SKY'S JETS : THE RETRIBUTION SYSTEM

Chapter 4 North Coast Criminals, Cosplay Fails, and the Art of Trash Talk

The bowl of noodles in front of Amar was licked clean down to the last drop of soup. For a stomach accustomed to being ravaged by instant noodles mixed with cold rice from a rickety rice cooker, today's meal felt like a Michelin-starred feast.

"Keep the change, man. Thanks, these noodles were the best!" Amar said firmly. He laid down a fifty-thousand rupiah bill, the remainder of the first hundred-thousand he’d broken from his envelope, and strolled away.

The shopkeeper’s jaw dropped. "Are you serious? A double order with egg and corned beef is fifteen thousand tops, hey, buddy, may you be blessed with much fortune!" the man shouted happily.

Inside Amar’s head, the old god cleared his throat in annoyance. "Wasting the remnants of your offerings on a casteless servant? That money in your bag could have been used to hire an alchemist! Ah, forget it, talking to you about nobility is harder than teaching a goblin etiquette!"

Alchemists these days sell synthetic kidneys through apps, Brother, Amar replied lightly. Just enjoy it for now.

The young man’s steps were light and rhythmic, his bag tucked tightly under his arm. His goal now was to find a decent three-star hotel, take a long shower, stare at his remaining 29 million plus, and plan a future where he could be an elite boarding house mogul without ever working as a laborer again.

However, the "Cosmic Luck" instinct that had unconsciously merged with his central nervous system began to trigger an internal warning.

The hair on the back of Amar’s neck suddenly stood up, an incredible chill washing over him. The crowded, asphalt-melting street that should have been glaring with harsh sunlight felt like it was dimming rapidly as Amar took a shortcut through an alleyway between motorcycle spare part shops that were starting to empty out. The clouds didn't turn dark with rain, but ... the surrounding air felt airtight, silent, as if the frequency of Jakarta’s Bajaj and motorcycle engines were blocked by an invisible veil.

"Whoa, why did it suddenly get so creepy," Amar muttered, frozen in his tracks in the middle of a grimy, moss-covered alley filled with runoff from the Padang restaurant next door.

Clack ... clack ... The sound of metal scraping against the asphalt echoed softly, dominating the silence.

"A rat smelling of jasmine ... finally found you in a slum like this," a freezing hiss mocked him, followed by a pair of shadows that leaped silently onto the asbestos roofs, blocking both the front and back of the alley, locking Amar in completely!

Amar stared at the two tall figures dressed in black. Both wore iron face masks and strange fabric cloaks the size of suit jackets cut to the elbows, looking like cultist militia uniforms that had been washed dozens of times without softener; dull, dark, tattered, but ....

Two kris-shaped daggers glowing with a poisonous green sheen were drawn, gripped menacingly by the two cultist followers who had arrived. Level one assassin energy, henchmen of the Prince of Lies, Malakor of the North, ready to harvest tonight!!

"They are from the Sector of Deception, Lowly God-Soldiers!" Astraeus’s voice thundered from his consciousness. His arrogant tone vanished momentarily, replaced by the military tension of a War God : "The Miasma Daggers they carry only need one scratch on your scrawny skin, and within fifteen seconds, your body will rot into a puddle!! SWITCH YOUR MENTAL MODE TO MINE ... QUICKLY, GIVE ME SPACE FOR!!!"

To the alert instincts of a deity like the God of War, it was only natural to demand a lane switch to dismember these two low-cult scum like animals, however ... the cunning and wayward mind of a lonely, poor human who loved watching action soap operas, Amar thought more quickly in a way that was ... absurd.

"Chill out for a sec!" Amar brushed the thought aside arrogantly, unafraid!

As the cultist assassins' green aura of intimidation began to tighten with battle cries, the golden hologram slowly cracked into purple hues within the pupils of the young man trapped in the alley.

[ WARNING! DETECTING GRUDGE (18% MALAKOR CULT HATRED) TOWARD YOU ]

[ ENEMY KNOWS LOCATION, SKILL ACTIVATION APPROVED : LEVEL 1 TRASH-TALK KING ]

Cost : 10 Points.

Balance Deducted.

