually, his whole being had melded into the confines of the coffin. His body was gone, but his consciousness persisted, hovering within the coffin’s space, devoid of corporeal form. The sensation was contradictory but felt intensely genuine.

It felt as if Miles had undergone a metamorphosis from a living being to something ethereal, akin to a phantom.

Pondering his new state of existence, Miles theorized, “Is it possible that this coffin possesses the ability to transform the living into spirits?” This revelation, a product of his crystal-clear consciousness, was so profound that even he was taken aback. If his suspicion was correct, the implications of the ghost coffin’s power were indeed chilling.

The entire scenario started to fall into place, shedding light on the curious survival of Detective Frank. How had he endured for several months sealed inside a coffin, devoid of sustenance or hydration, and yet remained unharmed?

If Detective Frank had genuinely transformed into a ghost – one that maintained human consciousness – then this newfound state could explain his extraordinary survival.

Miles grappled with the puzzle, “But that doesn’t add up. If a person is turned into a specter within the confines of the coffin, how could they exit in their original corporeal form? When Frank emerged, he was as tangible as any human, showing no trace of ethereal existence. There’s clearly more to this enigmatic ghost coffin than meets the eye.”

Though Miles was still piecing together the puzzle, one thing was clear: in his present state, neither mortal nor spirit could harm him. Fascinatingly, his consciousness seemed to transcend the physical barriers of the coffin. It was as if, though tethered, his soul had the liberty to roam.

He felt a sensation of being everywhere at once, having a bird’s eye view of the village events. The thick fog, which would normally hinder vision, posed no challenge to him. Currently, a confrontation outside seemed to be reaching its climax.

The portrait’s subject, once a vivid depiction, was now horrendously transformed. What remained was a skeletal frame, with patches of rotten flesh desperately clinging on, presenting a nightmarish visage. Frank, too, showed signs of extreme duress. The strain from channeling the vengeful ghost’s might, coupled with the intense battle, had taken its toll. His glazed eyes mirrored sheer exhaustion and anguish, while his pallor, devoid of life’s hue, bespoke a debilitating weariness. His appearance was reminiscent of a gravely ill individual at death’s door in a medical facility – a vision that could unsettle the bravest soul.

Frank ruminated, “While the power I channel from this ghost seems unparalleled, even it has its limitations. Pitting it against Stretch pushes its capabilities to the brink. In a direct confrontation, no ghost whisperer would stand a chance; they’d be doomed. But at this moment, I feel I might have a slight edge.” He further contemplated, “However, drawing on the vengeful ghost’s strength for too long is treacherous. Even when harnessing the power of two spirits, I sense looming peril. I must bring this to a close.”

With decisive action, Frank sidestepped to retrieve a suitcase that lay nearby. This ornate golden case, sturdy in construction, appeared tailor-made for imprisoning the restless spirit.

The deteriorating figure from the portrait took a tentative step. Yet, almost immediately, its frame disintegrated, reminiscent of a structure of blocks crumbling. Bones and appendages detached, forming a gruesome heap. Bizarrely, the rotting head maintained its animation, defying cessation.

Frank appeared not to be caught off guard by the unfolding situation. Clutching the ornate suitcase, he methodically approached the gruesome assemblage that was once the ghost. With a careful and deliberate pace, he began to gather the fragmented bones, remnants of flesh, dismembered limbs, and the decaying skull, systematically placing each piece within the confines of the suitcase.

Once every fragment was inside, he promptly locked the case, ensuring that it was tightly sealed.

With the ghost’s confinement, the supernatural bonds it had exerted on the surrounding began to weaken. Nearby, Stretch, who was previously rendered motionless in a pool of his own blood, initiated a gradual process of healing, retracting and mending the grievous wounds that marred his form.

Elsewhere, a headless phantom, which had been eerily static, began a metamorphic process. From a defined shadowy form, it regressed to a faint silhouette and then gradually vanished, its destination unknown.

However, the ghostly realm, bathed in an ominous crimson light, defied expectations. Contrary to diminishing, its expanse began to grow exponentially. From its initial radius of a mere twenty to thirty meters, it soon proliferated to encase the entire village. Every nook and cranny of the hamlet was now under the influence of Miles’s spectral realm.

With a heavy tone, Frank intoned, “Miles, this has come to an end. Exit the ghost coffin at once. It wasn’t intended for you.”

Yet, in a startling display, the coffin’s lid was violently cast aside. From its shadowy depths emerged Miles, his form restored to its original state. As he sat up, a deep sense of dread painted his visage.

“The spirit lingers,” Miles proclaimed, his voice dripping with sweat and fear.

Frank’s brow furrowed in confusion. “We’ve settled matters here. Your presence is no longer needed. Depart, and I shall oversee the cleanup.”

Miles, with a burst of energy, sprang from the coffin, his countenance fierce. “I said, the spirit REMAINS. Did you not hear me? Your venture into the ghost coffin wasn’t about maintaining some equilibrium or subduing this specter. Your true aim was to claim the coffin, aspiring to metamorphose into a bona fide ghost. Do you honestly believe you’ve successfully imprisoned the phantom here?”

“I was encapsulated within that coffin. I’ve borne witness to truths you might not grasp. The ghost here isn’t tethered to a tangible form — it’s essence, a sheer consciousness.”

“The portrait’s figure is but an embodiment of the ghost. It symbolizes a composite of all the villagers, or more aptly, every soul that met their end here. It mirrors what the ghost perceives as perfection.”

“The entity you thought you vanquished was merely a facet of its vast existence.”

Seeming to corroborate Miles’s revelations, distinct footfalls once again resonated from the encompassing gloom.

Frank’s gaze sharpened, and in a moment of stunned realization, the suitcase slipped from his grip, crashing to the ground.

Had he truly misjudged the essence of this haunting entity?