The Angkara Murka
The Book of Warriors Thirty-First Verse
"Learn how to kill. If someone is looking for trouble with you, don't just dare to threaten, intend to kill that person. In the real world, even in prison, you will be respected for your courage," said the fat body to the High School graduate.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
James was taken to the past. He sees history as a film. His layer of consciousness rolled into the memory of the stocky at a time when the man killed a family consisting of a husband and wife, and their two children, including one child.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
The high school grad dropped several packs of drug parcels from his pocket. He saw the figure standing in a corner that was not well illuminated by the lights.
The figure was completely black, jet, dark, soot. There's a bird's beak sticking out of his head.
Though before, it was clear that for a few minutes in this toilet chatting with his senior, he sure did not see anyone else there.
The big shot hit the head of the high school graduate, "That's stupid of you! Don't waste what would be money!" he said, without understanding what made his junior was surprised to drop their merchandise.
The High School graduate pointed in the direction where the figure stood with horror. The stockyard also finally looked in the direction the teenager pointed out and only found a void. The figure that the High School graduate saw was not there.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
James disappeared and reappeared behind the stocky body of the one whose scent of hell was so densely escaping from his body.
The overwhelming feeling of bubbling blood carried to James's brain when the side of his palm easily cut off the thick neck like a knife slicing butter.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
The high school graduate teenager limped in trying to get into the VIP room where the bosses and high-class criminal leaders gathered, as if his knees could not support his body. In the room there is a head of thugs, the largest drug dealer in the city, a prostitution business owner, and a leader of organizations who take shelter behind the name of the organization while providing mass mobilization services. They were laughing, downing beer, sniffing heroin, and sharing obscene stories.
The boy who was just about to leave his teenage years broke into the door that was haram to even be beaten up in this kind of state.
As the guards were trying to teach the teenager a lesson, they paused to see him bathed in blood.
The teenage boy's mouth was stiff, heeled. The blood on his face, head and body was the blood of his senior colleague who had just lost his life by no longer having a head. There was a bird-headed demon that appeared in the toilet and killed the fellow in a way he could never have imagined. It was said with great difficulty to the two guards of the room.
Two guards came out, trying not to panic the bosses, some of whom turned towards them, their ears clogged with music.
These two guards felt responsible for the safety of the room. Moreover, there was one of their 'people' who was still green suddenly came covered in blood and looked so shocked and unable to reply properly, be logical about what happened to him. They asked the green teenager to sit in a corner and stay there before opening the door of the room covered in red velvet.
Maryanto, a little older than Febri. His hair is shaggy, forcing grow a mustache and beard that is not much to impress agar, and a little distended. He once went to prison for robbing, as well as for murder. For him, robbing the weak must have clear results and do not need too hard effort. So he robbed a grandmother or a woman, and killed her. Work done.
The door of the VIP room was closed, the bloody figure of the High School graduate disappeared with the sound of music in it.
Now that the two were in a passageway, there was nothing to be seen.
Maryanto reached for his folding knife, while Febri had already pulled out the assembled gun he had used for a long time. The two walked in line with Maryanto in front playing his penknife, and Febri pointed the muzzle of his gun forward, past Maryanto's shoulder.
Twenty-eight steps, turning at the end of the passageway, there was a dark figure standing in the middle. Somehow, his face and body as a whole were not illuminated by the dim lights that stuck to the wall and hung on the ceiling.
Suddenly the figure disappeared.
Febri and Maryanto looked at each other, assuring that they were witnessing the same thing.
Not yet had Febri opened his mouth to communicate with his partner, he saw from inside his own stomach that a hand had pierced through, tearing off the layers of his skin.
He shouted, blood, intestines scattered out when the figure turned out to be behind him and broke his body by breaking his spine and reaching into his innards.
Febri's handgun had not been used, falling on a rundown green carpet. Maryanto gaped and had no time to do anything when the figure plucked his hand through Febri's body and with the same hand used to strangle Febri's neck.
Maryanto gasped for air as his body lifted up so easily and was thrown against the wall after his head had headed and smashed a chandelier.
Fingers as hard as steel covered in the blood of Febri, his dead companion, still strangled his neck. It was then that he witnessed a real demon coming straight from hell.
The figure that strangled and lifted him into the air had a pair of blood-red burning eyes behind the bird-beaked head covering. His body is dark soot.
Maryanto glanced at the lifeless Febri constantly bleeding from his broken stomach. The fear of death is now getting stronger. Blurred vision. It was like getting into his head and scaring him from the inside.
"Remember all your sins. You're gonna die now, but that's just the beginning. When you wake up a second time, torture is waiting for you" the figure said in his brain.
Shortly in his distress he saw a kind of portal open in the air. There's a kind of world behind that portal. Pale figures were seen standing side by side. There was also a small figure, a baby, crawling with his mouth wide open, ripping his jaw apart.
However, what caught his attention were female figures, old and young, naked yet blood-red skin. The figure of an old woman with her skin fluttering looked at Maryanto with a cold face but full of interest. The figure then laughed.
Maryanto can't run anymore. He thrashed as hard as he could. His folding knife he thrust into the arm as stiff as steel. The folding knife crooked and fell to the floor without scraping the skin of his attacker's hand in the slightest.