In the beginning, there was life… and where there was life, there was death. As surely as the sun gives way to night, the birth of life cast its first shadow.
Zone Zero—established as far back as memory dared to stretch.
Its name may have changed with the tides of eras and empires, but its purpose remained the same. It all began when the first cursed entity was born into this world.
Once a hidden arm of ruling empires, it now thrived behind the facades of private sectors and silent institutions—still watching, still waiting, still doing its duty all across the globe.
According to the Headmaster, Zone Zero was where all trained shamans—exorcists, wardens, and mediums alike—served. Most of them had not only undergone intensive training but had started in the same place:
Refined Arts Academy.
From the outside, it appeared to be just another private school. But those within its walls knew the truth—it held a program unlike any other. In fact, its ordinary appearance was by design.
Those who needed it—those born with "gifts," or haunted by what others couldn't see—could find it. Hidden in plain sight.
There, students were taught about the world within the world. A hidden realm of spirits, shadows, and curses. They learned to understand their abilities… and how to survive them.
And when they "luckily" graduated, they were given a choice: to join Zone Zero in full—or serve as a "part-time," supporting from the outside. Those who committed fully were known as Agents, like Danika, Amon… and that irritatingly famous Stefan.
The ones who chose a more "normal" life often became valuable contributors to society. Some were hidden experts in niche fields. Others? Celebrities. Public figures Mikel would never have guessed—until now.
But currently, a new problem was brewing.
The enemy—referred to by the Headmaster as Type X—had begun to move. Unlike other entities, Type Xs defied every known classification. They broke the rules, ignored the systems, and acted with chaotic intent.
And they were hunting.
Just as Zone Zero scoured the world for Gifted individuals to train and protect, these Type X forces sought them out to destroy. To cut them down before they could grow and slowly cripple the organization from the roots.
Pluck the bud before it blooms.
****
A soft stream of sunlight filtered through the window, landing squarely on Mikel's face.
He opened his eyes—not like someone waking from deep sleep, but like someone who'd merely had them closed for a moment. The high ceiling above him had an oddly intricate design—something out of a palace. It looked like the owner had too much money and not enough restraint, tossing thousands just to make the ceiling look fancy.
"What the… actual fuck?" he muttered. Not exactly his usual morning greeting.
Last night had been a lot. More than a lot. He thought Doom's constant prompts were overwhelming, but he had been wrong. And yet, that wasn't the most unsettling thing. What really messed with him was how normal everything felt now.
Just a day ago, he willingly walked into a scam, desperate for answers—for someone who understood what he was going through. Now that he had found it… he didn't feel any comfort. Only strangeness.
"Zone Zero… spirits that hunt people like me… a flying, talking bedsheet…" Mikel closed his eyes and sighed again deeply.
He wanted to say he had a good night's sleep in this overly luxurious guest room, at least. But who was he kidding?
After everything that happened, who could?
"Are we still in the silent battle?" he murmured, shifting his focus to his left eye. "Doom."
[Greetings, Master.]
[How was your sleep?]
"Don't act like you don't know," Mikel grumbled. "What's up? Did you get all that info last night?"
[Yes. Would you like a detailed list?]
"No." He swung his legs out of bed and sat up.
The window gave a perfect view of a tranquil garden — a view he wouldn't get to enjoy even if he wanted to. A sigh slipped out again as he rubbed his shoulder and stretched his neck.
"What do you think?" he asked, glancing at the translucent screen hovering beside him. "About Zone Zero, the Academy, everything that was said last night?"
[You are the Upholder of the Protocol. It is your call.]
"I think I made that clear last night," he muttered. "But even so… I want to know your thoughts."
Mikel didn't trust Doom. Not completely. There were many reasons, but one stood out sharply after last night's battle.
They didn't just exorcise Lawrence Gatsby.
They obliterated him.
And somehow, Mikel was slowly fine with it as if Doom was manipulating him to be. Or perhaps, he was just getting influenced. It gave him the idea that if he wasn't careful with this system, he might lose control of the only thing he could control — himself.
[I think it's not a bad idea, considering the high stakes.]
[I don't like them, though.]
"I'm sure they won't like you either, if they know about you."
[...]
Mikel ignored Doom for a while, rubbing his hands together as he thought about it. But then, a faint pop rang in his head, and he glanced at the screen again.
[You didn't mention me.]
"Are you trying to thank me?"
[No, I was expecting you would.]
"At this point, I know you know I don't trust you," Mikel huffed sharply, reaching under the pillow where he placed his cursed book. "If I can't trust what's in me, how can I trust those that are beyond my control?"
The words tasted bitter, like truth he didn't want to admit. In a world of ghosts, curses, and systems, the scariest thing was how alone he truly felt.
Doom didn't answer, but somehow, Mikel felt its satisfaction. Even the dormant cursed bracelet on his wrist seemed to approve of his decision. And when Doom was pleased, his text usually gave off a slightly more lively message;
[Do you want to see your progress bar now?]
"In a bit." Mikel placed the book on his lap, opening it to check what had been added to it. But as soon as he opened the book, something fell from within its pages.
Raising his brows, he caught something glinting. He picked it up, keeping the shard between his thumb and forefinger. It pulsed faintly in between his fingers, cold and humming with malevolence. Even dormant, it felt alive, watching, quietly screaming.
"This is what's making them powerful," he muttered, referring to the Nightbound and the Blighted.
He had only fought two malevolent spirits. They (Nightbound and Blighted) might've shared many similarities in terms of appearance, and were both powerful and malevolent, they also shared one common ground.
The Shard of the Mourning Eye, or what Zone Zero referred to as Cursed Fragments.
[Do not hand the fragments to them.]
Doom's warning caught his attention. "I don't plan to, but why?"
[The Mourning Eye is no mere relic. When whole, it is a gate—a weapon—and once, it brought the underworld to our doorstep.]
[Letting them rebuild it would mean the end of this world and the next.]
Mikel pondered Doom's shared knowledge, and somehow, he didn't doubt that. After all, just a piece of this orb could make an ordinary ghost like Lawrence Gatsby so powerful. Not just that, but this piece was even smaller than the one he got from the Nightbound.
What more if it were whole?
"Still, it might serve as leverage. Adults always play dirtier than ghosts," he whispered, casually pressing the shard into one of the beads of his bracelet.
The bracelet vibrated faintly, heat crawling up his arm like static. A low hum echoed in his bones, as if something within had awakened. Once the bracelet absorbed the shard, he snapped his eyes ahead. Unlike the usual reluctance he carried since getting to know Doom, his eyes now carried sharpness and resolve.
"Show me everything."
[With pleasure, Master.]
[Congratulations on slaying a Blighted!]
Prompt after prompt filled his vision, like a new language being burned into his brain. Mikel blinked, following the flood of text on the screen. No matter how many times it happened, it still felt like a game he never signed up to play.
But this was his world now—until the end, or until he ended it first.
Where there was shadow, there would always be light. Just like him and Doom. The only question was,who was the light and the shadow?
[-- End of Volume I: Act I -- ]