SHAMAN PROTOCOL-Chapter 49: System Crash

Mikel held his breath. Atop the mountain of junk sat a woman like a blind deity, her blindfolded gaze somehow pinning him in place. The levitating eyeball, twice as big as his hand, was also staring at him.

[Threat Detected: ERROR]

[Threat Level: ERROR]

Doom was still trying to compile data about her, but like before, it failed over and over until the screen began glitching. The translucent panel trembled, lines of corrupted text flickering before vanishing entirely.

Doom was... crashing.

Even his cursed relics pulsed—not in fear, but in hostility. That was rare. That was worse.

Mikel heard footsteps coming from the broken wall where he’d crashed through just moments ago.

"I retrieved it," the person said.

Mikel turned his head, catching a bulky man in a tank top with thin black sunglasses, brushing aside a dangling part of the wall as he walked through. He didn’t look like any kind of Blighted with grotesque deformities—he looked just like any other human.

Yet, he was too still—too clean, too calm. His human appearance was uncanny, like someone had assembled the idea of a man without ever meeting one.

After the assault that had sent Mikel flying, he knew this was no ordinary human. If it was even human at all.

[Threat Detected: Homunculus]

[Class Type: Blaspheme]

[Overview: An entity that isn’t born through normal spiritual or natural processes. Aberrant — beyond classification with abnormal fundamentals.]

[Warning: Entity contradicts existing spectral law and integrity.]

[Threat Level: ERROR]

[Survival Rate: NEGATIVE]

By the time Doom managed to compile as much of a warning as it could, it was already too late. Even without Doom’s alerts, Mikel knew—these weren’t enemies he could fight with just spite and stubbornness.

Mikel gritted his teeth, pushing himself to stand.

[Suggestion: RETREAT.]

Retreat?

Was that even an option?

Mikel hissed as he rose, fully aware that he couldn’t win this—not now, not against them. But he also knew, deep in his bones, that retreat wasn’t an option.

They wouldn’t let him.

"You take it," the man said, tossing the shard upward toward the throne of junk.

The woman didn’t even bother to catch it. The shard floated in place just beside her. She raised a finger under the hovering fragment, dark energy forming around it.

"Hmm?" she hummed. "How strange... it shrank. It was larger when we embedded it into that pathetic Broken."

As she examined the shard now suspended inside a cursed energy sphere inches above her fingertip, the man turned to face Mikel squarely.

"I’ll finish him off quickly—"

In a blink, he disappeared from his vantage point and reappeared right in front of Mikel.

Out of instinct, Mikel raised his arms to block the incoming jab. He didn’t even think—just reacted. It was all instinct. And he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

The man’s knuckles didn’t even make contact—yet Mikel’s bones cracked and shattered. The shockwave alone sent him flying.

"Ugh—"

The air was knocked clean out of his lungs as he crashed to the ground several meters away. His arms burned with agony beyond description, making the fall feel nothing compared to the blow that had broken them.

"Ahhh!!!" Mikel screamed, kicking the air as he writhed on the ground. Each breath felt like a blade between his ribs, his shattered arms grinding with every twitch.

[Recovery Protocol: Overdrive...]

As he writhed, his surroundings dimmed. The man’s shadow loomed over him, foot slowly rising to crush him for good.

Before it could fall, Mikel clenched his teeth and slammed his broken arm against the ground.

[Emergency Protocol Tier I: Self-Termination Resistance — Active]

[Enhancing Recovery Protocol...]

The moment it activated, Mikel flicked his wrist and snapped the Blood Chain into combat mode.

CLANG!

He whipped the chain across his body, slamming it against the man’s descending foot. The force stopped it inches from Mikel’s face with a deafening clang. Taking advantage of the moment, he flung out his other hand and called out with a ragged breath,

"Lawrence—"

The space beside the man tore open with a whisper, and long skeletal limbs burst forth before the book had even fully manifested.

CRASH!

It sent the man flying, giving Mikel a brief moment to breathe.

The man smashed into the junkyard, debris scattering from the impact.

"Hah... hah..." Mikel panted, pushing himself to stand again.

[Master, you must retreat.]

He wiped the sweat from his upper lip with his arm, eyes glinting.

"You think they’ll let me?" he muttered, keeping his focus on the man—and a sliver of his attention on the blindfolded woman at the edge of his peripheral vision.

Doom’s screen blinked off, as if in agreement.

"Open Secret Shop," Mikel whispered, and the interface opened at the edge of his vision. He barely glanced at the screen, catching how the screen glitched and the interface looked like it was in safe mode.

He didn’t bother with it as he kept his eyes locked on the smoke where the man had landed.

"Max recovery potion."

[2 Health Potions credited to host.]

[3 Spiritual Mana credited to host.]

[Soul Credit: 4]

[Opening 1 Health Potion and 1 Spiritual Mana...]

A soft glow pulsed around him. A warm numbness crawled through his veins, dulling the pain. His limbs didn’t snap back to normal, but they moved. He could fight. The potions didn’t need drinking, they auto-triggered like system buffs.

Had he known this would happen, he wouldn’t have used his Soul Credit on useless crap for the ghost union. But now wasn’t the time for regret.

This wasn’t a battle anymore.

It was survival.

"Oh? Haha!" The woman cupped her face like a delighted guest at a play. "The little one bites back. How precious."

Mikel ignored her.

So did the man.

The air in the junkyard turned heavier, as if even the night itself held its breath.

In one motion, Mikel flung the Blood Chain—just as the man appeared before him. The man’s feet hovered above the ground, hand outstretched toward Mikel. His fingers slipped through the gaps of the chain, razor nails inches from Mikel’s face.

But Mikel stayed still, wide-eyed.

"Now," he breathed.

The space behind the man opened again, and skeletal limbs lunged at him.

This time, the man spun in the air, flinging out his other arm. From the elbow down, it had transformed into a sharp blade. He sliced the limbs away, spinning mid-air. His other hand still reached for Mikel—until the Blood Chain snapped tight around his arm.

Clasping the chain, Mikel dropped low and yanked it.

The man slammed into the ground again with a violent crash, the Blood Chain still locked around his arm. Mikel pulled harder, tightening it.

The chain pulsed, searing his palm like it was overheating.

SNAP!

The Blood Chain throbbed once more—and the man’s arm tore free, flinging backward as Mikel reeled the relic in. The man slid back, unfazed, even after losing an arm.

Maybe I can fight him, Mikel thought, staying low, one knee on the ground, eyes locked forward.

The man, now missing an arm, crouched slightly. His other finger hovered inches from the ground. He was still too calm.

They stared at each other.

Then he moved.

The man catapulted himself toward Mikel again.

Mikel dipped his hand into a puddle near him, whispering—

"Maria."

And from the puddle, water screamed upward, rising like a dam, crashing toward the incoming enemy.

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