THE BLOOD INK OF THE VALERIUS BLOODLINE

The rain that fell that night did not feel cold. It tasted bitter, carrying the stench of stale diesel and wet asphalt from the overpass above.

Billy staggered forward. His left palm pressed against his right ribs, which felt cracked, throbbing with a hot, needle-like pain every time his lungs dragged in air. His right hand gripped a small, flat object inside the pocket of his torn parachute jacket: a black flash drive sealed with red adhesive.

The soles of boots pounded through puddles behind him. Not one pair, but three.

"Stop right there, you little mutt! Nobody's gonna help you down here!"

The hoarse voice echoed beneath the bridge. Billy did not look back. With nothing but a pair of busted sneakers on his feet, he kept dragging himself through the mud along the riverbank.

Dead end.

Ahead stood only a three-meter-high rusted wire fence separating the embankment from the swirling waters of the Ciliwung River, swollen and murky brown. The stench of rotten mud and carcasses burned his nostrils.

The footsteps behind him slowed, becoming almost casual.

"See? Told you."

Three male figures emerged from the shadows of the concrete pillar. The one in the middle was broad-shouldered, wearing a soaked leather jacket and holding a long folding knife whose blade glinted beneath a distant streetlamp. His name was Kuncoro.

The two men beside him, Gendon, carrying a threaded iron pipe, and Rian, gripping a wooden plank, immediately spread out and blocked Billy's escape routes.

Billy turned around and leaned his back against the flimsy wire fence, which creaked beneath his weight. His breathing came fast, thin wisps of vapor escaping his bruised lips.

"Done running, kid?" Kuncoro flicked his dead cigarette onto the ground, then smiled faintly. "Where's the flash drive?"

Billy wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand, then gave him a crooked smile, the cynical grin of a street kid who had been beaten far too many times since the age of eight.

"In my pocket," Billy replied flatly. His voice was hoarse. "But I think you should ask Anton's old man for permission first. Wouldn't want him to be shocked when he finds out his son is selling white powder in school lockers."

"You're seriously asking for it," Gendon cut in, swinging the iron pipe against his palm. "Anton's old man is a deputy governor candidate, dumbass. You think the cops are gonna listen to some orphan like you? One swing of the gavel, and they'll accuse you of being the dealer!"

"I know," Billy said coldly.

His eyes dropped, studying the puddle near his feet. A broken syrup bottle lay beside his right heel.

"That's why I didn't send it to the police. I sent copies to three newsrooms this afternoon."

Kuncoro's face hardened instantly. His casual smile disappeared.

"You're lying."

"Go ahead. Call your boss," Billy whispered, deliberately provoking him. "Ask Anton if his old man is panicking or sweating bullets at the official residence."

"Son of a bitch!"

Rian lost his temper and charged forward, swinging the wooden plank straight at Billy's temple.

Billy could not retreat. There was nowhere to go.

Instead, he dropped to one knee in the mud, letting the plank cut through empty air. His hand shot down and grabbed the broken glass beneath him.

Without hesitation, Billy drove the jagged edge straight into Rian's thigh.

"ARGH! FUCK! MY LEG!"

Rian screamed and collapsed, clutching his thigh as thick blood poured into the mud.

"Rian!" Gendon shouted.

Before Gendon could react, Billy scooped up a handful of wet sand and gravel and hurled it straight into the heavyset man's face.

"My eyes! Shit, that burns!"

Gendon staggered backward, wildly swinging his iron pipe through the air.

Billy tried to use the opening to slip past Kuncoro's left side. His foot planted firmly against the ground, and he lunged forward with what little strength remained in his body.

But Kuncoro was no amateur thug.

The man in the leather jacket did not panic. He shifted half a step, meeting Billy's charge with a brutal knee driven straight into his already broken ribs.

CRACK.

The sound of bone snapping rang clearly in Billy's ears.

Every bit of air was crushed from his lungs in a single burst of blinding pain. Billy crashed face-first into the mud, both hands clawing desperately at the ground as he tried to draw breath that had suddenly vanished.

His entire body trembled violently.

"Not bad. You're pretty talented at being a mangy mutt," Kuncoro said coldly.

The sound of his boots approached.

Without mercy, the toe of Kuncoro's boot slammed into Billy's jaw, jerking his head sideways. Mud filled his mouth, mixing with the metallic salt of his own blood.

