The scent of incense was pungent, but the metallic aroma of blood splattered across the roots of this gargantuan banyan tree was far more dominant.
I stood frozen. My mind was a void. Before me, the creature—what the Saptapala Operational Manual calls a Wiyangga Type-C or Tuyul Agung—had stopped struggling. Its bloated, obsidian-black body lay stiff, eyes bulging, staring at me with the remnants of its greed.
Its head was crushed. Not by the tactical blade at my hip, but as if it had been struck by a divine sledgehammer with brutal force.
I looked down, staring at my own right fist. A thick, black liquid mixed with deep red blood coated my skin.
Strange.
I didn't remember throwing that punch. A second ago, the creature was lunging, its claws inches from my throat. Then... blackout. Total darkness. And now, it was already over.
It happened again.
"Subject 07, status report."
Commander Arka's voice hissed coldly from the earpiece. His tone was always the same: flat, emotionless, like a machine tallying inventory.
I took a long breath, trying to stabilize my racing heart. My tongue felt leaden as I replied.
"Target... neutralized," I answered shortly. My own voice sounded foreign—hoarse and heavy, as if it wasn't me speaking.
"Good. Administer your sedative dose immediately. Your vitals indicate your brainwave frequency is unstable. Don't let the residue energy contaminate you."
Standard protocol. I already knew it by heart.
I reached into my thigh pouch and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. A Sedative. Saptapala called it a 'gift of knowledge' to preserve my sanity. Without it, my head would feel like a noisy marketplace—filled with screams, whispers, groans, and fragments of memories that made no sense, all drenched in the blood that appeared in my dreams.
They said I was sick. They said I was lucky to be saved from the monster that slaughtered my family. This medicine was the chain that kept the monster locked inside my head.
I needed this drug to remain Satria. Satria, the Saptapala asset.
Just as I was about to pop the seal with my teeth, the mist on the slopes of Semeru suddenly thickened. The smell of incense grew sharp, mingled with the scent of wilting jasmine.
From behind the shadow of the banyan tree, I saw him again.
That silhouette.
A man, standing stiff like a ghost. He didn't wear a tactical uniform like mine. He wore an ancient black beskap, tattered in places, with a jarik cloth trailing on the ground. His face was veiled by mist, but I could feel his gaze. Cold. Sad. And full of regret.
"Don't..."
The voice was a whisper. Soft, like wind passing through leaves, yet it pierced straight to my marrow.
I shut my eyes tight, shaking my head violently. This is just a hallucination, my panicked mind hissed. This is the residue effect of the Tuyul Agung. Don't look. Don't listen.
"07, are you still there?" Arka's voice crackled, his tone tinged with suspicion.
"Yes," I replied quickly, my voice trembling. I immediately downed the clear liquid in the vial.
Cold. Bitter. A bitterness that scorched my throat.
Within seconds, the world around me felt... calmer. The sound of crickets grew clearer. The mist slowly thinned. The man in the ancient attire faded, blending back into the shadows of the trees before vanishing entirely.
I exhaled in relief, leaning against the banyan trunk. See? Just a hallucination. Saptapala was right. I needed this medicine. I needed Saptapala.
I turned to leave the combat zone, stepping away from the carcass of the Tuyul Agung. However, as my boot stepped out of the banyan's shadow, I tripped on something hard in the muddy ground.
I looked down.
In the earth soaked by that demonic black blood, a symbol was deeply engraved. Perfectly neat. The strokes formed a circle with eight rays, exactly like a star—a symbol I recognized, though I didn't know from where.
The Surya Majapahit.
I froze. A hallucination couldn't carve into the earth this deeply.
I knelt, touching the carving with my blood-stained fingers. At that moment, the palm of my hand suddenly throbbed. A searing heat burned my wrist. Beneath the tactical bandages wrapped around my hand, I felt something pulse. Like an insect crawling under my skin, trying to find a way out.
"07? The extraction team is at your coordinates. Prepare for pickup."
Two Saptapala officers emerged from the bushes, aiming high-intensity flashlights at me. I stood up quickly, hiding my throbbing hand behind my tactical jacket.
"All clear," I said curtly, putting on the coldest face possible—the mask I always wore in front of them.
One of the officers approached the Tuyul Agung carcass, then stared at the Surya Majapahit carving on the ground in confusion.
"Did you do this, 07?" he asked.
"No," I answered quickly—perhaps too quickly. "Probably a scratch from the target before it died."
The officer nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation.
I walked past them, entering the extraction helicopter waiting in the forest clearing. As the helicopter door closed, I kept convincing myself that everything was fine. That Saptapala was protecting me. That I was sick, and they were the cure.
But in the corner of my eye, as the helicopter rose above the slopes of Semeru, I swore I saw that silhouette in the ancient attire again at the top of the banyan tree. This time, he wasn't alone.
There were six other figures standing in a row behind him.
And one of them... slowly raised a hand, waving at me with a very gentle motion. The gesture of an older sibling longing for their brother.
I clenched my fist inside my pocket. The heat in my wrist didn't fade. That medicine... the residue was no longer working.