Marvel Ultimate Gacha

"So, I am a medium?" Camille asked, still processing the idea.

Michael looked at her, confusion clouding his expression. "That's where I'm confused. If you were truly a medium, this wouldn't be your first time seeing ghosts like me. But clearly, it's your first time—so, have you seen any ghosts before?"

Camille paused, thinking for a moment. "Maybe I have," she murmured.

"When I was small, there was always this creepy lady stalking me. At first, I thought she was just some relative of our family, but then one day, she ended up in my bed, choking me."

"I cried out to my mom, and my dad but they never believed me, but my Uncle Kieran did, he's an father who took care of the church here."

"He brought me to a woman who used herbs and some sort of smoke ritual to banish the lady, and she also gave me this necklace to protect me," she continued, pulling the necklace out from under her shirt. It was a simple silver chain with a blue gem.

"I've worn this necklace for so long, and I've forgotten this... thing, until you just reminded me of it. I never even thought to question why I wore it in the first place," she said, her voice almost lost in thought.

She held the necklace up, her fingers tracing the gem. "She said no malevolent spirit would come near me after that... but I guess now you're here."

Camille shook her head lightly. "And no, I'm not saying you're bad. On the contrary, you're a good one. At least that's why you can come near me, touch me," she said.

"Well, that little necklace helped me," he said.

"So how could I help you get your body back?" she asked, looking at him.

"I already have a body. I'm just stuck here with it. I need you to find a place where there are people who can help me," he replied as she nodded.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Witches," he replied.

"Witches?" she repeated, staring at him.

"Yes. W-I-T-C-H-E-S. Witches," he clarified, watching her reaction.

"Okay, so we have ghosts, witches… what else is left?" Camille asked, her tone dripping with disbelief.

Michael sighed, leaning back casually. "Vampires, werewolves, hybrids, dragons, doppelgängers, and who knows what else," he said nonchalantly.

Camille stared at him, wide-eyed and utterly gobsmacked. "Vampires? Seriously?" she asked, her voice a mix of skepticism and unease.

"Believe it or not," Michael began, smirking slightly, "the bar you work at? After you close it, it turns into a vampire bar. They drink blood from bartenders. You're lucky you leave before all that starts."

Her expression shifted to one of worry as she shot up from her seat. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope," Michael said plainly, gesturing for her to sit back down. "And don't even think about playing the hero, Camille. There's nothing you can do about it."

"But April—my friend, she's there too!" Camille said, her voice tinged with alarm. "What if she—"

Michael cut her off with a calm, steady voice. "Don't worry about her. The vampires might drink just enough to take the edge off, but they won't drain her dry. She'll live. And, trust me, they'll make her forget it even happened."

Camille looked at him, a storm of emotions brewing in her eyes. "How do you know all this? How can you be so calm about it?" she asked, trying to make sense of his eerie confidence.

"I'm calm because I know I can't do anything about it, and neither can you," Michael said firmly, his eyes serious. "You're just one beautiful, young woman. Don't go there, Camille. They're ruthless. If you walk into that bar at the wrong time, they might do more than just drink from you. They could play with your mind like a toy and leave you broken afterward."

Camille stared at him, shaken. "Does April go through this all the time?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Camille, please listen to me," Michael said, his tone urgent. He leaned closer, taking her hand gently. "If you go there, you'll die. They'll make sure you don't come out alive. Don't do it."

But Camille pulled her hand away, her resolve hardening. "I have to make sure April's okay," she said, her voice filled with determination. She stood up abruptly, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door.

Michael reached out, desperation in his voice. "Camille, please stop! Go back! I promise I'll help you, but not like this."

She hesitated for a moment, her back to him, before turning her head slightly. "Just let me help her. I'll handle this my way. I can't sit by and do nothing," she said, her voice cracking slightly as she bolted for the door.

Michael stood frozen, watching her disappear. "Camille, please!" he called out after her. "I promise I'll help you. Just… don't go!"

But she was already gone. He clenched his fists, frustration boiling over. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "I shouldn't have told her about this."

Michael sprinted out of the room, calling after her desperately. "Damn it, Camille! Is there nothing I can do in this form?" he shouted, his voice echoing down the hallway. Frustration and helplessness consumed him as he watched her car vanish into the distance.

He collapsed to his knees, his head hanging low. "I need something—anything," he muttered, clenching his fists. He checked through the spells he has gained from the template, finally finding one he can use, even in soul form.

[ Ancient Magic: Spiritokinesis ]

Description: Harness your spirit power to manipulate objects in the physical world.

Note: This ability is known in games as "Ancient Throw Magic.

"Special Feature: Can be used even in soul form.

Michael's eyes widened as he processed the information. A flicker of hope sparked within him. "Spiritokinesis," he whispered, testing the word on his tongue. Slowly, he stood, his gaze fixed on the direction Camille had run.

"Alright, let's see how this works," he said, extending his hands and focusing his energy. The air around him shimmered faintly as he tapped into his newfound power. He could feel the weight of the world around him—objects, energy, and even the faint resonance of Camille's presence.

"This better work," he muttered, concentrating on reaching her before it was too late.

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