Arlan's boots struck the cracked asphalt.
A dry sound echoed between the concrete walls, then faded into the fog.
Nothing answered it.
No wind.
No movement.
No life.
Behind him, the others walked in silence. Close enough to react, but not close enough to relax.
No one spoke.
In this place, even sound felt wrong.
Like saying too much might draw attention.
The Bandung Arlan remembered felt alive.
Warm.
Crowded.
The smell of coffee from small roadside shops. The constant noise of engines. People moving without pause.
All of that was gone.
What remained was a shell.
Buildings still stood, but empty.
Windows shattered.
Lights dead.
And the fog.
Always the fog.
The air tasted bitter.
There was metal on his tongue.
Arlan exhaled slowly. The taste didn't leave.
It stayed.
Like something had settled deep in his throat.
"Look," Maya whispered.
Her hand trembled slightly as she pointed to the side of the road.
Arlan stopped.
His gaze sharpened instantly.
In front of a ruined minimarket, a man stood still.
Flannel shirt. Worn. Dirty.
His hand gripped a detached door handle.
He pulled it.
Stopped.
Three seconds.
Then did it again.
Pull. Pause. Pull.
Perfect repetition.
No variation.
Arlan watched longer.
No breathing.
No hesitation.
Just a pattern.
The man didn't turn.
Even though they were close.
His eyes were open.
Empty.
No focus.
"He's not a zombie," Vila said quietly.
She raised her hand.
A faint golden light formed at her fingertips.
Analysis.
She stared for a moment.
Then her expression shifted.
"…chains."
Arlan focused harder.
At first, nothing.
Then slowly, something appeared.
Thin black threads.
Barely visible.
Descending from the fog above.
Piercing the back of the man's neck.
Branching out.
Wrapping around his limbs.
Controlling.
Like a puppet.
Arlan clenched his fist.
"This system isn't just breaking bodies," he said.
"It's taking control."
"Turning them into part of this place."
Bara let out a rough breath.
He tapped the edge of his shield against the ground.
"If they're still aware inside…"
He stopped.
"…then they're feeling all of this."
"Every second."
"Over and over."
Maya lowered her gaze.
"They might even know we're here."
"But they can't respond."
Raka spoke from the back.
Low voice.
Calm.
"Pride."
"This is what it does."
"Not just killing."
"Proving control."
"Showing us we don't matter."
They moved again.
Slower.
More careful.
Every street looked the same.
People stood.
Walked.
Repeated.
At a bus stop, several figures stood in line.
Facing an empty road.
Waiting.
For something that would never come.
In a small park, a woman pushed an empty swing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
No child.
No change.
Just repetition.
Streetlights flickered above them.
Unstable.
Light came and went.
Broken rhythm.
A damaged billboard lit up for a moment.
A smiling face appeared.
Then distorted.
Red symbols replaced it.
Glitching.
Like something trying to push through.
Maya tugged lightly at Arlan's sleeve.
"Arlan… listen."
He stopped.
Closed his eyes for a second.
Focused.
There.
A sound.
Dragging.
Srak.
Srak.
Srak.
Slow.
But clear.
Ahead.
Near a pile of overturned vehicles.
Desta raised his sword.
Muscles tight.
"Something's coming."
Bara stepped forward.
Shield ready.
Raka vanished from sight.
Positioning.
Waiting.
Something moved in the shadows.
Then it appeared.
Not a monster.
Not in the usual sense.
A man.
Broken armor.
Cracked in several places.
He wasn't walking.
He was crawling.
One arm dragging his body forward.
The other pulled a broken sword across the ground.
That sound.
Srak.
Srak.
Half his face was covered in black crystal.
Shiny.
Growing.
It covered one eye.
One ear.
Part of his cheek.
Like something alive.
Feeding.
The man stopped.
Looked at them.
Or tried to.
His mouth opened.
A sound came out.
Dry.
Scraping.
"Run…"
He struggled.
"Don't… let… it… see you…"
Arlan stepped forward.
"Wait."
Before he could reach him, the man's body jerked.
Hard.
The chains at his neck tightened.
Not one.
Many.
His body was dragged backward.
Fast.
Too fast.
He disappeared into the fog.
Just like that.
"Oi!" Arlan moved instantly.
Flash Step.
He appeared where the man had been.
Nothing.
No trace.
No sound.
No sign.
Like he was never there.
Arlan stood still.
Breathing heavier.
His eyes fixed on the fog.
His hand trembled slightly.
He didn't pull it back.
He let it stay.
In this city, the lines were gone.
Life.
Death.
Human.
System.
Everything blurred together.
Arlan closed his eyes briefly.
Then opened them again.
Different.
Colder.
Sharper.
He turned back to his team.
"This isn't a battlefield anymore."
His voice was low.
Clear.
"This is storage."
He looked around.
"All of this…"
"Kept."
"Displayed."
No one argued.
They had all seen it.
Arlan faced forward.
"If we're too late…"
"We become part of it."
Silence.
Then Bara nodded.
"Then we break whatever's doing this."
"Fast."
Raka had already moved ahead.
Watching.
Desta tightened his grip on his sword.
Vila and Maya exchanged a glance.
Then followed.
Arlan stepped forward.
Steady.
No hesitation.
In the distance, the Tower of Pride stood tall.
Closer now.
Larger.
Like it was watching.
Waiting.
Arlan stared at it.
He could feel something from it.
Pressure.
Cold.
And something deeper.
Like awareness.
Every step forward felt heavier.
But he didn't stop.
Because he knew.
If he stopped here,
he would become like them.
Still.
Empty.
Bound.
And he refused that.