Ultimate Evolution I Became the Master of the World

Everything seemed chill, nothing weird.

A middle-aged dude with a face you couldn't pick out of a lineup was sitting stiff as a board at the head of Michael's bed. He had a newspaper up, not moving an inch, like he was super into whatever was on the page. But the room was so dim, it was like, how could anyone read in here?

Plus, this guy had been in the same pose since Michael logged on, not budging, which was totally not normal.

The only thing that changed was he moved from the living room couch to right by the bed.

Just a little shift, but way closer to Michael.

This closeness didn't make Michael feel any better; it actually freaked him out.

Why was his dad sitting near him reading a newspaper?

Did he ever do that before?

Looking at the memorial photo on the cabinet and hearing Freya's urgent voice on the phone, Michael knew something was off.

If Freya's info was legit, then was this guy really his dad?

He looked like him, not sure.

Did his dad really die in a car crash when he was a kid?

Michael's brain was telling him this was his dad, everything seemed so real, not fake at all.

"Even so, something's seriously wrong."

Michael yanked his hand back, not pushing away the newspaper hiding the guy's face. Instead, he grabbed his phone, jumped up, and backed off.

He tried to put some space between him and the newspaper guy.

Was his memory messed with? Or was this all a dream? Or was there something off about the whole apartment?

"Whatever it is, I gotta get outta here first and figure it out later." Michael couldn't tell if the problem was him, his dad, or the place.

He carefully backed out of the room into the living room, not wanting to mess with his dad reading the paper.

As he left, he tried to get a better look at the guy's face out of curiosity.

But before he could see clearly, he noticed a corner of the newspaper was blood-red, like it was soaked in fresh blood, so real it looked like it might drip.

A newspaper covered in blood!

Would a normal person read something like that?

Michael's eyes narrowed, and right then, he totally believed Freya. His dad did die in a car crash when he was in elementary school. Her file was real, so this "dad" in front of him couldn't be real because dead people don't come back. And if his dad wasn't real, then the guy on the bed reading the paper could only be a ghost.

A chill ran down his spine.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

But when did this happen?

When did this ghost get in the house and show up in the room? When was his memory messed with?

Or had he been living with this ghost for years?

If it wasn't for Freya's call, would he have ever known?

Thinking about it, Michael felt terrified.

Just as he stepped out of the room, the newspaper guy suddenly moved. His head turned towards Michael at a creepy speed.

Michael stumbled back in fear.

This guy had no face, no features, just a layer of skin.

'Run.' Michael growled to himself, turned, and bolted without a second thought.

Now Michael was dead sure this dude was a ghost.

But as he spun around, everything went dark like he smacked into something.

A newspaper. Sticky, nasty, like it was drenched in thick blood.

The paper stuck to his face, clinging tight. He tried to rip it off, but it felt like it was glued to his skin. Tearing it hurt like hell and was almost impossible.

'Is this ghost attacking me?' Michael thought, panic setting in.

He'd already faced ghost attacks at school twice.

'Only a ghost can handle a ghost,' he reminded himself.

He made up his mind, and suddenly, an eye popped up on the back of his hand, glowing faintly red.

With this eye, he managed to start peeling the newspaper off his face.

The paper slowly came away.

But the ghost wasn't giving up that easy.

Michael felt the ghost pulling the newspaper from behind.

A terrifying force yanked at him.

The paper tightened around his face again, sticking to his face, making it hard to breathe and making him dizzy.

At this rate, he wouldn't be killed by this ghost; he'd suffocate from this creepy newspaper.

"You might be a ghost, but I'm not exactly human either," Michael growled like a beast.

Two red eyes suddenly appeared on his face.

The paper where the eyes popped up made a ripping sound and started to tear.

As the paper tore, the terrifying pull from behind eased up a bit.

"One more," Michael muttered.

He couldn't use the power of the eyes too much; each use brought him closer to death. But he had no choice now. Without tapping into the ghost inside him, he was toast. Another eye appeared on his forehead.

The blood-soaked paper on his forehead tore again.

The pulling force behind him lightened, and the suffocation and dizziness quickly faded.

"Keep going."

Michael knew the ghost's power inside him wasn't enough yet.

A fifth eye appeared on his neck.

The paper around his neck tore open.

At that moment, Michael used all his strength, and the paper wrapped around his face, now full of tears, was instantly shredded.

The suffocation and heaviness disappeared completely, and air rushed in.

Four eyes were on his face now, glowing faintly red.

He turned to look.

Behind him, there was no one, just the blood-stained shredded newspaper scattered on the ground.

"Get outta here." Michael's heart pounded. He didn't dare stay any longer. Without grabbing anything, he quickly opened the door and bolted out of the house. Shortly after he left.

Someone emerged from the room he had been in.

This person picked up the shredded newspaper from the floor and pieced it back together.

Soon, the newspaper was back to its original state, still stained with blood, but now with the outline of a face on it.

The face was Michael's.

The person picked up the newspaper, sat on the nearby sofa, and resumed the same posture, holding the newspaper motionlessly. Until a few hours later, the person moved suddenly. He slowly lowered his arm, revealing a face that was no longer featureless.

It was Michael's face.

But where the demon's eyes had appeared, there were blank spots.

The face was not perfect.