SHAMAN PROTOCOL
Chapter 53: BURN.THIS. MOTHERFUCKER.

Chapter 53: BURN.THIS. MOTHERFUCKER.

In the void, Mikel gasped for air.

"Hah..." he choked, hearing nothing but silence.

The voices had vanished. Now, only silence remained—deeper, more deafening than a scream, and more suffocating. Yet, his heart burned despite the lack of air.

Everything in his life flashed before him...

That female ghost saluting him for no reason, and then her last smile.

That male ghost charging at the man despite knowing he never stood a chance.

The union. The cake. The incense. The absurd dignity of it all.

His home...

His fate...

His life...

He couldn’t accept it.

His heart burned—not with life, but with defiance and anger.

He rejected death itself.

He couldn’t die like this.

Not without taking those two with him.

Are you sure?

His chest tightened at the thought. It wasn’t a voice or a sound, not even his own thought. But somehow, the question rang clear within the silence.

"Doom?" he rasped, looking up at the void that stretched endlessly above him.

Then, the void cracked open, revealing a massive red eye, burning like a crimson sun.

The void bent around it like it couldn’t contain the weight of its gaze. The eye looked straight at him, even though Mikel was smaller than an ant compared to it. Mikel sensed a familiarity with it, as he had seen this eye before — just smaller. After all, the eye he got from the surgery looked the same as this one.

That didn’t matter, though.

Mikel clenched his teeth, unshaken by the nightmare above him. The fire in his chest blazed just as red as the eye.

"Yes," he breathed out, continuing his thoughts, gasping and determined. "I’ll... kill them... even if I have to die doing so."

I will never forgive them.

I’ll be damned if I let them get away just like that.

Silence lingered until the void split open like a wound.

*

*

The air in the junkyard grew even thicker, corrupted, and toxic.

Both enemies eyed Mikel. Neither showed amusement anymore, nor any leisure to stay without gauging the aura rising from him.

Mikel was still lying on his back, seemingly unaware of the smoke ascending from every part of his body. In a second, his hand, covered by what looked like molten tar, stabbed his leg. The molten tar throbbed as it moved, as if it were dripping into his leg, feeding something inside... or perhaps, it was it that was feeding.

GASP!

Mikel gasped as if coming up to the surface after drowning. His chest heaved, his back arched as he filled his lungs with air.

At the same moment, the corner of the man’s sunglasses glinted. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared from his vantage point, launching a kick at Mikel as the latter gasped for air. He would not wait and let this kid make a comeback.

But then, Mikel’s eyes fell on him.

CRASH!

The man intuitively raised his arms to block the pressure, knocking him back. His feet skidded, creating smoke and dust beneath his soles. His raised arms slowly moved down, catching whoever or whatever stopped him.

There, floating near Mikel, was the levitating eyeball from the woman.

"Do not interfere," the man growled lowly at the blindfolded woman.

She stood meters away, raised her palm, and the eyeball moved back over her hand. Her attention remained on Mikel instead of the man with her.

"He would’ve killed you if I didn’t," she explained softly but solemnly.

The man didn’t speak, shifting his focus to Mikel. He watched as Mikel struggled to get back on his feet. His eyes fell on Mikel’s morphed hand, which was twitching, as if he barely had control over it. Scriptures on his face burned his skin like molten calligraphy, carving themselves deeper and more mercilessly.

But what truly caught the man’s attention wasn’t the half-formed relics. It was the fact that Mikel seemed half-conscious... and still trying to control them.

Mikel huffed, a fog forming in front of his mouth. His exhaustion carried in every heavy breath, but his eyes—both the red one and the other—burned with intent. His side twitched uncontrollably, feeling a surge of corrupt energy that burned and numbed his bones.

"Get out," the blindfolded woman whispered, and in the same breath, the man froze as he felt something ominous behind him.

A harsh clang split the air.

The man raised his arms to his side, blocking the sidekick coming toward him. His arm and Mikel’s leg didn’t even meet, as cursed energy formed between them, still sending him flying.

His body crashed into the pile of junk the woman had sat on earlier. But as dust ascended with thin smoke, the man emerged from it, charging straight toward Mikel.

This time, Mikel faced him head-on. His strength and agility were on par with the man’s, and surprisingly, his mind was clear.

There was only one thought in Mikel’s mind: BURN.THIS. MOTHERFUCKER.

As they clashed, sending each other flying, only to meet halfway and fight again, as if cutting off the space between them, Mikel raised his blackened hand and opened his palm right beside the man’s head.

Black scripture circled underneath his palm, glowing with a sickly light. The center of his palm split open, revealing a small mouth with a long tongue whipping around.

At the same time, the man, mid-air and launching a jab at Mikel, created a corrupted energy underneath his knuckles.

Just as his knuckles created a ripple on Mikel’s jaw and the little mouth in Mikel’s palm whispered a chant, a powerful force erupted between them, sending both of them flying.

CRASH!

The sound of their crash echoed in the corrupted air of the junkyard, with Mikel ending up buried in the piles of junk. The man, on the other hand, managed to stop at the entrance of the junkyard.

Smoke burst beneath the man’s feet; this time, his knee touched the ground. Half of his face was burned, ripped off, with flesh moving and swelling, but dying out, stopping him from regenerating. But that didn’t hinder him. His aura still grew, causing the barely hanging entrance gate to fall with a sharp clang.

Ahead, Mikel crawled out of the piles of junk.

"Pathetic," the man muttered coldly. "All this just to blow yourself up and hope the shrapnel hits."

The man’s already stout shoulders bulged as the air around him rippled with heat. He rose to his feet, watching Mikel crawl out from the debris.

"Then I’ll show you... that it takes more than just half possession for you to achieve anything."

Mikel hissed through his clenched teeth, laughing from within. He knew he was running out of time. Once this brief borrowed power was gone, there would be no second chance. Hell, he would die.

But...

Who cared about that now?

His eyes glinted. His arm moved uncontrollably until he slammed it on the ground to keep it stable. Turning his head, he was ready to give his all for this.

Meanwhile, the ground beneath the man cracked until it created a hollow. Bits of ground snapped up, and before they could fall, another layer cracked beneath the man’s feet, and he disappeared. Like Mikel, he was determined to end this kid before he became a real headache in the future.

As the two forces charged toward each other, appearing in the middle for the last showdown, two figures appeared between them.

Both Mikel and the man were sent flying, knocked back at the sudden burst of energy.

One stood firm, arm outstretched, holding a closed umbrella horizontally, like a barrier across the middle.

At the very tip of that umbrella, the blindfolded woman stood, perfectly balanced—the pointed toe of her stiletto pinning it to the ground.