The twilight hanging over the jagged horizon of Mount Lawu's peak that evening offered none of its usual, mountain-born tranquility. The sky, which should have been a canvas of fading gold and warm, soothing crimson, now resembled a parchment soaked in fresh, viscous blood. It was an omen, a celestial warning that the balance of the world was about to shatter.
The clouds hung low, heavy and obsidian, swirling like a brew in a witch's cauldron. It felt as though the universe itself were holding its breath, tensing every muscle before the eruption of an unspeakable catastrophe. The mountain wind, which typically bore the refreshing scent of pine needles and highland dew, now howled with a feral, predatory intensity. It roared through the jagged crevices of the cliffs, carrying a sickening metallic tang of rust and the suffocatingly sharp aroma of ceremonial incense—an odor so pungent it felt like hot needles pricking the lungs of anyone who dared to breathe.
At the highest point of this sacred, cursed plateau stood an old man. His body was severely stooped, his spine curved under a weight that seemed far heavier than mere age or the erosion of time. It was as if he carried the entire gravity of the cosmos upon his withered shoulders.
His hair was a cascade of silver-white, flowing so long it brushed against the blackened earth beneath his feet. His skin, textured like the ancient bark of a thousand-year-old oak, was etched with glowing tattoos—runes of power that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic emerald light. These were not mere ink; they were the seals of a lifetime spent commanding the spirits.
This was Ki Bungkuk Jagad.
A name that, for centuries, had served as a synonym for both divine miracles and primordial terror throughout every corner of the Nusantara archipelago. He was the Grand Shaman, the bridge between the world of men and the realm of the unseen.
Surrounding him in a perfect, lethal circle stood seven of the most powerful sovereigns to ever draw breath. Each was clad in resplendent ceremonial armor that shimmered under the dying, sickly light of the sun. Behind these kings, thousands of elite warriors—high-tier practitioners of the martial arts who were said to be capable of shattering boulders with their bare palms—stood with trembling bodies.
Their grips on their spears and the hilts of their keris were slick with cold, fearful sweat. They all knew the legend. They knew that even though the man in the center appeared fragile, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden staff, a single stomp of his foot could, in theory, send a tectonic tremor through half the continent.
"So... this is how you intend to conclude my centuries of service?"
The voice of Ki Bungkuk Jagad scraped out from a parched, weathered throat. It was not loud, yet it possessed a resonance that bypassed the ears, speaking directly to the souls of those present. It echoed against the canyon walls and vibrated through the very marrow of the soldiers' bones.
A man of towering stature, draped in golden silk robes that fluttered in the chaotic wind, stepped forward with visible hesitation. This was the King of the Holy Mountain, the sovereign of the archipelago's most fertile lands. He had long been regarded as Ki Bungkuk's most cherished disciple—the man who once knelt before him, begging for the wisdom of the earth.
On the King's formidable face, there was no expression of triumph. There was only profound, agonizing sorrow. Tears streamed uncontrollably from his eyes, soaking his neatly groomed beard. His shoulders shook with tremors, yet his right hand remained firm, clutching a legendary Soul-Bound Keris—its wavy blade pointed directly at the heart of his master.
"Forgive us, Elder... Forgive our ultimate insolence..." the King choked out, his voice strangled by suppressed sobs that threatened to break his resolve. "This world... this Nusantara... no longer has the capacity to contain your existence. Your majesty has transcended the laws of mortality. The common folk live in perpetual fear of your shadow, and we, the kings, feel like mere ants beneath the gaze of a titan. Your existence is a sun that shines too brightly, Elder. If we do not extinguish it, we will all be burned to ash."
Ki Bungkuk Jagad fell silent for a moment. He gazed at the darkening sky, his eyes reflecting the void that was beginning to swallow the light.
"A sun that shines too brightly, you say?" his voice was cold, devoid of the warmth that once nurtured these kingdoms. "I was the one who rebuilt your thrones from the wretched ruins of civil war. I was the one who planted life in your barren lands with the forbidden arts of the soil. I was the one who banished the black plagues and silenced the demonic lords of the southern seas so your people could sail in peace. And now, after your bellies are full and your crowns are secure, you label me a threat to be eradicated?"
Suddenly, a violent, agonizing spasm struck Ki Bungkuk's solar plexus. He coughed violently, and with every heave, a spray of foul-smelling, pitch-black blood erupted from his mouth. The liquid was thick, staining the sacred soil of Lawu—the very soil he had protected for hundreds of years.
His eyes widened, the veins in his neck bulging like writhing snakes as he felt a searing, corrosive sensation spreading through his Internal Breath Pathways. The primordial energy he had once commanded with a flick of his wrist now turned against him, tearing through his internal organs like a thousand poisoned needles being driven into his very sukma.
"The Death-Flower Venom (Bisa Kembang Mayit)..." Ki Bungkuk hissed, the words tasting like copper and ash.
He recognized the substance instantly. It was the most forbidden mystical toxin in existence—a black elixir that could only be forged through an unspeakable ritual of mass sacrifice. Distilled from seven types of flowers grown on the graves of the most wretched sinners, steeped in the blood of a thousand black ravens, and ritualized under forty consecutive nights of a solar eclipse.
This poison was not designed for simple physical destruction. It was crafted to rot the metaphysical connection between a human soul and the energy of the universe. It was the ultimate antithesis to everything a Shaman stood for. It was the "anti-nature" that targeted the "nature" within him.
