Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord-Chapter 51: Ghost?(1)

Steve was grinning as he made his way back to his room, practically gliding across the hallway with a bounce in his step.

He couldn't stop smiling. That look of pure accomplishment lit up his face like a sunrise.

"I did it. I finally did it. I completed my harem."

He ran a hand through his hair, still feeling the warmth of the moment.

'Damn, she felt so sweet. I'm so glad... at least I'm glad that she'll be coming into Arcane Bloom Academy. I mean—there's no way I can just hit her once and let that slide.'

A dreamy chuckle escaped his lips.

'Nope. This has to be a daily thing. If MILFs feel this good, then I truly am blessed for coming to this world.'

He was still lost in his thoughts when—

Ding!

A chime rang out.

A blue menu blinked into existence right in front of him, halting his steps. He blinked, momentarily startled.

"Huh?" he muttered.

The notification read aloud:

[Mission Complete!]

[New Skill Gained: Charm master]

[Info: Skill (Charm Master) enables any woman within a 5 meter radius to be susceptible to players charms.]

A long pause. Then realization struck.

'Ah... yeah... I get my harem reqard...although at this point I wouldn't mind having a more stronger magical power...'

But he shook his head and smiled.

"No matter. I can always get stronger. Write more skills. Build up my magic properly."

He exhaled, letting the tension roll off him.

"Besides... I've already started my training regimen. Everything is going smoothly. And I am the son of Hades, so once I do unlock my magic—"

He smirked, smacking his own cheeks lightly.

"—I'll be pretty damn strong. My life's gonna be... awesome."

With a soft chuckle, he pushed open the door to his room and strolled inside.

He climbed into bed, sliding under the sheets beside Fiona, who was already fast asleep.

He lay there, still a little sweaty, but warm, content, and peaceful.

"My life is going to be... awesome." he whispered again.

Eyes fluttered shut. Sleep tugged gently at his consciousness.

The room fell silent.

Then—

"God, this brat never stops talking. Finally, some silence."

Steve's eyes snapped open.

'Huh?' he muttered in his mind.

"Was that Fiona...? No, that didn't sound like a girl's voice."

He sat up slowly, his eyes darting around the room. A cold shiver crept up his spine.

Then he saw it.

Right in front of him.

A being.

A monstrous figure.

It had a skull for a head—elongated and menacing. Twin glowing blue lights swirled in its hollow eye sockets.

Its limbs were long, skeletal, and unnaturally twisted, its fingers curled tight like claws.

The rest of its body?

Just... darkness.

A swirling mass of black gas, shadows folding endlessly into itself. It radiated pure, malevolent evil.

Steve's jaw fell open. His breath hitched. His entire body froze in place, paralyzed with fear. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.

He couldn't move.

Could barely speak.

All he managed to whisper was—

"What... what... what the fuck..."

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck..."

Steve's mind spiraled as he lept from the bed and dropped to the ground, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

His back hit the wall with a thud, and he just sat there, eyes wide, breath ragged, paralyzed by fear.

'What the hell is that thing staring at me? Is this a nightmare?'

He darted a glance toward the bed. Fiona was still there, rolling softly in her sleep, lips gently parting as if murmuring a dream. She wasn't waking up.

'No... this is real. She's asleep. Which means... that thing... that thing came here for me.'

His breath caught in his throat.

'Is this it? Is this how I die? To a...To a hideous devil in my own home?'

"Oi. Hideous devil? Fuck you. That's so fucking rude." a voice said suddenly—casual, like a guy who'd just been insulted for wearing Crocs in public.

Steve froze. His eyes widened further.

'That voice... I heard it just now...'

He slowly turned his head.

The skull-faced figure was still there—blue flames flickering in its hollow sockets, towering above him, dark and monstrous. It radiated pure evil.

'Was that it? Did it just...talk?'

But then it tilted its head... and smirked.

"Yes, I talked. What, you think I don't have a mouth just because it's a skull? Idiot. I'll have you know I was pulling baddies and milfs back in my prime."

