The Angkara Murka
The Book of Soldiers Seventeen Verses
James was standing in front of a mirror naked. Blood and mud flowed faded from his body, constantly being carried water flowing out through the sinkhole. Now he saw the slender, clay-muscular body covered with various motifs overlaid on each other, creating a sort of gradation of dark black, thin black and gray.
Only the groin, inner thighs, eyes, nose, mouth, some points on the neck and nape, palms and soles of the feet are not covered in the diagram.
James Yakob pushed out a small cutter blade as wide as his middle finger. When the sharp cut appeared in his second segment, he directly thrust it into his own chest which was covered with the tattoo.
Two pieces of cutter's eyes were broken.
He smiles. Then close your eyes. Slowly all the rubies on his body disappeared.
James Yakob pushed the knife blade cutter along one more segment and scratched it into his chest that was not tattooed.
The pain attacks. Sharp cutter tip scrapes skin easily.
James grimaced to see fresh blood flowing out of the incision.
He closed his eyes again.
The elongated scratch wound on his chest closed perfectly like water being split and reunited.
Before long, his body was again covered in a tattoo that made him wear clothes.
He played the cutter blade up and down several times before he decided to push the two blades of the cutter, pressing the tip of the sharp knife into his magical tattooed outer thigh.
The blade bent and broke one section.
He played back the blade, then thrust the thin cutter blade into the inner thigh near the unprotected maleness of the tattoo.
The knife slid in one and a half segments into James's thigh.
He yelled. Blood leaped out from under his skin through the sides of the cutter blade.
At once James Yakob pulled out a knife and threw it on the bathroom floor of his house.
In a long mirror that could reflect the reflection of his entire body, he saw that the wound on his inner thigh did not close and blood continued to flow out, bubbling.
James laughed loudly. He expected it. Next time he will find a way so that the part of his body that is not covered with the diagram can be hidden and protected from sharp weapons or tin drizzle, because it turns out that there lies his weakness.
James took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, no longer ignoring the blood that seeped out of his wound.
Body floated. He could feel both of his feet on the tiled floor of the bathroom. Water and blood dripped from his body and thighs through the tips of his toes, falling to the floor.
It keeps drifting.
Suddenly the tattooed body of James James was blurred. Particles fading. It pierced through the ceiling of the bathroom, pierced through the roof and continued flying until it floated above all the buildings around it.
His tools hang freely without cover, shriveling like little chicks. But he doesn't care at all. His prowess is not in his manhood now, but in his presence at the top of the food chain. He is a lion to his fellow men.
James opened his eyes. There's a fire in the ball.
He saw a very different world. All his senses functioned a hundredfold.
He saw five figures of pocongs with earth-clad cloth standing rigidly in the corner of the public cemetery below. Their faces were half rotten, displaying skull bones that had poked out from the skin that had melted.
He also saw a woman who committed suicide three years ago still hanging on the third floor terrace of an index building. A pair of women's eyes widened and her tongue stretched out. The skin of his neck was peeled off with a hook that slid into it and stopped only when it touched the neck bone.
The body of James then again blurred and broke into small parts that flew away as if carried by the night wind.
James is enjoying a power, devotion and power that is only a tiny fragment of the Pangkalima entity that formed the universe as a medium of desire, lust, survival instinct and the wrath of humans.
It shot towards the North not in the form of a whole body, but pieces of particles capable of penetrating wide trees and dense buildings without being restrained or bumped. He was almost disappointed.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
Pramudya scratched his head which was almost without hair. He also then scratched his sideburns and beard which is ironically very thick and opposite to the state of the hair on his head. He himself even admitted that he deliberately crushed his beard, mustache and beard as compensation for the absence of hair on his head.
Wong Ayu stood in front of him in a 'bernego style pose that could not be bargained.'
"Come on, chief. Let me go two or three weeks. Mr. Chairman ‘kan understand how to work," said Wong Ayu.
"What are you crazy about? Two or three weeks is no different than a month. You've been missing for over two weeks. When you heard, you sent me an article that jumped up and down. You haven't really finished your journalism on that mafia-style group of thugs, have you?" said the person who was called the Chairman by Wong Ayu.
"Don't I have explained it from the beginning, Chief? I have to go to Borneo to finish my writing. A giant project, Mr Chairman! Besides, I'm not a reporter. I write journalistic analysis, not just a slave news finder," continued Wong Ayu still trying to convince the online news boss where he works.
"Oh .. Oh ... Oh, so you're starting to confidently distinguish yourself from the other ink porters, who are 'just' news-seekers?"
Wong Ayu nodded. "The chairman knows my qualities. The chairman knows my discipline. Which posts have I finished late? Which responsibilities have I never carried out?" challenge Wong Ayu
Pramudya held his head that was soon the perfect plontos with both hands. "Damn you Wong Ayu. I really want to make that arrogant head of yours subjugated.," Pramudya said. He placed his hands on the table and looked at Wong Ayu fixedly. "Fifteen days. Two weeks more a day. That's the time I can give, nothing more! After that you returned to this office facing me with a full report and writing. It's finished!"
Wong Ayu almost shouted in excitement. He approached and stretched out his hand to shake. Pramudya grabbed it reluctantly, which Wong Ayu felt and squeezed it tightly and steadily. Wong Ayu nodded, smiled slightly then rushed out, "Thank you, chief," he said as he walked away half-run.
"Give me a report every three days!" pramudya's last sentence was still caught by Wong Ayu before his body disappeared from the editor's office.
Pramudya looked at the remnants of the shadow of one of his best online newspaper writers while smiling thinly and shaking slowly.