Page 34 of A Hail From Hell: Vol 1

Instead, a presence hovered over him in response.

“Are you hurt?”

Evan jerked away, his back slamming against the nearest wall, wide eyes glaring up at the…thingin front of him.

“Stay away from—” Evan’s eyes accidentally dropped, landing on the bulge in his pants. Snapping his head up, Evan cried out, “Fuck, my eyes!”

“Is your head alright?” Scarlet eyes shone over him.

Evan stilled, cautiously lowering his head until he was staring up at the concerned face in front of him.

Was he implying Evan was mad?

A fucking perverted ghost was judginghim?

Other than the disheveled hair, haphazard, worn-out clothes, and the disturbing expression in Evan’s eyes, what exactly gave off the impression of insanity?

His nostrils flared. “You…you—”

Reaching forward, a pair of ghostly pale hands casually cupped Evan’s head in a warm grip, turning it right, then left. Up, and down. “Where does it hurt?”

Evan’s limbs went stiff like a refrigerated corpse, pupils dilated, and jaws clenched.

The glow had dimmed in those scarlet eyes, and with all the lights on,helooked more human than Evan did.

In fact, Evan looked ghostlier than him.

“Where did you hit your head? Does it hurt here?”

Evan’s eyebrow twitched. “Let go…”

“Or here?” He pressed a finger against Evan’s temple, checking for bumps. “Here? You must tell me precisely—”

“I said,” inducing spiritual energy into his foot, Evan kicked the red-clad figure hard in the stomach, “let go of me,you creepy bastard!”

That was all the spiritual energy he could accumulate in his present state, enough to do severe damage to a spirit or human alike.

But the man-boulder in front of Evan only shifted back slightly against the impact, and that too out of sheer surprise.

Okay, he definitely wasn’t a ghost. If Evan had hit an ordinary ghost with this much spiritual energy, it would’ve gone flying, burrowing through the walls.

Salt didn’t repel him. The front door talisman couldn’t stop him. He certainly wasn’t a human spirit.

Then what the hell was he?

And why was he still bricked?

Evan stared motionlessly at the hunched figure.

A single strand of blood-red streaked through his otherwise raven-black hair. The tattered, dusty red robe hanging from his mighty shoulders looked like something drawn out of a forgotten century, definitely not something anyone of the twenty-first would wear.

Even if he was a centuries-old spirit, those weren’t the traditional funeral clothes of Emberlyn.

Could he be a deity?

No. What kind of perverse divine spirit was this?

The red-clad figure glanced down, thick lashes lowering to gaze at Evan’s foot planted against his stone-solid abdomen, keeping him a safe distance away.

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