Holmes soon arrived at the first floor and rapped on the door of Room 101. Mike's head popped out, stunned at the sight of him. "Wait, you again? Dude, are you addicted to the Charm Phantom's quests?"
"Can't help it. I'd rather not be here," Holmes sighed. "This body can't take much more."
Mike eyed him up and down, impressed. "Respect!" He opened the door, and Holmes marched in, shedding his coat and rolling up his sleeves like a warrior gearing for battle. Mike recalled yesterday's cleanup—blood and skin fragments everywhere—and shuddered.
"Master, the visitor from yesterday is here again," Mike announced cautiously by the door.
"Let him in! I've been waiting for his next visit!" the Charm Phantom's excited voice trilled from inside.
Mike shot Holmes a look. Holmes wordlessly hefted his killer's sledgehammer and entered, soon followed by sounds of agonized pleasure. Shaking his head, Mike returned to the living room to munch on a bun. "So brutal…"
…
Perhaps fueled by his trapped predicament, Holmes unleashed all his pent-up fury on the Charm Phantom with the sledgehammer, more savage than yesterday—and she loved it more. Half an hour later, he lay exhausted in a pool of blood, while the Charm Phantom—covered in horrific wounds—slowly dressed her mangled body.
Her seductive face glowed with post-coital satisfaction. "Even more fierce than yesterday," she purred. "Seems you're more hooked than me. Want sister to steal you from that drunkard and replace Mike? You're a far better toy than his 32-centimeter thing." Her fingers caressed the bloodied sledgehammer, eyes glazed.
Holmes ignored the risqué remarks. "Novelty fades, sis. Doing this daily gets boring." He had no interest in stealing Mike's life-saving role. "Speaking of which, I need to ask you something."
"Ah, here comes the real reason," she said, lighting a cigarette. "Shoot."
"Doesthe Nightmare Feaster have any enemies in this apartment?"
"Too many—almost every tenant is out for his blood. That drunkard offended everyone to get his booze. But the one who wants him dead most is the 702 tenant on the seventh floor—after all, killing a man's wife is unforgivable."
Holmes' eyes lit up. Background info from original residents was key.
The Charm Phantom noticed his eagerness. "Planning to use another tenant to kill your drunkard father? Forget it. If he could be killed, he'd be dead a hundred times over. Know why he hides in Room 404? The apartment rules keep him alive like a turtle."
Holmes feigned innocence. "You misunderstand. Father's been kind to me. I just worry about his safety." He held out the Artist's Wine Bottle.
The Charm Phantom's face cooled. "That greedy bastard. Tasted blood yesterday and now wants a bigger bottle. Does he think I'm a pushover?"
"You don't have to fill it," Holmes said.
"And risk him eating you?" She liked Holmes—he was the first player to bring 新鲜感 (novelty), and she didn't want him "logging off" too soon.
"I don't want to make things hard for you." Holmes spoke the truth: filling it or not meant death. But to the Charm Phantom, it sounded like flattery. "Oh, such a gentleman. But this pity act is old." Still, she filled the bottle to the brim.
Holmes knew better—she just wanted to use him longer. His plan was simple: kill the Nightmare Feaster. In this phantom game, killing a phantom reset tasks. Few players risked it, but Holmes had no choice—he knew the Nightmare Feaster's weakness. The killing blade should be with the 702 tenant, who shared his goal.
Leaving Room 101, Holmes' clothes were drenched in the Charm Phantom's blood. He bid Mike farewell and hurried off with the full bottle.
"Is he here for quests or… something else?" Mike muttered, then froze, struck by a sudden chill. "Oh shit!"
Unaware of Mike's panic, Holmes raced to the seventh floor. Higher floors meant fewer rule restrictions—seventh-floor phantoms could attack players who entered their rooms unprovoked. The corridor was pitch-black, littered with trash, peeling walls like a lawless zone.
Holmes felt a cold hand grab his—from a scrawny girl in a tattered dress, covered in fresh, bloody wounds. "Brother, please save us! Papa's drunk and beating Mama! She's dying!" Her bruised face pleaded, pointing to Room 706.
"I might not stop him," Holmes frowned.
"He's afraid of neighbors! If you enter, he'll stop!" She clung to him like a lifeline.
Holmes pretended to agree. "Lead the way." But the moment she released him, he bolted in the opposite direction. "Still using toddler tricks in this day and age? Only fools fall for that!"
The girl's pitiful expression contorted into a feral snarl. Her child's face sprouted black veins, hair whipping wildly—but she couldn't attack outside her room.
Holmes stopped at a corner as a info panel popped up:
[Wraith Phantom: Prefers to skin humans and wear their faces, using bone marrow to perfect disguises.
Weakness: Fear of extreme yin substances.
Hidden Tip: Their eyeballs enhance haunted items and are a favorite snack of phantoms. Free loot, anyone?]
Holmes turned back. Fortune favors the bold.
The Wraith Phantom, expecting another victim, was confused to see Holmes return. "I went for a weapon," he lied, brandishing the sledgehammer. "In case your dad attacks me."
She seized his shoulder, strength surprising. "Follow me! Don't run this time!" Dragging him toward Room 706, she grinned: "Cross the threshold, and no one can save you!"
As they stepped inside, the apartment's protective rules vanished. The Wraith Phantom's body burst out of its human skin, deformed limbs spidering out. "Brother, forget my parents—my stomach needs you to solve a problem!" Its neck twisted 360 degrees, expecting Holmes' terror.
Instead, a bloody sledgehammer smashed into its jaw. "Hungry? Have a taste of this!" Holmes interrupted its transformation.
"Argh!" The Wraith Phantom reeled, jaw shattered, feeling a burning acid-like pain from the Blood Lute splatter. "I'll suck every bone dry!" It swelled to eight feet, limbs like spider legs.
Holmes' second blow struck its head, sending up white smoke and stench. The Blood Lute melted its flesh like sulfuric acid. "What is this?!" it shrieked, clutching its festering face.
Holmes jabbed two fingers into its eye socket, yanking out a bloody eyeball. "Thanks for the eye."
"Thief! You think you can run?!" The Wraith Phantom charged, but Holmes paused at the threshold, holding up the Blood Lute. "This world's all about cheating. Like an eagle trying to eat a chick but getting its eye pecked out—you're not dumber than an eagle, are you? Come closer, and I'll douse you with this."
The Wraith Phantom hesitated. The Blood Lute's power was real. It could only watch Holmes leave with its eye, half its face melted…