The air in front of Bandung seemed to explode.
Rangda's speed had ascended beyond human logic or calculation.
If the creature had moved like a wild beast before, it now surged like a bolt of black and red lightning.
The sheer atmospheric pressure created by its movement was so immense that dust in the arena spiraled into a temporary whirlwind.
CLANG!
Bandung's eyes widened; he hadn't anticipated an attack that came faster than a blink.
The first impact happened so quickly that his vision failed to track it; he survived on pure muscle memory alone.
His buckler rose instinctively, and in a mere fraction of a second, Rangda's bone-blade slammed into it with staggering force.
The sound was no longer the ring of metal, it was the heavy, brutal thud of a massive object striking with lethal intent.
The shockwave rippled through Bandung's arm, vibrating his bones all the way to his chest.
The stone floor beneath where Rangda had just stood was spider-webbed with cracks several inches deep.
But Rangda itself? No one knew exactly where it was.
After that leap, the creature's form became impossible to follow, leaving behind only streaks of red and black amidst the arena's haze.
Before Bandung could even regain his balance... CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Rangda appeared and struck from three different directions almost simultaneously.
To the spectators, the creature seemed to have split into three gray phantoms.
But Jaka, his eyes honed by the high-speed movements of gaming, saw the terrifying truth.
"How did it suddenly become three?!" Danu and Anin cried out in unison, bolting upright from their seats in shock.
"It didn't become three. Those aren't clones..." Jaka whispered, his voice trembling.
"They're after-images. It's moving far beyond the capacity of the human eye."
In the arena, Bandung's focus sharpened to a point so acute it was agonizing, yet it was a pain far better than death.
The world around him seemed to slow down, but even at this level of deep immersion, Rangda still moved at a normal, terrifying speed.
He could see how Rangda's feet barely touched the ground, only occasionally tapping the surface to propel itself.
The red glow emanating from its legs was now clearly visible; the lines were composed of Aksara Modre, the mystic Balinese script used by ancestors to forge tattoos of immense power and protection.
Every time the script pulsed, Rangda lunged, leaving streaks and dust in its wake.
SRAAAAK!
A jagged stroke from Rangda's bone-blade bypassed Bandung's guard.
The serrated edge tore through his left thigh. Fresh crimson blood sprayed into the air, but before it could hit the ground, it collided with the remnants of Rangda's black blood still suspended in the turbulent air.
Sssssssss...
The meeting of the two bloods triggered a chemical reaction unlike anything ever seen in the arena.
A thick, brownish-gray smoke erupted between them.
The stench of sulfur, rusted iron, and rotting incense assaulted Bandung's nose again, making him instantly nauseous.
The sand splashed by the mixed blood melted and hardened into shards of sharp, black glass.
Bandung staggered in agony.
Blood flowed freely from his thigh, soaking into his torn trousers.
Yet, Rangda showed no mercy, granting him not even a second to process the pain.
The creature leapt toward the arena wall, its glowing feet gripping the stone as it crouched at a precarious angle.
And then... BOOM!
The thunderous crack deafened the crowd once more as Rangda launched itself, piercing through the clouds of dust like a cannonball.
Bandung twisted his body, using the last of the strength in his left arm to tilt his shield and brace for impact.
KRAK!
A chunk of wood from the edge of his shield tore away, disintegrating into splinters.
His left arm was now completely numb after absorbing the relentless, high-velocity strikes.
He could no longer feel his limb; all he felt was a dead weight hanging from his shoulder.
"CAN'T THIS BE STOPPED? WHERE ARE THE OFFICIALS?!" Anindya shrieked from the stands.
She gripped the wooden railing until her nails turned white, tears streaming uncontrollably as she watched their protector being mauled without mercy, without even a chance to strike back.
Danu pounded the railing with his fist.
"Why? Why isn't the referee moving?! This isn't a match, it's a public execution!"
Jaka remained silent.
His eyes were locked on Bandung's footwork.
Amidst the lethal onslaught, he noticed something different.
Bandung was no longer trying to track Rangda's movements with his eyes.
His head was bowed slightly, his shoulders relaxed despite the blood pouring from various wounds, while Rangda's distorted laughter echoed from within the dust.
"Look at him," Jaka said softly.
"Bandung hasn't given up. He's still fighting... he's just calculating."
In the middle of this storm of slashes, Bandung was indeed doing something insane.
Something no ordinary man would do against an opponent who seemed invincible. Every wound he received, every cut on his shoulder, calf, and waist, he used as data.
He felt the direction of the wind; he felt the vibrations in the stone floor every time the scripts on Rangda's legs flared.
"Arga... I..."
The memory of his brother flashed unbidden, just as a crimson flare appeared directly above him.
Rangda plummeted, diving with both bone-swords thrust downward.
Bandung closed his eyes.
In the darkness of his mind, he saw only the red lines of the glowing script.
The world around him fell silent, leaving only the sound of his heart beating like a war drum and his inner voice waiting for the exact moment to move.
"Now!"
Bandung did not dodge backward.
Instead, he ducked and lunged forward, directly toward Rangda's predicted point of impact.
CRAAAAAASSSSS!
The small dagger he had concealed behind his shield swung in a single, sweeping arc.
The blade's tip successfully tore through Rangda's abdomen as they bypassed each other mid-air.
Black blood erupted like a downpour, most of it splashing onto Bandung's shoulder and back.