"Which of you... possessed the spine to slip this filth into my ceremonial offerings?" Ki Bungkuk stared sharply at the King of the Holy Mountain. His eyes, usually deep and calm like a mountain lake, now flickered with a cold, terrifying wrath.
The King could only lower his head, unable to bear the weight of the legend's gaze. His silence was the most honest admission of his guilt. This betrayal was not merely a matter of politics; it was a desecration of the most sacred trust. They had used the very affection and paternal respect Ki Bungkuk held for them to deliver death into his veins.
As if responding to the betrayal of its guardian, the nature around the peak of Lawu suddenly erupted with a fury never before witnessed by mortal eyes. The sky transitioned from dark to a void-like obsidian, as if ink had been spilled across the heavens.
Gigantic bolts of violet and crimson lightning struck the earth incessantly, tearing through the clouds with thunderous roars that made the mountain itself heave. Whirlwinds began to form sporadically, obliterating everything in their path. Ancient trees that had stood for millennia were ripped from their roots, tossed into the air like dry twigs. The thousands of elite warriors surrounding Ki Bungkuk were blown backward, many losing consciousness instantly from the sheer pressure of the surging, chaotic mana.
Ki Bungkuk Jagad felt his physical strength failing. He collapsed onto one knee, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Every inhalation felt like swallowing shards of molten glass. Yet, amidst the total destruction of his physical form, a cinder of absolute, primordial rage began to ignite his spirit.
He looked up, catching glimpses of the kings through the haze of dust and lightning. He could see them trembling, clutching their weapons with a pathetic desperation. But he could also sense a flicker of relief beginning to bloom in their hearts—a cowardly hope that soon, they would be free from his oversight.
Kalian pikir kematianku adalah kunci kedamaian? Ki Bungkuk thought, his mind becoming unnervingly clear. You kill me because you fear my shadow. Then let that shadow become an eternal nightmare for your entire lineages!
With a movement that was agonizingly slow yet possessed an undeniable majesty, Ki Bungkuk reached into the folds of his traditional, worn lurik robes. His trembling fingers touched a small artifact tucked away—the World Diamond Essence (Mustika Intan Jagat). It was a dark, translucent crystal that pulsed in perfect synchronization with his slowing heartbeat.
This object was the core of his entire being, the repository of a thousand years of occult knowledge. He would not allow this sacred relic to fall into the hands of traitors whose palms were already stained with filthy blood. He would take it with him. He would take all his knowledge, all his secret ajian, and most importantly: all of his vengeance.
"The Wheel of Eternal Rebirth! (Pancasona Kalacakra!)"
Ki Bungkuk roared the mantra with a voice that split the heavens and hushed the thunder.
Instantly, the earth beneath their feet fractured into massive, glowing chasms, belching out stinging black vapor. A blinding, deep violet light radiated from every pore of Ki Bungkuk's skin, forming an impenetrable dome of energy. All the natural mana that had been raging around the mountain was suddenly sucked into the dome, swirling at the speed of light.
The King of the Holy Mountain and the other sovereigns attempted one final, desperate strike. They thrust their legendary keris, unleashed thousands of enchanted arrows, and cast their strongest martial techniques, but every attack crumbled into grey dust before even touching the surface of the violet dome.
They could only watch in a mixture of horror and awe as the body of Ki Bungkuk Jagad began to fade, dissolving into millions of black light particles that spiraled toward a sudden void—a black hole that had manifested in the sky, a gateway to a realm beyond their understanding.
In the final microsecond before his consciousness vanished into the abyss, Ki Bungkuk closed his tired eyes. Within that darkness, he heard the imaginary laughter of his betrayers one last time. A mocking laugh, celebrating the death of the master. That hatred became the final anchor of his soul, fueling it with a fire that would never be extinguished by time or space.
Laugh all you want for now, you little kings, Ki Bungkuk thought with chilling, absolute coldness. I am going to a place you cannot reach. And when I return, I will no longer come as your protector. I will come as the judgment that swallows your world whole.
BOOM.
A massive explosion of black light occurred in total, absolute silence. In a single blink of an eye, Ki Bungkuk Jagad vanished from the peak of Mount Lawu. There was no corpse left to bury, no ashes left to scatter. All that remained was earth that had been turned into perfect, scorched obsidian—charred by an energy that was utterly alien, ancient, and cold.
Slowly, the madness of nature began to subside. The black sky returned to a quiet, somber twilight, as if the mountain itself were mourning. The wind stopped its howling, and the lightning disappeared without a trace.
The kings and their thousands of soldiers stood frozen in the middle of a haunting silence. They had won the battle today; they had successfully toppled the sun. Yet, in the deepest recesses of their hearts, a new terror, far greater than anything they had ever known, was just born. They knew they hadn't truly killed Ki Bungkuk Jagad. They had merely sent him somewhere else.
The King of the Holy Mountain fell to his knees on the blackened earth. His ancestral keris slipped from his hand, clattering against the stone. He stared at the empty space before him with a hollow, haunted gaze. His tears continued to flow, not just because he had lost the figure he respected most, but because he realized a terrifying truth...
He had just ignited a tragedy that would span across worlds, and there was nothing left in this universe that could stop the coming storm.
In a place very far away, across the boundaries of existence, a soul brimming with the flames of vengeance was about to find its new home.
The cry of a newborn child was about to change the fate of the Continent of Asyama.