"Oyy! Pay day! Pay day!"
Ghosts yelled across the construction site, chanting the same word over and over—Pay day!
Not all ghosts had long-term "contracts," and their weak physical abilities would usually start to falter by the fourth day of the week. So, once their strength—disturbance—began to wane, it was time for them to go.
Hence, pay day—the day Mikel would help them cross over after their hard labor.
---
"This is… this is it?" An old ghost stared down at the photo placed on the rough table between him and Mikel.
Beside the photo sat a torn package with a crumpled delivery logistics sticker on the corner. On the other side was a small incense holder with a burning stick, and next to it, the closed Book of the Dead and a small cup filled with shredded paper slips.
No matter how hard Mikel tried to hide his dismay, his expression betrayed him miserably.
This old, kinky ghost had asked for just one thing—a foot picture from the model he'd been obsessing over before his death.
Apparently, the reason this ghost hadn't crossed over was that he died before the package — a foot picture — could arrive. So today, Mikel had to sneak out and steal it.
Unfortunately, the picture was blurry, and clearly, those weren't model-worthy feet. It looked like a man's feet!
"Yeah, that's it," Mikel said, watching the ghost lift his disappointed eyes. "Bit of a letdown, huh?"
The ghost frowned deeply, staring at the photo again. "I can't believe I spent a hundred bucks on this."
"A hundred—what?"
"Plus another thirty-five for the shipping cost."
Mikel's face twisted. "I can't believe you spent a single penny on that."
This guy literally died because of an OnlyFeet subscription.
Clearing his throat, Mikel placed one hand on the Book of the Dead and held a small—very small—piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed the paper gently to the ghost's forehead.
The ghost sighed, meeting Mikel's eyes with reluctant acceptance. "I'm… ready."
"You should be," Mikel muttered before lazily chanting, "By the breath of mercy and still silence, rest where no chains remain."
The small paper under his thumb ignited, releasing faint smoke as the Book of the Dead pulsed gently with warmth under his other hand.
Mikel kept his eyes on the ghost, watching him sigh one last time, his form slowly fading. White mist dissolved into the air, starting from the right side of his head and fingertips.
"Rest in peace," Mikel whispered. One blink, and the ghost was gone.
Only the quiet wind of the deepening night remained.
Mikel stared at the empty space, wondering if he should feel something. This wasn't the first time he'd done this, but satisfaction? Relief? Even irritation?
Nothing.
Shrugging off the thought, he cast a glance at Arthur, who stood a few steps away and nodded.
Arthur returned the nod with a quiet smile and turned to the next ghost in line. "You're up next."
"Yipee!" the next ghost cheered, happily skipping forward.
As he approached, Mikel bent to retrieve something from his backpack.
"Boss, did you do it?!" the ghost asked, his voice almost bursting with excitement—or maybe nerves.
Mikel, halfway through pulling a folded newspaper from the bag, glanced at him. "Hmm."
He set the newspaper on the table and unfolded it.
"The police reopened your case," he said flatly. "I sent them an anonymous tip about the murder weapon."
The ghost leaned over the table, face lighting up as he scanned the article.
"They caught him?"
Mikel nodded. "Just this morning. They found fingerprints on it."
"Hah!" The ghost clutched his chest, almost tearfully—if only he could still cry.
Mikel gave him a moment to process while he picked up another slip of paper, his other hand resting again on the Book of the Dead.
"After so long…" the man's eyes glimmered with relief. "I'm so glad—thank you, Boss."
Mikel blinked. He wanted to appreciate the gratitude, but all he felt was a slow, creeping detachment.
Why thank him? This was just business. A contract fulfilled.
Besides, all he did was make a call about a weapon buried far from here. This ghost had been beaten and stabbed to death by his own cousin over a debt, and no, the one in debt was not this ghost. It was the cousin.
"Thank you," the ghost repeated, sitting up straighter with a wide smile. "I finally got the justice I deserved."
Mikel returned that with a subtle smile and pressed the small paper to the ghost's forehead.
He whispered, "By the breath of mercy and still silence, rest where no chains remain."
Smoke curled from his thumb, the ash spiraling off the paper as the ghost began to fade.
"Thank you, Boss. May God bless you…"
The ghost's last words lingered in the air, echoing faintly even after he vanished.
---
[Doing this depletes your spiritual energy, Master, with barely any progress toward your quests.]
Mikel glanced at the translucent screen as Doom promptly displayed his [Objectives].
The virtual crystal barely ticked upward, not even a full percent, despite the countless ghosts Mikel had helped cross over.
Why…?
[They aren't strong enough to trigger the true potential of these chants.]
[However, you may fulfill the Curse Trigger on them.]
Yeah? And turn them into malicious beings?
Yeah, no. I need them to finish this house first.
After all, unlike the Purification chant, the Curse Trigger was different — it was wrong. Triggering it could amplify a ghost's anger or regret that could turn into great power. In simpler terms, it was cursing something, but effectively.
Mikel shot Arthur a glance and gave him a nod, signaling him to bring the next ghost forward.
It wasn't like Mikel didn't understand how to use these chants properly. He simply didn't prioritize it—these chants were meant for powerful spirits like the Nightbound and the Blighted.
For now, all he was doing was removing the spiritual residue from these harmless ghosts so they could finally pass on.
Even so, it was as exhausting as hard labor.
Yet he kept doing it.
Why?
To keep his end of the bargain.
"Next!"