Under the night sky, raindrops pattered relentlessly against the worn stone slabs, as if striking an ancient rhythm that had never changed. Lin Han stood before the abandoned temple, inhaling deeply. The air was thick with the damp scent of moss and a faint trace of lingering sandalwood. His fingertips unintentionally brushed against the remnants of the stone carvings—eroded by time—yet, in a certain corner, he felt something unusual.
Something new.
"Walau eh, this looks like fresh carvings." He muttered, tracing the almost imperceptible etchings on the stone wall.
Nuo Ya stepped forward, her brows furrowing slightly as she ran her fingers along the markings. She murmured under her breath, "These aren't just ordinary temple inscriptions… They resemble some kind of spell, or maybe a hidden message?"
"Look over here." Ah Yong suddenly gestured towards the corner. A stone tablet, partially covered in moss, bore faded Malay inscriptions. Certain words stood out: Serpent King Worship, Ritual, Blood Sacrifice.
Lin Han's frown deepened.
"They weren't worshiping a god. They were sealing something away."
———
Going back centuries, in the ancient days of Malacca, a group of priests from an unknown land introduced a mysterious serpent cult. On the surface, it appeared to be just another indigenous belief system. But according to fragmented records, they vanished overnight during a lunar eclipse, leaving behind strange ruins and scattered forbidden symbols.
Yet, the real secret was known only to a select few survivors.
It was said that before the arrival of the colonizers, a hidden bloodline guarded this very serpent temple. But they were not priests. Their duty was not prayer.
Their role was to watch.
"But… watch what?" Lin Han murmured.
Nuo Ya stared at the inscriptions for a long moment before speaking in a hushed voice.
"…Or perhaps, they were sealing away something they could no longer control."
Ah Yong swallowed hard and muttered, "You guys don't think… this is starting to sound way too much like some urban legend?"
Lin Han didn't answer. His gaze drifted towards the depths of the temple, where a set of ancient stone stairs stretched downward into the shadows.
The path below had already been opened.
The night was deep, and the damp earth carried a heavy, lingering scent. Noya gently ran her fingers over the cracked stone tablet at the entrance of the Serpent Temple. The old Javanese inscriptions had long been worn down by time, their meanings now barely discernible. Her fingertips brushed against a deep groove, as if something with sharp claws had once torn through the surface.
"Walau eh, this temple is damn creepy." Ah Rong muttered under his breath, gripping his flashlight tightly. The beam swept across the entrance, revealing a faint layer of moss clinging to the wooden frame.
Lin Han stood a few steps away, his brows furrowed in deep thought. A lingering question refused to leave his mind—why did the emblem of Genting Group appear on that black-robed figure they encountered last time? One of Malaysia's largest corporations, entangled with this forgotten temple—what was the connection?
The wooden carvings on the temple doors were astonishingly intricate, depicting a massive serpent coiled around a crowned man. Noya's eyes narrowed as a vague sense of familiarity washed over her.
"This carving… I've seen it somewhere before."
She recalled a story her grandfather once told her as a child—a Javanese prince, cursed and bound to a serpent, ultimately transforming into a half-human, half-snake creature. She had always dismissed it as a myth, but the carving before her seemed to suggest otherwise.
Ah Rong ran his hands along the temple doors, fingers searching for an opening. Suddenly, he pressed against a hidden mechanism. A low click echoed through the night, and with a deep groan, the heavy wooden doors slowly creaked open. A rush of stale, musty air spilled out, carrying with it a sharp, almost rotten tang—like overripe durians split open after sitting for too long.
The three exchanged glances before cautiously stepping inside.
The interior of the temple was far larger than it appeared from the outside. The walls were lined with faded murals, their colors muted with age. Lin Han raised his phone and snapped a picture, enlarging it on his screen. The figures in the painting were clad in ancient Javanese attire, yet something was disturbingly off—each and every person had their eyes hollowed out, replaced by dark, empty voids.
"He was just about to squat down when he suddenly heard the clash of metal." Lin Han's head snapped toward Noya, who was now holding a rusted copper plaque. Her fingers traced over the barely visible Malay script—"The Gatekeeper is dead. The Serpent God will return."
The air inside the temple seemed to drop in temperature. From somewhere in the distance, the faint wail of police sirens from Bangsar drifted in and out, as though warning them of something unseen.
Then, a sound emerged from the depths of the temple—a soft, slithering noise, like hundreds of tiny creatures crawling across the stone floor. Lin Han instinctively reached for his waist, only to realize his dagger was no longer there—lost in their last fight.
Noya took in a sharp breath. In her tension, her nails accidentally scraped against Lin Han's wrist, leaving a faint red mark.
"Sakit kah?" Her voice wavered slightly, as if trying to ground herself in reality—or perhaps to reassure him that they were still in control.
Ah Rong lifted his flashlight toward the source of the noise. The beam sliced through the darkness, revealing a writhing mass of serpents, their bodies coiling and twisting unnaturally. But the most unsettling thing wasn't their sheer number.
It was the fact that none of them had eyes—just like the figures in the mural, hollow and lifeless.