SHAMAN PROTOCOL
Chapter 60: Choked on Smoke, Spit Out Death

Chapter 60: Choked on Smoke, Spit Out Death

There were still too many questions in Mikel’s mind.

What exactly was the crystal he was supposed to fill?

What would happen when the Blood Chain consumed another shard of the Mourning Eye?

Where did Doom actually come from?

What became of the previous bearer of the Protocol?

And why had Doom crashed when analyzing the Type X entities?

Mikel didn’t have answers, just fragments.

But two things he did know: one was, signing his first Phantom Contract was the next step forward. Doom had said it would unlock progress and earn his first true ally.

Second, his progress was directly tied to Doom. which explained the crash.

Still, something didn’t sit right with him. There were details—gaps—that felt intentional. Maybe Doom was restricted by the Protocol, or maybe it was choosing not to tell him everything.

Either way, Mikel wasn’t going to let that stop him.

The deeper he pushed, the more the Protocol would unravel — whether Doom liked it or not.

***

Mikel had slept through the night and morning like he’d gone into hibernation. By the time he opened his eyes again, it was night.

As promised, Danika and Amon had returned.

The ward looked different now. Incense sticks surrounded the room, filling the air with a scent that was pleasant but heavy, almost suffocating. Candles had been lit, adding a flickering glow to the dim light overhead. Strange artifacts sat in the corners. If he didn’t know better, Mikel would’ve guessed he’d been wheeled into a fortune teller’s tent, not a medical ward.

Propped against the headboard, he glanced down at Danika standing near his feet. Amon was by the door, back pressed against it, sipping from a milk carton like this was completely normal.

Neither of them said a word. They just stared.

"Uh..." Mikel cleared his throat and rubbed his nose as the incense started seeping in. "Am I getting exorcised?"

Danika’s eyes didn’t move.

"We don’t need this much setup to exorcise you." Her tone was as dry as her stare. "This is a safe rite—to exhume whatever curse is on you and contain it here. Think of it as cleansing and damage control. Or an X-ray, if that helps your mortal brain."

She glanced at Amon, and he nodded in return.

"Whenever you’re ready," Amon said, calm as ever. His voice could soothe spirits or lull a demon to sleep.

"Wait—you’re not going to—"

"I will attempt to draw out any lingering curse," Danika cut in, now facing him again. "Especially if it’s Type X in nature. They... hide. They burrow. Some types can mimic parts of your own spirit, enough to leave them undetected."

She paused, locked eyes with him, and said,

"This will hurt a bit."

The dread that crawled up Mikel’s spine was immediate.

Danika pressed her palms together in a prayer gesture, eyes closed, lips beginning to move in a soft chant.

Mikel, still unsure, turned his gaze toward the closed door where Amon stood like a guardian statue while sipping from a straw.

How exactly is this going to hurt?

Then, the incense smoke began to move—subtle at first, then clearly unnatural. It gathered in slow tendrils, sliding along the air toward Mikel.

His brows twitched. He pressed his back tighter against the headboard, watching wide-eyed as the smoke snaked up the bed, clinging to his arms... his face...

"Uh..." he tried again, snapping his gaze to Danika. "Hey, this is—"

Danika’s eyes opened sharply.

Her palms, still pressed together, twisted. The fingers separated just enough to form an [X] between them.

And she chanted, "Rot speaks in silence — let it scream."

The words barely left her lips before the smoke snapped into motion, gripping Mikel like a wet towel being wrung out.

His entire body tensed. His mouth opened in a choking gasp as his body slid down until he lay flat.

"Ah—!"

Smoke coiled into his mouth, nose, ears, and even his skin. Every pore welcomed it like an invitation he hadn’t sent.

Even if he wanted to claw at his throat, he couldn’t. The smoke held him tight, binding his arms against his torso like a spiritual rope.

It doesn’t hurt that much, he thought distantly. Just... gonna kill me through secondhand smoke.

And it was true—compared to what he’d been through recently, this didn’t burn or tear. But the suffocating pressure, the stillness of his limbs, the mounting helplessness—it pushed him into a state beyond pain, into pure, slow desperation.

Meanwhile, Danika and Amon watched in silence, their expressions unreadable.

They didn’t move as the smoke began to move again. This time, the smoke was drawing something out of Mikel.

A tinge of black mist began to ride the smoke, curling and writhing in the air.

Both agents narrowed their eyes.

Danika’s hands, still pressed together in ritual, started to tremble.

The small pot of flowers on the bedside table withered. The petals shriveled inward, curling like they were recoiling from whatever was being released.

This is so much cursed energy... and it managed to hide in him, Danika thought, jaw tight, as the pressure crawling down her arms threatened to lock her joints. Yet, she didn’t falter.

Amon stole a glance at her.

His eyes lowered to her shoulder, catching the slight tremor, and then to the single drop of blood trailing from her ear.

He didn’t speak. He just turned his attention back to the room.

The mist continued pouring out of Mikel, thickening into dark tendrils. It merged midair, drawn by the ritual into a singular mass—swirling, pulsing, gathering.

Then, a harsh gust of wind screamed through the ward.

The candles flickered violently until some went out. A few overhead bulbs shattered in bursts of white sparks.

A shard of glass sliced across Danika’s cheek, but she didn’t even blink. The sharpness in her eyes remained, glinting at the dark energy concentrated above Mikel while the smoke crawled around it.

With another breath, she exhaled—quiet, but authoritative.

"You’ve screamed," she intoned.

Her hands remained pressed together, but twisted slightly, trembling as if she were trying to open a tightly sealed jar.

The cursed energy above Mikel responded, vibrating with resistance before it began to shrink.

It pulsed once in defiance.

Danika’s hands threatened to part from the strain, but she held them together.

"Let the rot fall quiet—"

And then, she twisted sharply, snapping her hands back into their original prayer position.

GUST!

Another harsh wind ripped through the ward. The hovering sphere of black energy above Mikel snapped inward, shattered, consumed by the smoke.

And with it, the smoke dissipated, fading into the air as if the curse had never been there at all.

Danika stumbled back, catching the metal rail of the bed until her knuckles turned white. Her complexion had gone pale. Her arm trembled violently, as if it still remembered the pressure—and the rot—it had touched.

"Dani." Amon stepped forward, stopping a few paces from her.

When she looked up at him, concern flickered in his eyes. She met his concern with a look that tried to be cold, yet her voice wavered, just once.

"I’m — I’m fine."

Then, the brief silence was broken with the sound of retching.

Mikel’s body twisted to the side, gagging violently over the edge of the bed. He choked, then convulsed slightly, until something wet hit the floor with a sickening thud.

A large glob of ectoplasm.

His back heaved. He gasped for air, then gagged again until he finally caught a breath, only to freeze.

His eyes locked onto what he’d just thrown up.

Something was in it.

Something solid.

Something that looked like chewed flesh—unmistakably human, or at least... it used to be. And then, something else was clear in it.

"Hey..." His voice cracked. Dread slithered up his spine as he turned toward Danika and Amon, finger trembling.

"Is that... is that a human ear?"

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