Amar shoved his hands into the pockets of his expensive new black jacket, giving a disinterested shrug, and exhaled a loud, heavy breath toward one of them. "Is this how people ruin lives these days? Did you two agree to get lost, or are you just short on cash for the highway bandit auditions, pops? That piss-stained mask is so dusty it hasn't seen a wash in years and man, acting all tough with those crooked metal carvings! Buddy, my Mom’s kitchen knives get scrubbed with dish soap every Friday." Amar said with biting sarcasm. The New Master spoke with pure arrogance!

Cultist Number One felt a thunderous rage in his chest!! As a weaver of the silent night, his stealth was being mocked by a lowly street rat!! His anger veins suddenly jumped TING (Logic Break), "YOU ARROGANT HUMAN BOUND FOR HELL!!!! DIE!!!!" His senseless scream cut off instantly.

The figure vanished from his starting point in a flash, like a pouncing cheetah, his unsheathed green dagger swept fast toward AMAR'S solar plexus! "DIE!" the War God's inner voice sneered at Amar, who was still acting completely oblivious to the danger!!!

But something else altered the laws of logic. The moment the distance hit an arm's length ... something irrational was activated, passive effect : "Bad Luck / Enemy’s Misfortune Reflection."

The dagger pointed straight from a perfect lunge. Number One landed in front of Amar, thud! Right into a thick, oily puddle of spoiled rendang that had fallen into the wet gutter.

[Sluuuurp, SPLAT!]

The floor's slickness sent his boots flying until the killer’s stance groaned into a perfect split (Not elite acrobatics, more like his thighs forced wide, slamming his crown jewels into the brick floor)!!!

Krrrkkktthk

A cringing sound followed the cracking of groin muscles that weren't ready for the stretch. It wasn't over, the "Fate-Bypassing Skill" effect ... the enemy's hand didn't fly toward Amar's body; instead, the hilt of the weapon soared through the air, spinning wildly and hitting the fallen perpetrator right in the chest!!! CLINK!! It stuck shallowly into his vest!!

"AAAAGGGRRRRKH!!" The killer jolted hysterically, his jewels were bleeding, his muscles torn unnaturally, his own blade paralyzed his pulse, and his body spasmed ungracefully like a dissected cockroach, he let out a stupid howl! Flailing!!! Spasming with eyes bulging sadly behind his mask!!

Amar stared blankly. The System was silent, and Astraeus almost lost his refined jaw as it dropped in his mental illusion, frozen in shock at what kind of divine absurdity this was!!!!?

[ Ting !!! Target 1 suffered absolute humiliation + elite killer status demoted to TOTAL BLUNDERING FOOL. + SHAME WRAPPED IN BROKEN GENITALS - Points Absorbed = +400 ]

Praise from a screen glowing with festive hypocrisy!!

Cultist Number Two couldn't believe his partner of 20 years was getting slaughtered so pathetically on the ground, looking like a slapstick mime, he went berserk, turning red with rage as he aimed at Amar from behind! "FOUL ILLUSION MAGIC! RECEIVE YOUR PUNISHMENT!?"

"See, I told you. It’s slippery, Uncle ... oh, by the way, buddy behind me, Mister, are those baggy pants strings you're borrowing so long they hit the ground? Hope they don't get snagged in the sewer grate." Amar chimed in, sounding naive but with the provocation level of a Demon!!

Pooop!!! {Skill cost taken!! - 10 points!!!]

The second killer moved forward with an epic-looking spinning flip maneuver, cutting through the wind and ... Snap!!! Because rage was fueling his brain, his calm quality leaked, without any resistance, the DRAWSTRINGS of his cloak somehow physically tangled into the drainage grate below and! "WHAM!!" his head slammed into the edge of the brick wall, he twisted his neck, unable to stop! Snap!! Cold sweat broke out, this killer was tangled, choking himself like he was in a pillory, enduring pure, agonizing pain.

Both were shaking. Total KO. They were actually sobbing. Peed themselves!

"Me ... mercy ... mercy." he muttered in pain, no deadly magic left, just two killers with bad coordination that defied logic, shame burned through them as they suffered!!!

Amar stepped over them. "Tsk tsk tsk. Poor guys. Tough luck this morning," Amar muttered. With arrogance and a growing savings account.

And meanwhile, in the shadows.

Astraeus was speechless ... What on earth is this??? What kind of war is this??? What kind of Pantheon is this!!!? The War God couldn't process the rules, but a festive wealth of points ran wild on the golden screen: +800 ENERGY, awakening divine energy, recovering without him even realizing it.

This kid ... this loser, could he really be the heavens' hidden joke??