Mist dripped from the cave ceiling like frozen veins reaching down from the sky of hell. The air inside Candramaya cave was heavy and damp, thick with the stench of sulfur, moss, and the unseen rot of burnt flesh. Echoes of water droplets striking the puddled earth merged with the panicked breath of a worthless young man.
Raka stood, eyes wide, facing the nightmare that closed in around him—the darkness felt real, suffocating, and absolute.
The only light came from the faint glow of Éra crystals embedded in the stone corners, their flickering light revealing the ancient reliefs carved into the walls: stories of sacrifice… and death. But tonight, those tales had come to life.
From within the darkness of Candramaya Cave, a Jakulangkung emerged, crawling with jerky, insect-like movements—quick, broken, like a giant bug mimicking a human's gait. Its body was tall, gaunt, and twisted, as if its joints were never meant to stand upright. Its skin was a greenish-grey, damp and thin like a fish's gills, twitching with each breath of air. Its head was barely shaped—like a fleshy bud that could bloom at any moment, revealing a gaping mouth filled with fangs and strange, pulsing ears that resembled flower petals, flaring open in search of the faintest sound. It listened with horrifying precision. Every drop of blood, every shaky breath from a hidden soul, was absorbed by those ears that opened and closed like lungs.
In silence, it stood frozen—like a statue. But the moment a sound emerged… it struck, with inhuman speed, slashing with curved claws sharp enough to rend stone. It was a stalker in silence, a predator of resonance.
At its forehead, embedded deep within, a sightless eye burned with the red glow of an ancient artifact—an ember-colored flame that radiated not just pressure, but spiritual coercion. Fear was no longer an emotion. It became a biological fact, stabbing into the human brain and igniting its most primal alarm: fight or flight.
At the front line, a Tamenggedi—a living shield, broad and resolute—stood firm. His back arched like a barrier of flesh, hands gripping a trembling shield. But behind him—fatal error.
The Pangreksa, the party's healer, was panicked. The protective spell he cast was useless against the monster's aura. It shattered in an instant, rebounding violently and striking the Tamenggedi's stomach. Flesh and bone tore apart instantly. The warrior shrieked and was thrown into the cave wall, body collapsing like a deflated leather sack.
Raka stood frozen at the edge of the cavern. His heart pounded like it would burst from his chest. But it wasn't just the horror before his eyes—something in the air… a psychic pressure from the creature's presence… chilled him from spine to skull. His mind screamed to run, but his feet clung to the earth.
The lead Mantrawan stepped forward, casting high-level spells: Ajian Pethak Bayu, Gada Ratri, even Segara Tininggal. Balls of blazing energy shot forth and exploded—but the monster's body absorbed them all. Not a single wound. Only a low growl… and a guttural roar from a mouth full of black fangs.
Desperate, the Mantrawan began chanting his final spell—Ajian Blarak Geni—a high-tier incantation requiring a long ritual. Raka shouted, "NO! It's too long! You won't finish in time!" But panic had already drowned out reason. The creature lunged and silenced him, gripping his head.
An explosion erupted as the spell failed mid-casting. The unstable japa circle triggered a backlash and—
BOOM!
The monster flinched. But the Mantrawan's flesh was torn from his bones. Fire consumed his body from the inside out. The creature crushed his head like pulp, the sound of bones cracking and blistered skin popping echoing through the chamber, filling the air with the smell of seared flesh and burnt blood. Pieces of his body flung against the wall, painting the ancient carvings with entrails and gore.
On the floor, a Jawak Pedang crawled, gasping for air. His sword was snapped in two. His left arm bent the wrong way, blood dripping from his mouth. In a blink, the creature seized him, slammed his body like a sack of rice—bones snapping like twigs underfoot.
The Tamenggedi rose again, roaring with fury—only to be caught by the head. The monster slowly twisted his neck.
Crack... crack... CRACK!
The sound echoed, followed by the crunch of his skull breaking like a coconut shell.
Now, only the Pangreksa remained. He turned to Raka and said:
"Face your fear, Raka."
He collapsed to his knees. Hands limp. Body shaking. He couldn't move. He could only wait—until the monster stepped forward… and tore into him alive.
In the corner, Laras, the backup Mantrawan, trembled. She didn't flee—but she didn't move either. Her eyes were hollow, breath choked. She stared at Raka, and in her mind:
"I hate you. Why aren't you doing anything, Raka?"
Raka held his breath. The screams, the wails, the sound of burning flesh and shattering bones assaulted his senses. His mind teetered on collapse. The artifact's effect wrapped around his consciousness like a black fog, tightening.
But then...
"I must stay awake…"
Raka stepped backward… and plunged his hand into a nearby pool of boiling sulfur.
A scream tried to break from his mouth, but he held it in, biting down on a strip of his torn shirt. His body spasmed—the sheer pain slammed through every fear signal in his brain. The searing burn across his nerves triggered a wave of pure adrenaline.
In psychological terms from his original world, it was known as overriding trauma response via pain stimulus—forcing the body out of freeze mode.
The effect was instant.
Raka's pupils dilated. His heartbeat steadied. He broke free from the monster's aura.
"You're not eternal. You're just a recurring illusion. And I… am your disruption."
Raka glanced around. Corpses. Steel. Broken swords and rising steam. But also… opportunity.
With memories from his original world, Raka began to analyze. This cave had an active Éra flow. Its walls reflected sound and pressure. The monster's artifact absorbed heat-based spells. But what about… ultrasonic pressure? What about resonance interference?
His hand burned—but his mind was clear.