"What in the…" Mikel hissed, staring at his bruised back through the small mirror above the sink in the tiny bathroom. He hadn't noticed them earlier when changing out of the hospital gown—just the one on his shoulder.
But now, patches of purple bruises blossomed on his back. It didn't hurt, but it definitely looked concerning.
Should I get it rechecked?
Mikel arched a brow, half-expecting Doom to answer. But it didn't.
"You there?" he muttered, slowly ignoring the bruises on his back.
[Your battle with the Nightbound has its effect on the waking world, Master.]
"I know that," he clicked his tongue faintly, glancing at his bruises in the mirror once again. He sighed heavily and tossed the small towel over his head, ignoring what was already there. It wasn't like he could change the past.
Walking out of the bathroom, the living room on the first floor quickly came into view. Mikel's eyes landed on the old couch with its worn-out patches. Another shallow breath slipped past his nostrils as he sat down.
On the coffee table lay the Book of the Dead and the fake talismans he had gotten from the phony shaman. Just as he was about to reach for the talismans, the grimoire suddenly opened. Its pages flipped madly as if caught in a strong gust of wind—except there was no wind; every door and window was sealed shut
A murky scent of burnt paper wafted through his nostrils as thin, silent smoke ascended from the pages. His hand moved on its own, fingertips brushing the page as letters slowly burned into it. The letters looked ancient—something Mikel shouldn't have been able to understand. Yet somehow, he understood them perfectly.
[Not all whispers are meant to be heard.]
[Purification requires awareness.]
[Exorcism requires acknowledgment.]
[To cast out evil, you must let them in.]
SLAP!
Mikel instinctively slapped the book shut, shaking his head. "Nope. I don't like where that's going."
Again, his brow twitched as he waited for Doom to answer. For some unknown reason, Doom remained silent.
After a moment, as if sensing Mikel's impatience, Doom finally broke its silence:
[You've been warned, Master. Progress awaits.]
"No," Mikel muttered stubbornly, ignoring Doom. "If this is progress, I'll pass."
Why was he even waiting for Doom to respond when he already knew what it wanted? Doom wanted his full cooperation—no questions asked.
Mikel would've given it... If he had wished for this to happen.
But this wasn't what he wished for. The only thing he wanted was to regain his eyesight and live normally again. This, however, was not normal. Not even close.
Mikel tossed himself back, wincing as his bruised back ached once more.
"Ouch…" he hissed, touching his shoulder as he glanced at his back again. "They hurt."
The fight against the Nightbound hadn't hurt in the dream. It had exhausted him, sure, but there was no pain—just as dreams should be. Yet, now, the bruises proved how serious it really was, and how these bruises didn't just look skin-deep, as if something from within him was damaged by that fight. He was just not sure if it was only from the fight with the Nightbound, or the cursed relic he got was also responsible for it.
As Mikel shoved the thought to the back of his mind, he raised his fingers. Clipped between his thumb and index finger was the talisman. He waved it around, eyeing the cryptic letters written in red ink.
"Protect me from it, huh…?" he whispered, recalling the fake shaman's words.
She might have been a fraud, but part of him couldn't help but wonder…
What if she was accidentally right?
What if the force inside him didn't just want to help — but to take over? His body, his life, his identity, his soul—his everything.
There might not have been much in his life worth stealing, but that was the point. All he had was his life, and Mikel wasn't exactly the generous type. Hence, his reluctance to blindly follow everything Doom wanted.
Mikel snapped out of his thoughts as the book suddenly flew open again. But this time, the lingering scent wasn't burnt paper.
It was burnt flesh.
He quickly covered his nose with the back of his hand, his stomach twisting at the strong, distinct stench.
"What the hell is that smell?" Mikel yelped, jumping over the back of the couch to put some distance between himself and the book.
At the same time, the page suddenly caught fire.
He froze, watching the flame blaze for a second before dying down just as quickly.
Slowly, he took careful steps forward, his eyes locked on the book.
Earlier, there had only been a few scribbles.
The page burned, yet somehow didn't turn to ash. Instead, it was filled with more writing and strange, incoherent charcoal drawings.
The smell of burnt flesh lingered, but his focus was fixed on the page.
Finally, as if waiting for this moment, Doom spoke again:
[Rule number one: Never ignore the signs. Not everything in this world plays by your rules.]
Somehow, reading Doom's message sent a shiver down Mikel's spine. Despite being just text, the tone felt... different.
At the same time—
Knock… knock… knock…
Three slow, loud knocks echoed from the front door.
Mikel froze, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he lifted his eyes toward the door, gulping as he sensed an ominous presence standing just outside. And somehow, despite the door being shut, he could feel it looking straight at him.
Knock… knock…
[... Do not open it.]
"For once, you agree with me?" Mikel whispered, unable to look away from the door.
As all his senses heightened, his left eye began glowing—until finally, through the Night Vision, he could see its silhouette.
Knock…
No one was standing in front of the door.
Mikel slowly tilted his gaze upward, holding his breath.
There, a figure sat perched on the small roof above the door. Its long, thin legs reached the ground, and it was knocking—using its heel.
[It's not a knock of the living.]
"Yeah, that's a little late for you to say," Mikel blurted out, his eyes sliding toward the window. As soon as he did, a large eye, big enough to fill the window frame, stared directly at him.
Mikel—and the monstrous eye—locked gazes until the monstrous eye suddenly drooped.
In that instant, Mikel's breath hitched. He dove over the couch, snatching the grimoire as he slid across the room.
In the same moment, something long and sharp — like a bone or an unnaturally stretched finger — shattered through the window, nearly impaling him in the chest.
"Ack—" Mikel hit his back against an old antique drawer on the side, knocking the breath from his lungs. Before he could recover, something else tore through the air— fast, sharp, and almost invisible.
Doom's warning flickered a second late; the screen glitching, like a corrupted code;
[ — THREAT DETEC — ABOVE YOU—]
Mikel looked up, just in time to see something sharp glint—
CRACK!