SHAMAN PROTOCOL
Chapter 52: Prelude To Reckoning

Chapter 52: Prelude To Reckoning

Thud!

Mikel’s breath was knocked out of his lungs as soon as his back hit the ground. His vision blacked out for a moment. His body was already beaten black and blue, his palms burned and bleeding, his energy depleted. Yet, his fear of his end didn’t even cross his mind at the moment.

Those idiots...

They bought him time, but he couldn’t even move.

He gasped—a choking breath through clenched teeth—as the little life left in his eyes returned. Mikel stared at the dark sky and the thick clouds moving closer to the moon. The sky didn’t have stars, and yet, the moon didn’t shine brightly.

The only thing that made it stand out was not because of its beauty, but because it was alone, and despite that, it still shone, albeit dimly. Mikel stared at it as if it mirrored his own isolation.

Useless...

A faint crack under the slow footsteps echoed in his ears, but he didn’t try checking. He kept his eyes up, watching as the thick clouds slowly covered the moon.

[System Instability Detected: Emergency Protocol launching...]

The screen hovered before him, but all he felt was utter bitterness.

What does that... even mean?

Why was this system with him?

What was even the purpose of the Shaman Protocol?

THROB.

Mikel’s chest felt tight as his heart beat loudly, just as the screen pulsed. Then it throbbed again—this time, his entire body. The tightness in his chest felt like a crushing pain, halting his breathing all at once as his eyes widened.

THROB.

His eyes went blank. He choked, back arched, hands and feet curled. The ground beneath him darkened, spreading like blood through cracked stone—and in a second, everything around him turned black.

Mikel felt like he was pulled into a void, still lying in the same position. He clutched his neck, still choked by something. It was as though this void didn’t even have oxygen to offer him.

Then—voices.

"Presumptuous!" Suddenly, he heard an aggressive hiss from somewhere in the void. "I will tear that lesser being and devour him bit by bit."

"For a lesser being to call others lesser..." Then, a woman’s malicious yet alluring voice followed, "...talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Surely, they have all forgotten their places."

"Let’s kill him!" the first speaker roared, along with the sound of chains clanging, as if he were bound by it. "Even a thousand deaths will not be enough to quench my anger! How dare he insult us like this!?"

"Carnage," the female said—more like a warning or a reminder.

"Grr!" the man growled, the chains clanging behind him as his voice faded.

There was a pause for just a moment as their focus shifted to Mikel in the center of the void. Their current bearer was writhing, his entire body begging for oxygen. He had not yet lost consciousness—still fighting, even now.

"What a shame," she spoke again. "I’m still not fond of him, but he’s lasted this long."

"Tch," the man hissed irritably. "I still hadn’t tested his limits, and he’s going to die... just like the rest! USELESS! All that big talk—pwe!"

Mikel still tried to gasp for air, his neck taut. He could still vaguely hear the conversation he didn’t think he should be hearing.

"Ugh..." he gasped, turning onto his side.

"This must be farewell," the woman said again. "Can’t say I had fun with him, but I almost believed we’d found someone who could finally break us all free."

She clicked her tongue softly while the other man spoke.

"I like him. Mikel is fun," he hissed, but regardless of his words, there was no trace of attachment to them.

"Farewell, Mikel," she added, followed by the man’s hiss.

"Let’s find someone not as pathetic as him!"

Their voices grew distant, as if they were walking away, chains dragging behind them. But then, the two dark figures in the void halted at a voice without sound.

"Huh?" the woman hummed in confusion, her gaze snapping toward the dark. "What does that mean, Doom?"

Nothing but stillness followed her question, but the absence of His voice was louder than sound.

"We can’t..." she trailed off, confused. "... leave yet?"

"I’ll..." Mikel’s choking voice echoed, making the two of them shift their attention to him. He clasped the darkness beneath him, causing a faint sound of chains to rattle. "... kill... them."

Both dark figures watched, then glanced up as the void trembled.

After a moment, the dark male figure—Carnage—smirked. His long tongue licked across his unnaturally wide mouth.

"Yes! Yes! This is what I’m talking about!" Carnage grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the dark. "Let’s do it even if you break!"

---

Meanwhile, in the real world, Mikel lay there with blank eyes. His left eye—the red one—mirrored the faint moon, while his other eye reflected nothing at all. He wasn’t moving. His breathing was almost gone.

The system flickered like static, stating:

[System Emergency Protocol unstable.]

[Emergency Protocol launch failed.]

The man in the tank top approached, stopping just a step from Mikel’s side. He stared at the young man through his thin sunglasses silently.

"You are not compatible," he uttered, his voice cold—almost freezing the air around them. "And yet, despite the incompatibility, you were able to manifest them and command them."

You are not meant to live long.

[System Emergency Protocol Override by Host.]

[Emergency Launch Aborted — Host Rejection Detected.]

The man slowly raised his foot over Mikel, ready to stomp him in half. But just as he brought it down, Mikel’s red eye moved, locking onto him.

He froze.

One of Mikel’s eyes remained blank—but the other... it was burning. Like the gates of hell had opened within it.

And it was staring straight at him.

After a beat, the man jumped back, barely dodging Mikel’s sudden reach.

"Oh?" the woman, who had just stepped down from her throne of junk, paused. Her brows lifted, her attention on the man who had just evaded Mikel.

That was the first time this man had jumped back from an opponent.

She slowly moved her gaze beneath her blindfold to where Mikel lay. The kid was still lying flat on the ground, yet his hand was curled in a gripping position.

The beaded bracelet around his wrist melted into his palm, like molten tar—burning, binding, and becoming part of him. Slowly, his hand turned black, like it was withering and awakening into a monster’s hand.

In the same breath, scriptures crawled across his face, wrapping atop the ink already marked on his skin.

Dark, thick, and suffocating smoke rose from Mikel’s body.

Her triumphant smile twitched while the man gazed at Mikel with hostility. The kid was still alive... but he couldn’t move anymore. The one controlling that darkened hand, with fingertips like claws, wasn’t Mikel.

"Carnage," the man whispered, recognizing the aura as he tipped his sunglasses. "They are taking form."

The woman let the levitating eyeball over her palm assess Mikel, then she smirked.

"They cannot get out of him," she mused, her tone sharper. "Kill him before they become permanent."

---

Meanwhile, at the entrance of the slum area stood a man in a black coat. He held a black umbrella, his white glove spotless.

Stefan looked up at the sky, his silver eyes glinting under the thick clouds covering the moon. His expression was stoic as he stepped through the narrow streets of this haphazard sprawl of homes. Each of his steps parted the ominous air before him, like the world was making way.

He didn’t stop or pause as he walked straight toward the junkyard, where he could feel the pungent, overwhelming aura of not just one—

But three.

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