The Eclipse of Souls:
The video Arjun posted went viral across the globe. It wasn't just a video; it carried a psychic pull, a frequency that whispered to the hidden greed in every human heart. People from all walks of life—billionaires losing their empires, desperate gamblers, and thrill-seekers—began to flock to the remote corner of Indonesia. The "House of Blood" was no longer a secret; it was a pilgrimage for the power-hungry.
The Great Gathering:
One rainy night, exactly twelve years after Shejuti's death, a group of seven strangers entered the mansion. Among them was a priest named Father Thomas, who had sensed the demonic energy from miles away. He wasn't there for the gold; he was there to end the curse.
As they entered the grand hall, the air grew heavy. The piles of IDR had grown into massive towers that touched the ceiling. The smell was no longer just of blood, but of ancient, rotting earth.
"Take what you want," Arjun's voice echoed from the shadows. He stood on the balcony, his skin now translucent like glass, his veins pulsing with black ink. "But remember, the Djinn doesn't take taxes. He takes the soul."
The Feast of the Djinn:
The strangers, blinded by the sight of billions, ignored the warning. They dived into the piles of cash. But as their fingers touched the notes, the "money" transformed. The banknotes turned into razor-sharp scales that sliced through their palms. The black threads didn't just wrap around their wrists this time—they burrowed into their skin, stitching their bodies together into one horrific mass of screaming flesh.
Father Thomas raised his cross, shouting ancient incantations. "In the name of the light, I command this shadow to leave!"
The floor erupted. The Djinn rose, its true form finally revealed—a hundred-foot-tall entity made of shadows, teeth, and the shimmering souls of the Ali family. In the center of its chest, Shejuti's face appeared, frozen in a permanent scream of agony. She was the battery that powered this nightmare.
The Sacrifice of the Father:
Suddenly, a frail figure stepped forward from the corner. It was Yusuf Ali. He had been silent for years, but tonight, he carried a small, rusted kerosene lamp.
"Shejuti... my daughter," Yusuf whispered, his voice cracking the Djinn's hold for a split second. "The wealth you wanted destroyed us. It is time to pay the final debt."
Yusuf didn't attack the Djinn. Instead, he turned to the priest. "Father, the gold is the anchor! It's not real wealth; it's condensed sorrow. If the gold burns, the Djinn loses his tether to this world!"
But there was a catch. The gold was tied to the lives of the Ali lineage. To burn the gold meant to erase the last of the family.
The Inferno of Redemption:
With a nod of understanding, Father Thomas cast a blessing upon the kerosene. Yusuf smashed the lamp onto the central pile of 7.5 billion IDR.
The fire that erupted wasn't orange; it was a blinding, holy white.
The Djinn roared in a voice that shook the very foundations of the earth. As the money began to ash, the mansion began to dissolve. The black threads snapped like dry twigs. Arjun vanished into dust, his borrowed time finally up.
In the heart of the flames, the spirits of Amina, Nadiya, and Farid appeared. They weren't headless anymore. They looked peaceful. They reached out their hands toward Shejuti. The black threads binding her to the Djinn's chest began to melt. With one last, deafening shriek, the Djinn was sucked back into the void, leaving behind nothing but smoke.
The Morning After:
When the sun rose, there was no mansion. There were no piles of cash. There was only a charred, empty clearing in the forest.
The villagers found Father Thomas unconscious at the edge of the woods. When he woke up, he told them the truth. Of the Ali family, nothing remained—not even their bones. They had been consumed by the fire that destroyed the greed they had unleashed.
However, as the priest walked away, he noticed something in the dirt. A single, crisp banknote lay half-buried. He reached down to pick it up, but then he stopped. Around the edges of the note, a tiny, faint black thread was starting to grow, shimmering in the sunlight.
He realized then: as long as there is greed in the heart of man, the Djinn will always have a way back. He left the note in the dirt and walked away, never looking back.
The End
Akifa,
The Author.