Chapter 32: A win is still a win
"Then let it starve."
Doom's screen then zapped out while the bracelet slithered back into its position, as if the two of them had to hold an emergency meeting about what had just happened.
The silence that followed was thick, as if what transpired was simply Mikel's imagination.
But alas, the bruise on his arm and the burn around his wrist were proof it wasn't.
Bitterness burned at the back of his throat as he glared at the quiet relic, as if it had gone back to sleep.
He wanted to show them what else he was capable of, but his knees buckled as the adrenaline slowly wore off. He leaned his side against the rubble, slowly falling onto it until his buttocks reached the floor, eyes closed. He let go of the wire from his teeth, letting it loosen until blood started circulating back to his arm.
"Aw..." he winced, pressing his back against the rubble as he carefully held his broken arm to the side. Not only did his arm ache, but he felt his entire body throb.
But as he quietly endured the pain, he heard quiet whispers.
He opened his eyes to find the ghosts still standing exactly where they'd been. They all looked back at him with wide eyes; their already pale complexions looked even more dead.
They had been there from the beginning, watching Mikel's slow descent, and now that he had stopped...
"What in the ghost drama did I just witness?" One of the ghosts blurted out, not blinking—not even once.