"God damn deja vu!"
Mikel tossed his bag aside, clutched the lantern in one hand, and jumped into the river again. The water barely resisted him, as if it was inviting him this time.
He crossed it quickly, his shoes sloshing with every step, mist curling at his legs as he entered the forest once more.
But this time, the moment he reached the last tree line, the angry mob had already lit their torches and thrown them at the chapel.
"Shit—!"
Mikel stepped forward—
SPLASH!
His foot hit water again.
A second later, his hand slapped the riverbank, and he pulled himself up, drenched from head to toe. He emerged from the river water, cursing as he turned to find his lantern and bag, both safely lying on the surface.
"Damn it…" he hissed.
At times like this, he couldn't help but think that having Doom's unnecessary commentary was not all bad. However, there was no screen, no helpful sarcastic remarks.
It was just Mikel and this trial.
Just him and Haleth.