Kuncoro crouched beside Billy's head, grabbed the young man's wet hair, and yanked his head up until their eyes met.

"Where's the thing?" Kuncoro whispered softly, right in Billy's face. "Give it to me now, and I'll make sure you die quick without having to feel your neck snap."

Billy stared into Kuncoro's eyes.

His vision was beginning to blur. Black spots danced along the edges of his sight. Every part of his body screamed at him to give up.

What's the point? Who cares whether Anton goes to prison or not? Nobody's going to remember you, Bil. You're just street trash.

Then the image of his younger foster brother flashed through his mind, dead from an overdose caused by the drugs distributed through Anton's network.

The burning anger suddenly drowned out the pain in his bones.

Billy gathered the remaining blood in his mouth and spat it directly into Kuncoro's right eye.

Ptu!

"Here... your stuff," Billy whispered, smiling weakly through blood-covered lips.

Silence.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Kuncoro slowly wiped the mixture of spit and blood from his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

His breathing grew heavy.

Dangerous.

"You really wanna make this difficult, kid."

Kuncoro did not shout.

His hand moved quickly, without hesitation, driving the long folding knife straight into Billy's abdomen.

Coldness struck first.

Then came a wave of heat that burned through his entire stomach.

Billy choked.

His eyes widened as his fingers desperately clutched Kuncoro's wrist while the blade twisted halfway inside his flesh.

"Gendon," Kuncoro called casually as he yanked the knife free in one rough motion.

Fresh blood sprayed across the ground.

"Finish the kid. Throw him in the river."

Gendon, his eyes still red and watering, stepped closer while cursing under his breath.

"Little demon... my eyes are burning because of you!"

Gendon's and Kuncoro's rough hands grabbed Billy by the collar and legs.

Billy's body suddenly felt as light as cotton as they lifted him into the air.

"Say hi to the devil down there," Kuncoro hissed.

They threw him over the torn wire fence.

Gravity pulled Billy's body down through the darkness for two frozen seconds before his back slammed into the surface of the river with a violent impact.

SPLASH!

The world above the surface vanished instantly.

The roar of the rain, Kuncoro's curses, and the blaring horns of the metropolitan city were swallowed by the roar of the cold brown water that pierced straight to his bones.

The wild current of the Ciliwung immediately rolled Billy's body through the murky depths, dragging him deeper into the darkness.

Billy tried to hold his breath, but the wound in his abdomen drained his strength within seconds.

His final breath escaped as tiny bubbles that floated toward the surface.

I'm dying, Billy thought numbly.

His body continued sinking toward the muddy riverbed.

So this is what dying feels like.

No white light.

No angels.

Just cold sewer water.

Warm blood continued pumping from his abdomen, seeping through the layers of his jacket and dissolving into the water like red smoke.

When his head touched the rocky riverbed, the blood pouring from his wound seeped into the inner pocket of his jacket.

It soaked an old metal object he had carried everywhere for years: an antique bronze pen with no cap, the only inheritance from his late grandfather, one he had never been able to use for writing.

The instant Billy's fresh blood covered the intricate engravings at the tip of the pen, the river around his body suddenly stopped flowing.

Not slowed.

Stopped.

Completely frozen in place.

The bubbles drifting beside Billy's eyes hung motionless in the water.

Huh...?

The pen in his pocket suddenly began to glow.

It was not the light of an ordinary lamp, but a blinding flash of crimson and gold that pierced straight through the fabric of his jacket.

An unnatural warmth spread from the metal, striking directly into the stab wound in his abdomen and burning his flesh with pain far greater than Kuncoro's knife.

Billy wanted to scream, but the water swallowed his voice.

Suddenly, a sharp cracking sound rang in his ears.

KRAAAK!

It was not the sound of bone.

It was the sound of space itself splitting apart, like a massive mirror struck by a sledgehammer.

Cracks of purple and golden light spread through the frozen water, tearing apart the riverbed and shattering the laws of gravity holding his body in place.

The pen in his pocket began sucking Billy's blood like a starving leech.

At the same time, a vortex of empty space formed directly beneath his back.

Before Billy's consciousness could completely fade into darkness and blood loss, a wild, overwhelmingly powerful gravitational force seized his soul and yanked his body from the riverbed.

The young man's body vanished without leaving so much as a ripple, swallowed into a screaming fissure in reality.