"Target locked. Seven, your visual is clear," the Saptapala operator's voice buzzed in my ear—cold, rhythmic, and mechanical.
I stood shrouded in the shadows of a gargantuan banyan tree on the slopes of Mount Semeru. My breath came in ragged bursts behind my tactical mask, forming thin plumes of vapor that were instantly devoured by the mist. Before me, something bloated and obsidian-black slithered through the treeline—a jagged claw scraped against the bark, a screeching sound that set my nerves on edge.
A Wiyangga.
My hand trembled as I gripped the tactical knife. Not from fear, but from a searing heat beginning to crawl up my wrist. An alien sensation, as if molten metal were boiling beneath my skin.
"Strike... crush... take back what is His..."
That voice. A whisper that existed nowhere in the Saptapala operational manuals. A whisper that felt like it would split my skull in two.
"Seven, what are you waiting for? Eliminate it now!" Arka's voice thundered through the earpiece—authoritarian, impatient.
I tried to lunge forward, but my legs felt like lead. My vision suddenly buckled. The mist around me was no longer a ghostly grey; it had bled into a visceral, crimson orange.
The Wiyangga leapt. Its maw, bristling with fangs, unhinged toward my throat.
At that exact heartbeat, the heat in my hand exploded. I felt something massive—something ravenous—breach from within my chest. My consciousness was violently yanked into a dense, suffocating black hole.
A lullaby drifted through the void. Faint, mournful, and achingly familiar.
"Sleep, Satria... let me finish this."
Then, total darkness.
I lost myself to a rage I did not recognize. I didn't know then that when I finally opened my eyes, the world would never look the same again. I didn't know that the black blood coating my hands was the official seal—the end of my humanity.
VOLUME 1: SEMERU (AVARICE) — BEGIN.