In the slums of Erika City, the night whispered through the cracks and holes of the makeshift homes of the forsaken residents. These shelters were no more than rusted roofs, substandard planks, and trash assembled into make-believe homes that could collapse at any moment.
Mikel quietly walked through the narrow paths between these shacks until he reached a large junkyard. His eyes glossed over the piles of junk before catching sight of a small shack nestled near the mountain of refuse.
"Boss…" the female ghost looked around nervously. "I don't think we should be here."
The male ghost nodded, his entire ghostly figure shivering with dread. "It smells… wrong here."
They both lifted their gazes toward the small shack, their faces twisting with discomfort, sensing something deeply, undeniably wrong inside.
The quiet stillness felt eerily wrong and suffocating. They looked at Mikel, worry plastered across their pale faces.
"Boss, how about we go to the next location?" the male ghost asked nervously. "I don't feel good about this. It wasn't like this when we came here last night."
The female ghost nodded profusely.
Last night, when another ghost reported something strange here, they came to investigate. They'd scouted ahead to spare Mikel from wasting time on a false lead. They knew something was wrong in this place because they couldn't even get close. But tonight, it was worse.
But Mikel remained silent.
He focused on his Night Vision while Doom scanned the area.
[Detected: Shard of the Mourning Eye.]
Seeing this, Mikel was not surprised that the ghosts behind him were restless. The Shard of the Mourning Eye carried great cursed energy, and when it was embedded in a cursed entity, even normal ghosts would instinctively feel the urge to flee.
Mikel knew that from the fragmented memories of the ghost of Lawrence Gatsby.
He arched a brow as he glanced at the screen. Normally, Doom would pop up with data logs to give him an advantage before battle. But this time, that was all Doom said.
What's wrong, Doom?
Doom took its time before a message appeared on the screen.
[There is something wrong with the Blighted, Master.]
Mikel instinctively shifted his attention to the shack, sensing the dark energy concentrated in one place inside the home.
[It is already in its final form. However, its threat level is nonexistent.]
That was… unusual.
Mikel furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes at the shack.
[Survival Rate: 100%]
That was a first. The highest survival rate Mikel had received was around thirty percent. And those were against regular malevolent and cursed spirits that operated out of spite. A Blighted, on the other hand, was a corrupted being capable of ruining an entire neighborhood, just like Lawrence Gatsby.
Yet, his survival rate was a hundred percent?
If Mikel could chalk it up to growth and experience, he would've. But deep down, he knew that wasn't the case.
"How would I know until I confront it, right?" he muttered, sliding his backpack off his shoulders and onto the ground. Before stepping forward, he turned to the ghost duo.
"Stay back and don't come close until I say so."
The duo nodded hastily, the female ghost rushing to grab his bag, hugging it tightly before the two of them fled outside the junkyard. They didn't even look back, scared to death—even when they were already dead.
Mikel shook his head and recomposed himself before facing ahead.
After a breath, he took his first steps toward the shack near the mountain of junk. The closer he got, the more suffocating the pungent scent became. Tight pressure clutched his chest as he stopped in front of the flimsy door, which was made of patched-together metal scraps.
But as he reached out to open it, he paused at the faint voice of a child from inside.
"Mama? Are you hurt again?"
There was a pause before a woman's faint voice from inside was heard. "Mama is alright, just a little uncomfortable."
"Why, Mama?" the child asked curiously. "Is it because of me, Mama?"
"Hmm…" The woman hummed gently, affectionately. "No, of course not."
"Mama…"
"I am alright," she said quietly but reassuringly. "I'll feel better soon. In fact, I'm already feeling a lot better."
A quiet moment passed before the child spoke again.
"Mama, I should just go out. If I go out, you won't be in pain anymore."
The woman chuckled gently. "I'm not in pain. You can come out when it's safe, alright? For now, this is the safest place for you."
Meanwhile, Mikel, who was standing just a step from the entrance, furrowed his brows even more. He scanned the shack through his Night Vision but saw no living people inside. Only a massive, dark swell of cursed energy—nothing else.
Doom, are you sure there's no one else inside?
[Scanning…]
[Yes.]
A lingering doubt twisted in his gut. Doom was rarely wrong, but something still felt off. Then again, based on experience, Doom would warn him if it was a bigger threat.
The conversation between the child and the mother continued to echo in Mikel's ears as he slightly pulled the makeshift door open. It creaked, and in this silence, the noise would make anyone cringe. But the mother and child kept talking, completely undisturbed.
Mikel scanned the cramped shack, cluttered with piles of junk.
"Mama, is outside really that dangerous?" asked the child, and waited for his mother's response.
"Yes. Very, but Mama is here to protect you."
Mikel followed where the voices were coming from. His steps were careful and almost soundless until he reached the back of this pile of junk.
He stopped, frozen.
In a cramped space behind the junk, a woman lay curled on the ground. Her stomach was grotesquely distended, at least three times the size of a full-term pregnancy. Her arms and legs were gaunt, all skin and bone, making her stomach look even more unnatural.
She was naked, her spine jutting out sharply, as if the slightest movement might shatter her. Yet her expression was serene, her eyes soft as she gazed lovingly at her bulging stomach. One frail hand rested gently on it.
And the child that had been speaking… was inside her.