The Kalimantan jungle swallowed Arya in pitch-black silence. Only shards of moonlight filtered through the thick canopy, brushing his scarred face in silver streaks. Damp leaves muffled his footsteps, but the black veins pulsing under his skin throbbed like a second heart—Anima Terrae, alive within him.
His red-tinged eyes cut through the night with unnatural clarity, tracking every movement in the undergrowth. The silver locket at his neck swung gently with each step. Inside it, a photo of him and Bayu—two smiling soldiers before the world turned to ash. That image burned in his mind, a single ember of memory fueling his resolve.
The safehouse was a rusted tin shell buried in the jungle's shadow, half-swallowed by moss and time. Inside, under a flickering neon light, Professor Hadiwijaya cowered in the corner like a dying animal. His lab coat was stained, his face drawn and ghostly. But his eyes still gleamed with something poisonous.
Arya's fingers closed around the man's throat, lifting him off the floor with ease. His voice was cold, jagged.
"Tell me everything."
And the professor did.
Through clenched teeth and trembling lips, he confessed: Serambi Nusantara's final phase was already in motion. They planned to release engineered Anima Terrae spores into the atmosphere—worldwide. Triggering forced evolution. Killing the weak. Creating only those who could adapt.
"We thought we could control it," Hadiwijaya rasped. "Breed obedience into it. But we were wrong. It's older than us. Smarter. It doesn't want evolution. It wants dominance."
Arya's grip tightened, rage burning through him like acid. "You created this nightmare. You spread it. You let it take Bayu."
"You're wrong," the professor whispered, blood on his tongue. "It chose you. You're its vessel, Arya. Its voice. Its will. You're not here to stop it. You're here to finish what it started."
Arya threw him to the floor. The man crumpled like paper, coughing, wheezing—but laughing.
"Look at yourself," Hadiwijaya gasped. "Those veins, those eyes. Do you really think you're still fighting for humanity? You belong to it now."
Arya turned away, jaw clenched, fury giving way to doubt. He could feel the truth in the professor's words—the parasite's power growing louder, stronger inside him. Was he still himself, or just a puppet carved from flesh and memory?
But then—Bayu's voice, warm and resolute, rose in his mind like a lighthouse through the fog.
"Don't listen to him."
"We're in this together. You're still Arya. We decide what happens next—not some ancient thing trying to wear your skin."
Arya exhaled slowly, grounding himself. His pulse slowed. The parasite stirred, but he pushed it back—not with violence, but with will.
"I'm not your goddamn vessel," he muttered, eyes still glowing.
"I'm my own."
And for the first time, Anima Terrae went silent.