Weeks had passed since Arya vanished from public view.
He no longer lived in luxury. No designer clothes. No fixed address. Now, he drifted through Jakarta's underbelly—blending with the forgotten, the hunted, the invisible. A ghost in the streets. A rumor in the alleys. Red eyes in the dark.
His mission was clear: find and destroy what remained of Serambi Nusantara. And every night, he got closer.
He hacked their systems, breached encrypted files, leaked horror after horror. Victims mutilated beyond recognition. Survivors with shattered minds and inhuman bodies. Testimonies hidden deep within the darkest corners of the internet. And among the data, a name kept surfacing:
Project Phoenix—Serambi Nusantara's final ambition. A secret experiment to craft the next generation of superhumans. Faster. Stronger. Obedient.
"They never stop," Arya muttered, hunched over a stolen laptop in a dim alley.
"They don't care how many die, how many suffer—as long as they reach their dream of playing God."
"We have to stop them," Bayu's voice echoed in his mind. Angry. Focused.
Arya's eyes narrowed on the screen.
"But how? They've got a fortress now. An island. Heavily guarded. Crawling with soldiers and freaks. No way in."
"We have something they don't," Bayu replied. "We have each other. And we have Anima Terrae. The parasite isn't a curse—it's our key."
Arya stared at the faintly glowing mark on his palm. A symbol of something alien. Ancient.
"You really think this thing can get us in?"
"I know it can," Bayu said.
"It's evolving with us. Learning. And now, it's offering something new."
"…What?"
"Wings."
Arya blinked. "You serious?"
"Dead serious. We fly to that island. We dive from the sky. Like angels of vengeance."
Arya scoffed. "More like nightmares with jet engines."
Bayu chuckled. "Call it what you want. But we're not crawling anymore. We're done hiding."
Arya hesitated, then closed his eyes. He reached for the power inside him—the swirling storm of Anima Terrae, waiting to be unleashed.
The transformation came fast.
His back arched as bones twisted and reformed. Flesh shifted, reshaped. Black membranes sprouted from his spine, expanding into massive, bat-like wings, alive with pulsing energy.
He gasped.
It was grotesque. It was beautiful. It was power.
He opened his eyes—now glowing crimson—and whispered, "We're not human anymore."
"No," Bayu answered softly.
"We're something more."
That night, Arya took flight—soaring above the city like a shadow. Gliding through rain and wind, mastering the skies. His wings left streaks of black mist in the air, silent and terrifying.
For days, he trained. Flying. Learning. Becoming. Preparing for the storm.
Because out there, far beyond the horizon, an island awaited—where monsters were made, and his war would end.