Blood….
Blood is everywhere.
The bodies of the dead are lying around, scattered almost all over the place.
The moans of people who were about to die sounded everywhere, in all directions.
A blue-eyed foreign man with long, silver-colored hair rushed into the battle arena, anger evident on his face. But it's his hands that are the most terrifying. The man's hands were like those of wild beasts, full of dripping blood, making anyone who saw him feel horrified.
The foreign man tried to notice the scattered corpses one by one, but the person he was looking for had not yet been found.
Crack!!!!
His hand slashed the shaft of the neck of one of the foreign men wearing a Dutch army shirt until the man's neck was severely cut. The severed veins of his neck spurted out blood, but his life was not over yet. His body floundered exactly like an animal that had just been slaughtered.
"Djiwa!" The silver-haired man shouted, calling someone's name again and again. "Djiwa!" He shouted again.
The man shouted the same name over and over again, but this battle arena was vast, and many corpses were wrestling with broken bodies. The man continued walking, but the longer he walked, the more desperate he became.
Bullets from both the Dutch and indigenous sides, who were fighting and had no idea the long-silver-haired man was on their side, attacked him from all directions. And because the man was going crazy, killing anyone who stood in his footsteps, the bullets kept pointing at him, though none of them managed to hurt him.
After a moment of craziness, the man finally found the person he was looking for. The situation is dreadful, and it is barely acknowledged. Her long black hair was matted to the ground and stained with blood. Her beautiful face was almost unrecognizable anymore; her beautiful, blood-soaked body lay miserably. The man winced in horror at the state of the person he was looking for. The woman, as it was not Djiwa. he knew.
The man immediately put away his bad thoughts. He grabbed the body of the female in white, who was already flushed with blood. The man looked at her with pity. "How come the world is so cruel to mortals, it seems?"
"Don't die, Djiwa!" she said, sounding wailing and desperate, but he knew the life of the woman he loved could no longer be saved.
"Klaus," the voice of the woman named Djiwa, sounded hoarse like it came from another world. "I'm sorry...."
"Don't talk! We are leaving now. I will find the best doctor for you."
But Djiwa shook her head weakly. "I... uhug... uhug." Djiwa stopped talking. Her mouth was oozing a lot of blood that continued to melt. Her eyes began to close weakly, but not with her hands. She tried to snag the sleeves of Klaus' white shirt so that the man could get close to her.
Klaus, who understood that Djiwa would not be able to hold on any longer, put his ear close to Djiwa's mouth, and he vaguely heard the woman speak with difficulty.
"I... I never hated you," Djiwa said again. Her injured body was dripping with blood.
Klaus shook his head and wiped out the blood that was on Djiwa's lips. "Don't talk yet. There will be time for us to talk, Djiwa."
Klaus tried to carry Djiwa's body, even though he knew Djiwa would die soon, but he didn't want to lose hope. But before he lifted Djiwa's body, Djiwa weakly tried to restrain Klaus' movements.
"I'm sorry I lied to you..." Djiwa exhaled a sigh of relief. "I love you too."
Both Djiwa and Klaus sobbed as tears streamed down their cheeks. Why has it all come to this? If only Djiwa had reciprocated his love, perhaps they could be together despite Djiwa's mortality.
"I..." Djiwa coughed violently once more, but he didn't appear to be ready to give up just yet. "If there is reincarnation, I would like to meet you so that I can love you once again and..."
And...
Djiwa's voice vanished when Klaus moaned. Djiwa stopped speaking because her eyes had already closed and the death that had claimed her soul had absorbed her voice.
"Arrrggggghhhh!!!!!" Klaus yelled angrily. The one death he could not accept was this one. He is unable to accept this death since it is so horrible.
Why does Djiwa reciprocate his love when death has picked up? Why should he meet Djiwa? Why should Djiwa be born indigenous instead of a Dutch or another European nation? Why, it seemed, hadn't Djiwa been born? Why should Djiwa take up arms? Why should Djiwa fight for her people, who are bound to be defeated by the Dutch?
What does independence mean to you, Djiwa? Has death made you free now?
But no one answered question after question from Klaus. Djiwa could no longer answer his question. The woman who had stolen his heart died as she had dreamed. Died in defense of her people.
He sobbed as he hugged the already lifeless body. Klaus' wailing voice is similar to the voice of a beast. Klaus cried for the first time after having lived thousands of years.
Klaus screamed again, the man's tears streaming down even more. The battleground became more bloody as the faces of the dead natives were shot by Dutch bullets one by one. Klaus carried Djiwa's body, and for the first time, in front of everyone, he became a beast-like figure with a hairy body from toe to toe. The creature stands on both legs, and its head is similar to the head of a wolf.
The creepy creature moved fast; he ran like lightning. Charge into the main arena of warfare. Everyone there gasped at the sight of the awful creature, and soon he became the main target of everyone's ire. The Dutch and natives suddenly stopped the war between them and worked hand in hand to attack the incarnate Klaus.
Bullets, pointed at bamboo, machetes, arrows—no one could hurt him. The fully transformed Klaus craze killed almost everyone on the battlefield without any residue and then piled up their corpses. That day, there was a flood of blood, but the scariest thing was when Klaus, who had transformed into a werewolf, turned his head over his shoulders; his wolf-like face and long fangs drooling full of blood, staring right at Aruna with a grinning face.