SHAMAN PROTOCOL
Chapter 66: Spat out by the mist

Chapter 66: Spat out by the mist

For the past twenty-four hours, Mikel had been juggling talisman setup during the day and chasing internet-famous spirits at night—not to exorcise them, but to form a Phantom Contract with these so-called horror legends.

Most of them had been disappointments. Just like the rumors about Madam Carmina.

A once-renowned fraud during her lifetime, she was so convincing in her fake visions that even spirits mocked her. After death, she was trapped in her own cracked crystal ball, now kept in a dusty local museum, gathering "spiritual energy" that didn’t exist.

Mikel had asked her for spiritual tracking assistance. She summoned the ghost of his "future child," made tea for it, and then started reading his horoscope.

Doom’s verdict?

[Falsehood Overflow Detected.]

[A ghost who lies to ghosts. A legacy of disappointment.]

In the end, Mikel shut her down by feeding her to the Blood Chain. He didn’t have to. But with his Recovery Protocol still active, he couldn’t afford to let cursed spirits roam around unsupervised.

The next spirit on his list was Athena, the Weeping Archivist.

Once an overworked record clerk from a tiny government office, Athena had died in a fire while trying to alphabetize tax slips. She died clutching a misfiled ledger, and now she was haunting the charred remains of the old town hall, her echoing sobs drawing attention from bored amateur ghosthunters.

Her special skill?

[Organizes everything you own in alphabetical order. (Very slowly.)]

Doom’s follow-up:

[You now have the cleanest inventory and the most irrelevant support spirit in shamanic history.]

So Mikel let her rest in the Blood Chain too. If nothing else, maybe she’d pass some of that organizational talent to the cursed relic.

There had been others: the gravekeeper’s son obsessed with digging rectangular holes, a town crier whose only skill was screaming "EMERGENCY!" every five minutes for no damn reason, and more.

To civilians—people who couldn’t see spirits—these legends were haunting. But to someone like Mikel, who lived in the ghost world?

Over-hyped.

After briefing the ghost labor crew about his current plans, Mikel boarded the last bus to Blackpineville in search of Haleth, the Lantern Bearer.

He slept through most of the ride. To be fair, he’d been sleeping on the road since this whole Phantom Contract journey began. Between putting up talisman circles and taking them down every day, he hadn’t had a proper night’s rest in days. Today was an exception—he had asked the ghosts to remain at the site until he returned.

When he stepped off at the final bus stop, Mikel found himself walking along the edge of an empty road.

It was two in the morning, fog curling around his feet. Lantern in his bag. Hope still stupidly flickering in his heart.

"This town’s kinda creepy to be walking around at two," Mikel muttered, glancing over his shoulder.

Nothing. No cars. No headlights. Just the long, silent road behind him.

The fields on either side were pitch-black, the houses scattered so far apart they might as well have belonged to different counties. Classic rural horror setup.

[Scanning...]

Doom was doing its thing, scanning for cursed or malicious spirits. The problem was that Doom’s scan had limitations. It couldn’t verify urban legends unless Mikel was already face-to-face with the entity. And it couldn’t detect danger until, more or less, it was already gnawing on him.

"I hope Haleth isn’t another dud," Mikel muttered, kicking a pebble down the road. "Even if it’s not tracking or enhancing Night Vision, I need someone useful."

[Scan complete. No cursed spirits in vicinity.]

"Great," he muttered. "That means I’ll get attacked from behind any second now."

Still, he activated his Night Vision—just in case.

Fishing out his old phone, Mikel tapped the cracked screen and pulled up the half-loaded map. The reception was garbage, but not total garbage. Good enough to keep him going in the right direction.

According to the article and the screenshots he’d saved, the next landmark was a forest entry just off the side road.

He stopped when he saw it.

Dark trees loomed like a jagged mouth. He glanced at his phone, then back at the path.

"Found it." A small grin tugged at his lips as he shoved the phone into his pocket.

Slipping off his bag, he pulled out a flashlight and gave the forest entrance a quick scan. Mist blurred around the edges of the underbrush.

"What’s the Recovery Protocol status, Doom?"

[Recovery Protocol completed.]

[Master, you are ready for your next combat.]

Mikel raised his brows. "Guess I am."

And with that, he stepped into the forest—like some amateur ghostbuster with questionable decision-making skills and a cursed system as his sidekick.

According to the online forum about this forest, ghost enthusiasts often came here to camp, swap horror stories, and try their luck at spotting spirits. A few claimed that deep in the woods, they’d eventually get lost. Others said that even when retracing the exact path back, they somehow still ended up turned around.

And when that happened—when they were truly lost—that’s when the lantern would appear.

So, Mikel followed the path ahead.

The deeper he went, the more the forest breathed around him. Crickets chirped. Leaves rustled in the wind. Thin branches snapped beneath his old sneakers as his flashlight swung left and right. He’d been walking for a while now, but so far, nothing unusual.

"Doom?" he whispered.

Doom’s screen hovered up beside him.

[Scanning... No threats detected in vicinity.]

He frowned. That wasn’t necessarily comforting.

Eventually, Mikel reached a clearing. He panned his flashlight across it, catching glimpses of trash and a collapsed tent. He approached it, crouching to inspect the scene.

"Just leftovers from those paranormal campers," he muttered, kicking at the remnants of an old bonfire. Judging by the ash, it hadn’t been used in months.

Mikel stood, scanning the area again with his flashlight, his Night Vision, and Doom’s very unhelpful scan.

Nothing.

Only the faint trace of spiritual energy drifted through the air. But it was harmless.

"Guess it’s time to get lost," he muttered, and without ceremony, turned around and started walking the exact path he came from.

After all, the whole myth revolved around being lost on the way out, not in.

So, he retraced his steps, almost humming like he was on a stroll through the park.

Then, his steps slowed.

Up ahead... was the entry point.

He had walked straight out.

No light. No spirits. No confusion. No Haleth.

"The hell?" He clicked his tongue. "Are all those posters on that site just trolls?"

Did he just waste his time, money, and energy on a ghost story scavenger hunt?

Before his irritation could spiral, Doom’s screen flickered back to life.

[Master, it appears the forest is rejecting you.]

"...Rejecting me?" Mikel scowled. "You mean, it just spat me out?"

[Correct.]

He turned to glare at the woods. "Does that mean the lantern bearer isn’t interested in forming a contract with me? How did it even know?"

[Negative. There is something else within the forest. Or perhaps, the forest itself doesn’t want you here. The path changed on your way back—it gave you a shortcut without your knowledge.]

"And you’re telling me this just now?"

[I was trying to gather information for accuracy.]

Mikel snapped his tongue. "But you said it was clear earlier."

[It is clear of threats. Not of spiritual remnants.]

Mikel exhaled sharply. The air in most places carried residual energy—nothing new. So, he thought this was the same.

[Conclusion: Getting lost is not an option in your current state.]

[Suggestion: Search for it.]

His expression darkened. "This Haleth better be worth all of this."

And so, for the second time, Mikel entered the forest—not to get lost and be found, but to search.

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