Night sank deeper into the hours.
Moonlight hung high in the sky, brighter than usual, pouring its pale glow over a worn apartment at the edge of Kota Tun Perak.
Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed along the concrete staircase. Slow. Heavy. Each step sounding like it had to be dragged out of a body already emptied of strength.
Khai climbed with slumped shoulders. His back curved slightly forward, his gait dull and lifeless, like a walking corpse that had forgotten why it was still moving.
Floor after floor passed without him truly noticing.
Cklak.
“Assalamualaikum.”
He opened the apartment door. The greeting drifted into a room that offered no reply.
Darkness welcomed him.
He flicked on the light. The modest living room appeared slowly, as though waking from sleep. The sofa. The dining table. Everything placed exactly where it belonged.
Too neat for a house that rarely breathed with laughter.
Khai exhaled deeply. His chest felt tight.
He walked to a door at the end of the room and pushed it open.
The bedroom was small, but alive with a world only he understood.
Shelves of comics and manga lined the walls. A soft bed stood by the side, and a transparent display case held Ultraman and Kamen Rider figures, frozen in heroic poses like silent witnesses of his childhood.
Khai’s tired eyes drifted to the desk.
Stacks of sketch papers. Pencils. Erasers scattered carelessly.
He switched on the small desk lamp.
A dim yellow light bloomed.
Small, but enough to chase the darkness away.
He opened his laptop and played a recitation of the Holy Quran. The voice filled the room, soft and steady, covering the silence that had grown too loud.
Khai sat on the bed.
His eyes closed.
No sentence could truly describe what his soul felt in that moment. He pressed his palms against his head, fingers digging into his hair as though trying to hold something inside.
Don’t attract public attention.
His teacher’s warning echoed clearly in his mind.
His hand reached for his phone.
The viral video of Kenz played again.
And again.
And again.
Can I still end this curse quickly?
The question spun endlessly in his mind.
His thumb scrolled through the comment section.
Fear.
Anxiety.
Wild theories.
All of it mixing into a noisy swamp of voices that understood nothing.
They don’t know.
That was human nature.
The greatest fear was not danger itself, but the things people could not understand… and could not control.
Khai’s eyes stopped on one comment.
He is a hero.
His heartbeat faltered.
The phone nearly slipped from his grip. His hands trembled.
He turned toward the drawing desk.
The Quran recitation faded somewhere far away in his hearing.
I’m a killer.
Two words.
Heavy.
Brutal.
And painfully true.
The world collapsed inward as his thoughts fell six years into the past.
The same room.
But smaller.
Messier. Comics and drawing papers scattered everywhere. School bags stacked neatly in a corner.
A younger Khai lay on his stomach across the bed. No beard yet. A pencil in hand. A small smile on his face.
He was drawing a character wearing a purple jacket with black stripes.
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A shadow suddenly fell across the page.
An old man in a sarong stood before him, hands on his hips. His mustache was thick. His face hard.
Khai didn’t dare look up.
“Why did you choose an art course?”
The rough voice pressed against his chest.
Khai stammered, but his father didn’t give him space to answer.
“You should become an ustaz or a soldier like your father!”
Khai lowered his head further. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he held them back.
I’m grown up now. I can’t cry.
Silence filled the room.
“What’s going on here, bang?”
His mother appeared at the doorway. Her eyes moved sharply from her husband to Khai, who sat frozen with the pencil still in his hand.
“Is that really something to get angry about?”
A small argument sparked between them.
Khai remained silent.
His thoughts tangled.
Why do I have to sacrifice what I love?
His gaze drifted toward the neatly arranged bags.
Is it because I’m the eldest?
His hands clenched tightly.
“Because Khai wants to be a comic artist!”
His voice trembled.
The moment the words left his mouth, he realized silence might have been safer.
His father’s expression changed.
Eyes widened.
Breathing grew heavier.
“YOU’RE GETTING MORE DEFIANT AS YOU GROW UP!”
PANG!!!
The world spun.
His ears rang. His cheek burned with throbbing heat.
Pain.
“Abang!”
His mother shouted.
Khai’s body crashed to the floor. He lay there clutching his cheek as tears burst out against his will.
“YOU THINK YOUR DRAWINGS CAN PUT FOOD ON THE TABLE?!”
SKRAKKKK!
The sound of paper tearing filled the room like bones snapping.
Khai clenched his fists and held his breath. He didn’t dare move.
Provision comes from God, not from you!
The scream remained trapped inside his chest.
His younger siblings gathered around him. Small cries. Arms hugging him.
“Abang… are you okay?”
Khai said nothing.
Am I selfish?
Humans really are selfish creatures.
Askum’s voice suddenly dragged him back to the present.
Khai jolted. His head throbbed.
The Quran recitation returned to his ears.
He stood and walked toward the desk, staring at the drawing of Kenz.
Hero?
A tear fell onto the paper.
I don’t deserve that.
His hand clenched.
He grabbed his head.
“You’re a killer.”
The voice repeated itself slowly, stabbing into him again and again.
Khai opened his eyes.
A parang in his hand.
Human screams. Fire. A palm plantation burning. The sky spinning with red, blue, and green light.
Pelesit swarming in the air.
