SHAMAN PROTOCOL-Chapter 50: Blame It On The Eye

"Maria."

Wet letters appeared on the Book of the Dead until the word glowed:

[ELEMENTAL — Maria]

[Active Spell: Cursed Tide – Temporary Imprint]

[Type: Elemental — WATER]

[Effects:

— Projection of Maria’s emotional and spiritual weight

— Slows hostile entities

— Water distortion ]

A surge of water burst from the puddle like a broken dam, forming a thick barrier between Mikel and the tank-topped creature. But Mikel was not finished yet, knowing this wasn’t enough.

He flung his other arm, launching the Blood Chain through the wall of water in front of him. At the same time, the man suddenly emerged from the wall of water between them.

"It is futile, kid," the man spoke calmly mid-attack, his fist ready for launch. "You will die either way."

He’s slowing down!

Pulling his hand from the puddle, Mikel slammed his knuckles against the ground.

"Law!!" he shouted from his chest, the air splitting underneath the man.

Just like earlier, another set of limbs shot out of the space where the Book of the Dead was coming out. This time, the limbs were fewer—thinner, weaker. Like the Book itself was running dry.

"I told you..." the man, despite being in a disadvantageous position, remained calm. "It is futile."

As soon as those words slipped out of his tongue, the set of limbs was cut clean. The space that slit open for the Book of the Dead immediately closed, as if hiding itself before the man could do more damage.

Yet that didn’t stop the man from launching his next attack on Mikel.

Mikel, still crouching with one knee on the ground, stared at the palm approaching his face.

He’ll get me.

His breath stopped. He swore he could hear death knocking—softly, rhythmically, like a polite guest just outside.

He knew this was his end; this man would kill him. Not just hurt him, but kill him.

Just as his body froze and his heart tried to decide which part of him would die first, Doom’s screen flashed inches from his face.

[MOVE.]

At the same time, his arm shook at the strong force reeling back to him. Mikel snapped out of his thoughts as he reacted, tipping his heel until he fell flat on his back. He winced at the impact but managed to get a stronger grip on the Blood Chain as it recoiled toward him.

The man, who missed by a small margin in grabbing Mikel’s head to squeeze it into smithereens, gazed down. Through his dark and thin sunglasses, he caught the teen glaring at him.

Clang...

The sound of the chain echoed in his ears, and before he knew it, beads were floating around him.

Time slowed for a breath, and in the next second, the Blood Chain had already tightened around his neck. In half a second, it locked like a leash.

Mikel held the Blood Chain with both hands, gritting his teeth until his gums began to bleed. The Blood Chain was heavier than before, and utilizing it against this guy made its surface overheat.

But he didn’t care about either the burning scent of his own flesh or the heaviness.

He clung onto the chain as tightly as he could, groaning as he pulled hard, tightening it around the man’s neck.

Crack... crack... snap!

In a matter of seconds, Mikel heard bones cracking until the man’s head snapped and fell off his shoulder. However, Mikel was not done.

He couldn’t stop with that.

Slamming his bleeding and burned palm on the ground, he called once more, "Law—" he coughed, blood spraying from his throat, but he continued. "Lawrence!"

Space split open again across the man’s torso. Coming out of it was just one sharp limb, piercing the man’s side.

Thud!

The man’s head landed first with a light thud, rolling farther from them. However, despite the limb plunged into his side, his missing head, and his severed arm, the man still managed to land on his feet.

His knee didn’t even reach the ground, his other hand keeping him balanced.

"No way..." Mikel breathed out, looking up, still on the ground. He saw the man upside down—but that didn’t make him any less terrifying.

Slap!

Suddenly, the Blood Chain snapped back to Mikel, slapping around his wrist again. Even the cursed bracelet was tired. He could feel its exhaustion humming through the chain.

The man, now headless, slowly rose to his feet. He was still facing Mikel’s direction, making the latter gulp.

I need to move, he thought, forcing himself to get up. But alas, his body was no longer listening.

Damn!

His heart thudded against his chest, his blood smearing the dirt as he clutched his ribs.

Move! Move! God damn it—move!

[Emergency Protocol Enhancement...]

[Opening Recovery Potions...]

[Health Recovery Potion: 0]

[Spiritual Mana Potion: 0]

But Mikel didn’t let that matter for now. His heart thundered in his chest, his entire body throbbing as numbness and false energy filled every fiber of him.

He rolled himself to the side until he was lying on his stomach. He pushed himself up, even though both the potions and the enhanced protocol couldn’t keep up with the damage he had inflicted on himself.

Cough!

He spat out blood and held his side, gritting his teeth as he glared at the man.

The blindfolded woman, who remained undisturbed on that damn throne of junk, chuckled. The back of her hand covered her lips as she enjoyed the battle so far.

"He clearly knows it’s futile," she snickered. "Yet, his eyes... are burning even brighter."

The stretch of her lips faded a little as the air around her grew icy. "It’s better to kill him now before he becomes a real threat."

"Finish him off now~!" she yelled sweetly from her throne. "I’m getting bored with this."

Mikel hissed and glared at her briefly. "Bitch."

He shook his head violently to snap himself back into focus before using every ounce of his strength to stand again. His enemy was still on his feet—headless and missing an arm—so he couldn’t give up yet.

Mikel’s vision blurred as he tried to catch his breath, the taste of iron still lingering. The system and cursed relics had gone quiet, but he was still on his feet.

That had to count for something. Right?

Meanwhile, the man, instead of preparing for another clash, which they both knew Mikel would lose, walked toward where his head had rolled off. But he only picked up the sunglasses on it before stomping on the severed head without hesitation.

Mikel’s slow breathing hitched, his eyes dilating.

"What... the hell are you doing?" he muttered.

Just as those words left his mouth, something was growing from the man’s severed arm.

He knit his brows, watching the muscle swell. In a second, a fully grown hand came to life. Mikel’s heart sank. His mind went blank as he saw the man regenerate in a flash. He didn’t even notice the swelling mass on the man’s neck until he heard that calm voice once more.

"Pathetic," the man spat calmly, putting on his thin sunglasses. He pulled out the sharp limb from his side so casually and faced Mikel, tossing it away.

"For someone holding such powerful relics, you are pathetic," he continued, eyeing Mikel like he wasn’t impressed in the slightest. But behind that was recognition—acknowledgment of Mikel’s potential.

All the more reason to end him here.

The air around him grew thick and dark, almost choking Mikel despite the distance between them.

"Blame..." he trailed off—and in a flash, he was already in front of Mikel. "...it on that eye."

Mikel’s pupils contracted, his breath suspended in his throat. The man was faster than ever. He didn’t even see him move.

Time slowed as he felt it—the crushing pressure at the edge of his neck as the bottom of the man’s palm neared.

Yet, Mikel’s thoughts only spiraled to one thing:

It’s... always the damn eye.

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