The book that just mysteriously appeared in Mikel's bag looked old — its brown leather cover worn and at the edges, a few parts was already disintegrating.
A part of him didn't even want to touch it, yet sohow, he picked it up and examined it closely. From the outside, there was nothing on it. Not even any eerie letters on the cover, which he had expected. It looked completely normal. Just like his bracelet.
Perhaps too normal... and old.
As he opened it, a hint of vanilla with an earthy undertone hit his nostrils. The pages were slightly yellowed and crisp — not like his textbooks, the only books he owned. These felt thicker, slightly rough to the touch.
"The Book of the Dead, huh?" he muttered in realization, nodding slightly.
As Mikel flipped through the empty pages, they suddenly fanned themselves toward the last page like a gust of wind had turned them. Only — there was no wind.
For a mont, he sat still, staring at the last page. A creeping sensation climbed up his spine — the feeling that sothing was staring back at him from within the book.
Another wave of distress twisted in his gut.
"Damn," he stressed, placing the book on his lap and tucking it under his elbow as he buried his face in his hands. "The first relic wants to eat , now the second one wants to blow up my brain."
If anyone was cursed, it was Mikel.
The heavens were not on his side. Not. At. All.
[It's alright, Master. As long as you grow stronger, these are just little threats to your life. Nothing serious. You can call them Anxiety and Depression. They can't kill you... unless you let them.]
And with those words, a faint, whimsical tune tried to play in the back of his mind.
"Don't you dare," he whispered.
The sound vanished instantly.
Mikel's head throbbed with emotion, his thoughts spiraling. All of these? Were things he couldn't say aloud. Worst of all, he couldn't tell anyone. Even if he did, they'd think he was insane.
Being called crazy was one thing. But unhinged? Yeah, no.
"So... what's the next objective?" he asked, mostly out of morbid curiosity. Doom felt like the kind of teacher who assigned endless howork for fun.
The screen glowed slightly brighter, almost like it was excited.
[Objective: Learn Purification and Exorcism Techniques.]
[Goal: Exorcise spirits and fill the crystal. The stronger the spirit, the faster you progress.]
A glowing virtual crystal appeared in front of him.
It looked like it was filled with water, shifting and sloshing against its round edges, trapped with nowhere to go but back and forth.
For a mont, the virtual orb pulsed red — like a heartbeat. Then it turned clear again.
He blinked. Maybe it was just his imagination. But deep down, he knew it wasn't. Because if it was, then Doom, the book, the bracelet, and everything that had happened in his sleep were all imaginary too — and that ant he'd lost his mind.
He wished he had.
But the bruises on his shoulder and back said otherwise.
[Great rewards await once the task is completed.]
"Oh, great rewards? Like the Blood Chain and the Grimoire? You an more stuff that can kill from the Afterlife catalog?" Mikel's face darkened. "Anxiety and Depression are enough. I'm not inviting Panic Attack to the party."
[...]
Another bus approached.
Mikel stood in silence, waiting. As it stopped in front of him, he whispered under his breath,
"Give a mont to breathe, Doom. For you, this is nothing. But for ... it's a lot — too much."
Surprisingly, Doom said nothing.
Mikel boarded the bus. Once seated, Doom asked — almost gently:
[Are you headed ho now, Master?]
Why even ask, when Doom was constantly poking around in his head?
"No." He leaned his elbow against the window, gazing out. "I'm going to find soone who can exorcise instead."
He didn't want to go ho. Not yet. He needed answers — or at least soone who could pretend to have them. Just sothing to pull him out of this heavy, growing isolation.
---
One Hour Later...
Mikel sat across from an old lady who called herself a fortune-teller and a shaman. A small round table and a crystal ball sat between them.
Incense curled into strange patterns, like it was trying to spell sothing. The fortune-teller's eyes glazed over for a mont too long — like sothing was peeking out through her. It sent him a wave of chill.
She's probably real...
[She is... a fake.]
Mikel swore he could feel Doom giggle. Not just Doom. The bracelet and the book in his bag, too.
Damn these guys. You guys are not helping.
Trying to ignore the mockery, Mikel focused on the old woman. Around them was darkness — all the lights were turned off except for the nurous candles ant to add that eerie, mysterious vibe.
The so-called shaman peered at him like she was seeing sothing he couldn't. "Young man, sothing is following you, isn't it?"
"Uh..."
"Sothing... dark," she continued, leaning closer, her wrinkled face intent. "Ominous. Soone with a grudge."
His brows lifted in mild intrigue. "You... think?"
"You are cursed," she said, almost breathlessly — and it made Mikel's breath hitch.
[You are not cursed, Master. You are blessed.]
"Shut up—" Mikel bit his tongue and forced a smile. "No, not you. Please, go on."
The shaman studied his eyes — the mismatched pair. "He's the reason your eyes aren't the sa."
Mikel frowned. No, his eyes weren't the sa because one had been... borrowed. Donated.
"He wants to take charge of not just your body, but your life. Your identity, soul — your everything," she went on, before jolting back. She clasped the edge of the table, her body convulsing.
Mikel braced the table, one hand catching the crystal ball to keep it from rolling off.
"Madam?" he called almost nervously, watching her eyes roll back until only white remained.
Then, suddenly, she stopped.
Slowly, she looked back at him, her eyes still ghost-white like so kind of magic trick. She leaned in and whispered,
"Wicked. He's very powerful. And he'll only grow more powerful unless you do sothing about it!" Her voice shifted into sothing deeper, harsher.
Mikel gulped. "How do I stop it?"
She gasped again, like choking. Her head cocked back, her body shuddering in another dramatic convulsion — just enough to look real but not enough to fall off her chair.
When she cald, she was panting.
"Kid," she rasped. "What you have... it's terrifying. Sothing that shouldn't be here."
She reached under the table and tossed out three talismans onto the table. "You need these — a lot of these."
"Oh." Mikel eyed the talismans. "Will these make them go away?"
Them as in Doom, Blood Chain, and the Grimoire.
"No. Chasing it away needs more than just a few talismans. But they'll protect you from it." She pointed at one. "Put these two on your doors and windows. And this one — carry it with you at all tis. If you do, it won't be able to get too close."
"..." but it is inside .
Mikel stared at the talismans wordlessly. A part of him wanted to believe the shaman — that she could see what others couldn't. That she could understand. That she wouldn't call him crazy.
But alas...
"Bitch! Whore! You fuck!"
Mikel looked up subtly at the man who had been standing beside the table, spewing nonstop curses. The latter slamd his hands down, but all that happened was a chilling breeze.
"You fucking liar! Don't believe her! She's a scam! She's the one who led to my death! I'll kill this bitch!" the man tried to punch the fake shaman, but his fist only passed through her. But that didn't stop him from trying.
Mikel sighed and glanced at the shaman. If she could see his on, she should see hers too. Doom was right. She was a fake, not like he didn't already know.
"How much for the talismans?"
"Kid, since I'm only a dium and just want to help... I'm giving you a discount."
And right then, Mikel knew — there was no discount, but just a ridiculously high bill. He should've listened to Doom.
When it was over, he left with three talismans in hand, no money, and a very long walk ahead — while the ghost, haunting the fake shaman, kept seething that his voice from the shop reached Mikel's ears even while he walked away.
[I told you so, Master.]
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