Steve blinked. He was hallucinating. He had to be.

"You... you can talk?"

"No shit." the figure snapped.

"What, you thought I was mute? Or too demonic to speak English? Get over yourself."

The creature turned to face him fully now, casting a long shadow over Steve, who recoiled even further into the wall.

"Wait... are you talking through my thoughts?"

"What are you, dense?" the ghost growled.

"Of course I'm in your head. You practically broadcast your every dumbass thought. You think it's fun for me to listen to all that filth in there? Jesus, your brain is a walking dumpster fire. I feel like I need a shower."

Despite everything, Steve couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of pride.

Still, he was baffled.

"How are you talking to me like this? I don't even know what you are."

The creature let out a long, weary groan.

"You humans are exhausting. Fuck it."

In a blur of motion, it reached down with its clawed, skeletal hand.

Steve gasped, about to scream—only for the hand to slap over his mouth.

Before he could react, the ghost pulled him through the wall like it was made of smoke. Just whoosh—gone.

And then—

Thud!

They emerged outside. Steve hit the ground, rolling through grass and dirt until he landed flat on his back. Dizzy, he blinked up at the darkened sky, coughing.

Huh...? How did I... how did I get here?

He sat up groggily—and froze.

Right in front of him was the severed head of a dire wolf.

Steve screamed, scrambling backwards as bile rose in his throat. The head was rotting—maggots crawling, eyes half-sunken. He knew this beast. It was the same dire wolf he'd nearly died to two days ago.

He looked around and instantly recognized the terrain.

'No way. This is... this is where I almost died. But... how?'

As the realization began to dawn, the familiar voice returned—annoyed and unbothered as ever.

"Isn't it fucking obvious? I brought you here."

Steve turned, startled. The same skeletal figure stood behind him, those blue eyes burning with amusement.

"W-what the fuck? Who are you?! And how the hell do you keep reading my thoughts?!"

The ghost crossed its arms.

"Oh, now you want to ask me questions? That's rich. I should be the one interrogating you! Like—how the actual hell can you even see me? Spirits don't just pop into random humans' heads. Especially not ones whose brains are full of... whatever the hell yours is."

"Hey!" Steve frowned.

"My thoughts aren't that bad!"

"They're worse." the ghost deadpanned.

"I've had less chaotic conversations with warlocks suffering from brain rot."

Steve rubbed his temples.

"Okay, okay... look. I didn't mean to do anything! You're the one who suddenly appeared in my room! How should I know why I can see you?"

The ghost paused, then tilted its head.

"Wait. Hold up. Don't tell me you used that damned notebook again."

Steve flinched.

"You did, didn't you?"

Steve's silence was all the answer it needed.

"...Ohh...For fuck's sake..." the ghost muttered.

"Of course I know about the notebook. I live inside your head now, remember?"

Steve shook his head.

"But—how? That notebook wasn't supposed to do this. I didn't even write down anything about ghosts!"

The spirit gave a slow, tired sigh.

"Let me break it down for you: First off, I'm a ghost. That's who I am. Second, I'm bound here because some motherfucking 'genius' named Kenapu thought it'd be fun to bound my soul to his with his author's notebook so he wouldn't die like a regular human. Sound familiar?"

Steve blinked.

"Who the hell is Kenapu?"

The ghost pointed a long, sharp claw directly at Steve's face.

"You, motherfucker."

Steve shrieked and tumbled backward.

"My name isn't Kenapu!"

"I don't give a fuck what your name is," the ghost spat.

"What I care about is why the hell you didn't just let yourself die like you were supposed to."

Steve paused. "...What?"

And then it hit him.

The notebook.

The prophecy had said

"The Son of Hades must complete his mission." But all the words had been obliterated since then.

He remembered the wolves sudden death, the vanishing prophecy, and this ghost's strange appearance.

'Could it be? Was this the reason why the wolves were blown to pieces...this ghost?'

His eyes slowly flicked back to the ghost, heart pounding.

Without a doubt, it was.

***

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