"Then let it starve."
Doom's screen then zapped out while the bracelet slithered back into its position, as if the two of them had to hold an emergency meeting about what had just happened.
The silence that followed was thick, as if what transpired was simply Mikel's imagination.
But alas, the bruise on his arm and the burn around his wrist were proof it wasn't.
Bitterness burned at the back of his throat as he glared at the quiet relic, as if it had gone back to sleep.
He wanted to show them what else he was capable of, but his knees buckled as the adrenaline slowly wore off. He leaned his side against the rubble, slowly falling onto it until his buttocks reached the floor, eyes closed. He let go of the wire from his teeth, letting it loosen until blood started circulating back to his arm.
"Aw…" he winced, pressing his back against the rubble as he carefully held his broken arm to the side. Not only did his arm ache, but he felt his entire body throb.
But as he quietly endured the pain, he heard quiet whispers.
He opened his eyes to find the ghosts still standing exactly where they'd been. They all looked back at him with wide eyes; their already pale complexions looked even more dead.
They had been there from the beginning, watching Mikel's slow descent, and now that he had stopped...
"What in the ghost drama did I just witness?" One of the ghosts blurted out, not blinking—not even once.
The other ghost, carrying the same horror, nodded. "That was… freaking intense."
"We didn't get this memo when those ghosts said there are ghost benefits in applying here. Didn't know watching the boss suffer a psychological break live and in color was part of the job description."
Mikel winced, realizing they'd seen everything. He should feel embarrassed, but there was no room for that in him right now.
Still leaning against the rubble, Mikel rested his broken arm over his bent knee.
"What?" he asked, his voice distant and harsh.
The ghosts quickly zipped their mouths, standing so straight they nearly folded in half.
Mikel kept his heavy eyelids open, scanning their faces as if burning their faces in his mind. He had just broken his arm for them; they'd better be useful.
"Didn't you hear me?" he scoffed, his eyes, though weary, burning. "Find those monsters."
The ghosts snapped back to reality, almost as if they had forgotten the orders he had given previously due to what they had witnessed. A few of them exchanged looks, wanting to tell him they wanted out.
Who wanted to be involved with a mad lad like him?
But then, when they set their eyes back on Mikel, their breaths caught in their throats. Their eyes slowly moved past Mikel, directly to the dark aura emitting from his back. It had no form, but more like a black, thick fog dispersing in the air.
All the ghosts froze in place, sensing danger they had never felt before.
When they gulped, they knew this was not a matter of refusal. Setting their attention back to Mikel, they nodded in submission.
"Go," Mikel breathed out, watching as the ghosts quietly hurried away as if they needed to get out of there as fast as they could.
But before they could go far, Mikel spoke again.
"Hey!" he barely raised his voice, but it made the ghosts stop in their tracks. They slowly looked back at him, as if their spines were rusty.
Mikel lowered his head, a shadow cast over the side of his face, leaving only the burning color of hell in his eye. "I rarely forget faces. Tell anyone about tonight or what I told you… Or run away… you'll be the one I'm hunting."
The ghosts almost squealed at that promise, nodding profusely before fleeing to find whatever monster Mikel needed. Although at the back of their minds, they couldn't help but think that if Mikel looked in the mirror, he would find what he was looking for.
As the ghosts fled, the screen blinked back to existence.
[Self-inflicted agony for the forgotten, just to terrify them. Inefficient... but delightfully so, Master.]
"I didn't break my arm for them," Mikel cast the screen a sharp look. "I broke it for myself."
There was a brief silence between them, almost as if Doom, for once, didn't know what to say. And then —
[Of all the bearers who had carried the protocol, you are becoming my favorite.]
Mikel scoffed. "Should that terrify me?"
[It depends on where you're looking.]
Another exhausted exhale escaped Mikel as he slowly fell to his side, arm still up. He rolled until his back rested on the cracked road, staring at the thick clouds moving to give way to the moonlight.
Silence carried on with the soft night breeze, almost like washing the remnants of the psychological torment he had gone through. Mikel closed his eyes to rest.
Tonight, he won a battle, but not a war.
Like Doom said, the Blood Chain would always be hungry.
"Ugh…" he groaned, closing his eyes as he tried to calm the slipping adrenaline from his system.
His exhaustion was not just physical, but emotional, psychological, and perhaps even spiritual. Still, the corner of his mouth hooked up, keeping his eyes closed.
"A win is still a win," he whispered, chuckling weakly. "Can't believe I just broke an arm to win an argument... damn, I'm losing it."
Slowly, his consciousness drifted as a faint shimmer from the screen glowed, even with his eyes closed. However, he was too exhausted to open his eyes to check.
[Emergency Protocol Tier I unlocked: Self-Termination Resistance Achieved.]
As the night deepened and its hum carried on with the quiet breeze, two dark figures—like shadows, triple the size of an average human—towered over Mikel's figure.
One of them was seated beside him, his long legs folded, his feet under his buttocks. His elbow propped on his leg, hand cupping his face. The tattered edges of what looked like ragged clothes floated softly in the wind.
Meanwhile, a tall female figure stood near Mikel's feet. Her feet planted on either side of his leg, one hand curled with the back resting on her hip. Tilting her head, the curled horns on her head showed.
"Hmm?" the woman hummed, gazing at the screen that slowly turned to face the two of them. "That is new."
Her focus shifted from the screen to the teen lying asleep in the middle of the road. "No bearer has yet unlocked any Emergency Protocol except Doom's Emergency Protocol."
The other figure with her—the one slumped beside Mikel—grinned. His teeth were razor sharp, his grin stretching unnaturally wide.
"I'm still hungry." His voice was low yet sharp, carrying a natural malice in it.
The woman with him glanced at him. "Doom's proud of him… and I am certain you were intrigued to see how long it'll take before he breaks."
The man chuckled malevolently, eyeing Mikel, who had been forcing them into submission.
"He won a round tonight," the man chuckled, as his figure started to melt like a shadow on the ground, slithering its way back to the bracelet around Mikel's wrist. "The nights are endless."
The woman snickered as she snapped her eyes back to the screen. In a blink, she disappeared, and from where she stood, the Book of the Dead fell. Before the book could hit the ground, the space beneath it split open.
As the two dark, shadowy figures disappeared, the screen slowly turned to where Mikel was snoring. Nothing more was said as it quietly zapped out of existence.
Yet, it didn't disappear without a whisper: "You're not the first to carry us, but you might be the last."