"AAAAAAARRRRGHH!"
Bandung's scream this time was far more horrific and agonizing than before.
The clothes on his shoulder disintegrated instantly.
His skin blistered, releasing thick white smoke as the corrosive poison began to eat his flesh alive.
The pain was so intense that Bandung's vision went white for a split second.
His heart hammered, pumping adrenaline through his body as a final defense mechanism against the onset of shock.
Bandung fell to his knees.
His breath came in ragged, hot gasps.
The stench of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils, pungent enough that even the spectators could smell the rot emanating from the center of the arena.
"BANDUNG!" Anindya shrieked, her voice raspy from the sheer force of her screams.
Rangda landed several meters away.
The creature stared at the puncture wound in its belly, which continued to spew black blood and acrid smoke.
Pure, unadulterated rage now radiated from its eyes.
It was no longer merely following an order to kill a challenger; it now hungered to obliterate its prey until nothing remained.
The scripts on Rangda's legs glowed brighter.
This time, the color shifted from blood-red to a pulsating, deep violet.
The entire arena shook under the weight of the crowd's cheers mixed with hisses of dread.
Rangda began to growl, a sound like thousands of souls screaming in unison.
It raised both bone-swords, crossing them into an X before clashing them together, a grim provocation of the storm of death about to descend.
The creature moved.
Spinning, swinging, and whirling its blades in a lethal dance that whipped up a black sandstorm around Bandung.
Bandung forced himself to stand upright once more.
His left leg trembled violently; the wound on his thigh pulsed in rhythm with his frantic heartbeat.
His buckler, already cracked and half-shattered, now felt like a leaden weight in his hand.
"One more strike... just one..."
Rangda surged through the storm of sand and dust.
Its movement was too obscured, too fast for even its own shadow to follow.
It emerged from below, swinging with a force capable of cleaving a ship in a single blow.
BLARRRR!
The shield that had protected him for so long shattered into a thousand pieces.
Splinters of wood and shards of iron flew in every direction, some slicing across Bandung's cheek and temple.
His left arm was flung aside, too limp and exhausted to resist.
Bandung was thrown backward, his spine slamming hard against the stone floor.
The dagger remained clutched in his right hand, but his fingers vibrated so violently he could barely comprehend what was happening to his own body.
He forced himself to try and rise again.
But his knees were too weak; they trembled and gave way.
He was forced back to his knees by gravity and the agonizing pain piercing both his body and soul.
Rangda stood tall, looming over him.
The creature stepped forward slowly, each footprint leaving a charred, smoking mark on the stone.
Its bone-swords, still flickering with violet embers, were raised high toward the sky, preparing for the final stroke that would sever Bandung's head from his shoulders, as if this entire match were a stage for its blood ritual.
The arena fell silent, as quiet as a grave.
The cheers were choked back in the spectators' throats.
Some wept; others stared with hollow eyes.
Perhaps they had seen men underestimate their opponents and meet fatal ends before.
But never had they seen someone struggle this far, forced to fight something that defied human logic.
They had never witnessed a struggle so desperate, only to be crushed by the reality of an insurmountable gap in power.
They were all witnesses to the final moments of a warrior.
Bandung looked around.
He saw the panic in the crowd.
He saw Anin, Jaka, and Danu screaming hysterically, waving their hands, urging him to run, to flee, to get away.
But everything felt muffled.
He could no longer hear them.
He could only watch without the strength to move.
Only bone-deep fear and despair remained.
His eyes blurred, fighting the sting of sweat and blood.
In those final seconds, he no longer saw Rangda.
The monster with the raised swords faded, replaced by the green rice fields of his village.
There, he saw Arga's face, smiling broadly under the great tree.
His little brother, who always believed.
Who once said with sparkling eyes: "You, Bandung, will definitely be a Patih one day."
"I know... I remembered my promise... but I can't... Arga... I'm sorry."
Bandung's soul cried out, a single tear escaping the corner of his eye.
He surrendered to the fate that was coming for him.
The bone-sword descended, slicing through the air with a lethal hiss.
The blade was only inches away from the skin of Bandung's neck.
Suddenly, the darkness was torn open by force.
A beam of golden sunlight pierced through, breaking the thick mantle of clouds that had suffocated the arena.
The light fell precisely in the center, cleaving through the shadow of the giant Rangda as it prepared to execute its prey.
SRASSSSS!
It wasn't the sound of clashing blades that echoed, but a shriek that shook the very stone pillars of the arena.
Rangda recoiled as if stabbed by hundreds of invisible swords.
Its gray body hissed violently, emitting black smoke that smelled fouler than any rotting carcass.
Every inch of skin touched by the sun blistered, cracked, and peeled away like burning paper.
The creature roared in agony, trying to shield itself with its bone-swords, which were now cracking and losing their violet glow.
Rangda, the symbol of the rejection of life, the lord of darkness from the forbidden clan, now stood helpless and terrified before the sun.
But for Bandung... the sensation was entirely different.
He didn't understand what was happening.
He only knew that the cold piercing his bones was evaporating.
The exhaustion that felt as heavy as a mountain was being lifted, piece by piece.
The burning heat on his shoulder subsided, replaced by a calming warmth, as if the entire world were washing his wounds, giving him a second chance to stand.
The world seemed to answer his prayer and lift the despair of a soul that still refused to die.