Khai’s hands trembled. His legs froze.
“Khai, get inside! Protect your umie and your siblings!”
His father shouted.
“Get inside! You can’t help with anything!”
Those words shattered him.
Something appeared behind him.
A whisper slipped into his ear.
Why care?
Let him die.
Ckrakkk!
A sting pierced his father’s body.
Blood burst outward.
The body fell.
Khai simply watched.
A small smile crept onto his face.
A smile born of resentment.
Then it collapsed.
What have I done?
The body was torn apart.
His father’s eyes were wide open, staring blankly at Khai.
“You’re a killer!”
The scream struck his soul harder than the fire and sirens.
Khai staggered, but his fingers tightened around the parang. The blade felt heavy, not because of its size, but because of the responsibility that arrived too late.
“I’M NOT A KILLER!”
His cry drowned inside the chaos of the burning night.
He charged forward.
The first creature that approached his father’s body was struck down without hesitation. The parang cut through the air and slammed into the small scaled body. Black fluid splashed across Khai’s face. The stench, rotten and metallic, forced its way into his lungs.
The creature shrieked and collapsed.
But the others were not afraid.
From the left.
From the right.
From behind.
Khai spun wildly, swinging his parang without control. Every strike felt like a scream of apology he never managed to say.
“Don’t touch him!”
His voice was hoarse. No longer clear whether he was speaking to the pelesit… or to himself.
A sting pierced his thigh.
Khai screamed, his knees almost giving out. Pain surged upward, hot and pulsing.
But he didn’t stop.
He bit his lip until blood ran down his chin and swung again.
The creature split in half.
Another stabbed through his arm. One more leapt forward and bit into his shoulder.
He swung the parang toward his own body, cutting the creature apart together with a piece of his own flesh.
The pain crushed his chest.
Still, he moved forward.
Every step toward his father’s body felt like walking through thick mud. His legs were heavy. His breathing ragged.
The world spun around him.
But his eyes stayed locked on one unmoving body.
Father.
The pelesit backed away slightly.
A thin purple glow spread across Khai’s wounds, pulsing slowly like a foreign heartbeat.
The creatures hissed in uncertainty. Some tried to approach, only to retreat when Khai raised his parang with tear-filled red eyes.
He stood in front of his father’s body.
His body became the final shield.
“I’m here…”
His voice broke.
“I’m here now…”
He raised the parang high.
Every time a creature came close, he struck without mercy. No strategy. No technique.
Only anger.
Fear.
And regret that came far too late.
But there were too many of them.
Small bodies leapt one after another. Some were struck. Others escaped.
Khai’s blood flowed into the soil, mixing with his father’s blood… mixing with the creatures’ black fluid.
Finally…
They retreated.
Not because Khai had won.
But because something inside him frightened them.
Khai dropped to his knees.
The parang slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a hollow clang.
He crawled forward.
His blood-covered hand touched his father’s shoulder.
Cold.
Too cold.
“Ayah…”
The body did not move.
Khai hugged it tightly, as if with enough strength, enough time, he could pull the life back into it.
“Wake up…”
His voice had become a whisper.
“Ayah wake up… Khai’s here already…”
His chest heaved. His breath broke apart.
Tears fell onto his father’s face, soaking the wide-open eyes.
That gaze pierced him.
As if his father was still alive.
As if he was still judging him.
As if asking a question Khai would never be able to answer.
Why were you late?
“You’re a killer.”
The voice returned.
Slow.
Calm.
Certain.
Khai hugged the body tighter.
“It wasn’t me…”
“I’M NOT A KILLER!”
—
PAKKKKK!
The sound tore through time.
Khai jolted.
His hand hurt.
The parang was gone.
The fire was gone.
The blood was gone.
He was back in his room.
The small desk lamp was still glowing.
Sketch papers lay scattered across the floor.
His breathing was frantic, like he had just run out of hell itself.
“I’m not a killer…”
The words came out weak.
Unconvincing.
He looked at the drawing of Kenz on the desk.
The character stood firm. Determined face. Confident lines.
A hero.
Khai let out a quiet laugh.
A hollow one.
“What hero…”
His hand grabbed the paper and clenched it until it crumpled.
His fingers trembled.
Then he tore it apart.
Not because he hated the drawing.
But because he could not bear looking at something he would never become.
His legs gave out.
His body slid down to the floor.
He curled up, hugging his knees, forehead touching the cold ground.
Tears fell one after another.
Not loud sobbing.
Just a quiet, endless cry.
“I’m not a killer…”
He repeated it again.
This time like a prayer.
Like a plea.
The Quran recitation continued in the background, soft but unwavering.
By Time.
Indeed, mankind is in loss.
Khai smiled bitterly.
Loss.
The word fit too well.
He had already lost too much.
And some losses could never be repaid.
Except for those who believe, and encourage one another toward truth and patience.
The verse did not erase his wounds.
It only told him…
he would have to live with them.
Khai’s crying slowly softened. His breathing steadied.
But the pain in his chest remained.
The wound was still there.
Deep.
And he knew.
This was not a trauma that would heal.
This was a sin that would follow him wherever he went.
In the quiet of that room, Khai continued to cry.
Not to be forgiven.
But because he was still alive.
