A ghost with a twisted, grotesque face whose parents no one bothered to ask about, clutched a remodeled heavy firearm in his spectral hands.
"Boss! We have these guys! Why are you hesitating? Let me go first!" he barked recklessly.
"No—wait—" Bob stepped forward.
But before he could finish, the foolish subordinate pulled the trigger. A stream of pale, blue spiritual bullets shot toward the shop.
Inside, Roy Palert and tense reacted instantly.
"Watch the bullets! Get down!" he shouted, scooping Garfield into his arms.
For a moment, Garfield was cat~samcked.
Even in a crisis, this rugged old cowboy had instinctively protected him, a cat, without hesitation. He truly cared.
…But Garfield, being a tomcat of principle, refused to be coddled by a man with a long beard.
With a sharp flick, he wrenched himself free, then delivered a swift flying kick.
Thud!
Roy rolled across the floor, landing under the table, dazed but unharmed.
Outside, Bob and the undead gang gaped in disbelief. Their spectral bullets had vanished the instant they touched the glass of the shop.
Not even a ripple.
"What… what is this?" one ghost stammered.
"Why… why are they gone?" another whispered.
The gunman blinked in confusion, muttering, "Maybe… the bullets… expired?"
Bob's jaw dropped. Expired?
He had personally supervised the crafting of those bullets, they were fresh. Not spoiled bread, rotten milk, or stale peanuts.
Perfect. Useless only in this impossible way.
Frustrated, Bob pointed at another dead ghost beside him and fired.
Bang!
The ghost dissolved instantly into a cloud of ashen dust, leaving only emptiness behind.
Bob's mouth fell open. His subordinate had been right, he truly had no clue what he was doing.
Meanwhile, the first gunman, noticing the ghost dust from his companion return harmlessly to the ground, patted his gun and muttered proudly, "I told you… maybe the bullets were expired."
Then he continued aimlessly firing at the shop's doors and windows, twitching with futile determination.
Bob's facepalmed in frustration, certain he wasn't dreaming.
This was no illusion, the dead ghost beside him was utterly incompetent, disabled in every way.
Through the golden shield of the High Claw Gold & Exorcism Shop, Garfield and Roy could see everything unfolding outside.
Every foolish attempt, every twitch of the undead gang. Garfield's earlier kick had given Roy a front-row seat to the absurdity.
And yet Garfield understood something more.
These were no ordinary ghosts. They were undead, linked to death itself. Ordinary weapons, ordinary attacks, even ordinary magic… utterly ineffective against them.
Only here, in this shop, with its protective wards and enchanted defenses, could they even be contained.
As Garfield's gaze swept the street, he realized with a renewed sense of calm that this was the right place to be.
Here, he had the advantage.
As the gang continued their futile assault on the shop, the building's defenses automatically activated.
Alarms blared, and within moments, Kumatarō, Kumajirō, and Rin who had been training in the underground chamber, rushed to the surface.
Seeing the scattered dead ghosts outside, Rin turned to Garfield, eyes sharp with anticipation.
"… do you want us to go out and teach them a lesson?"
Kumatarō practically bounced on his feet. "Master! Let me go!"
Kumajirō adjusted his stance, more composed but equally eager. "Master, we must behave ourselves, of course, but we want to help!"
Before Garfield could even respond, a familiar tug yanked him backward.
The tenant of his soul, an audacious little spirit who had once tried to bite him without paying his due, pulled him into the depths of his consciousness space, preventing any impulsive action.
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
PhantomDream