Pain no longer frightened Ajin.
What frightened him was the realization
that he was beginning to enjoy it.
Morning light crept slowly across the ruined courtyard of Rogo Pavilion.
The fires had died.
The smoke had thinned.
But the air was still thick with the odor of ash, char, and blood.
Ajin opened his eye.
He lay among corpses—
the cold, stiff bodies of the three trackers who had come to finish him off.
The early wind brushed across his skin like frostbite…
Yet his body—
was warm.
Too warm.
Heat pulsed beneath his bruised flesh, radiating outward like slow-moving magma.
A dull throb echoed in his bones, in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Ajin sat up.
And realized something was off.
Very off.
His ribs—
broken hours ago—
no longer stabbed with agony.
They felt stiff… heavy… like something had been poured into them overnight.
His leg—
snapped almost in half—
now held his weight as he pushed himself upright.
Pain still existed.
But it was different.
Blunted.
Contained.
Controlled.
Like his body had begun caging the pain instead of succumbing to it.
Ajin lifted his hand.
Dried blood and soot covered every inch of it.
The skin was darker now—not from the filth—but from the hardened texture beneath.
He slowly curled his fingers.
KRENG…
Ajin froze.
That sound was not bone.
He curled them again.
TING… KRENG…
A metallic timbre.
Horrified, Ajin lifted his trembling hand to his mouth.
He used a broken nail to scrape the back of his hand—
SKRRRT—
His eyes widened.
The skin didn't scrape away like human flesh.
It resisted.
It pushed back.
It felt—
thick.
Dense.
Unnaturally hard.
Like cured leather mixed with hammered steel.
The previous night's agony had not only broken him—
it had reforged him.
The scroll had warned him.
And now, he understood.
"…Baja Angkara Batin," Ajin whispered.
His voice cracked like burnt wood.
He stood—slowly.
His muscles groaned.
His joints creaked.
But he remained upright.
His body was no longer fragile bone and soft skin.
It was becoming something else.
Ajin's gaze drifted toward the boulder he had struck the night before—
the one that still bore the bloodied imprint of his fist.
He limped over to it.
The Forbidden Scroll lay beside the broken bodies of the trackers, its parchment half-open.
New instructions had appeared, glowing faintly.
In fresh, living blood.
"Stage Three: Ossification."
"Break your bones. Harden them. Repeat."
"Strengthen your ribs. Embrace the pain. Temper the spirit within your marrow."
Ajin touched the glowing symbols.
His heartbeat accelerated.
He whispered the final line back to himself:
"Turn your spirit… into a weapon."
The memory of Loka's charred smile flashed before him.
Something snapped.
Without warning—
BAM!
Ajin struck the boulder with his fist.
A sharp shock traveled up his arm—
but the pain was nothing like before.
He stared.
His knuckles weren't shattered.
Only torn.
Bleeding.
But intact.
He inhaled sharply.
"Again."
BAM!
The boulder trembled.
Ajin's fist split open further—blood dripping down his arm.
He didn't care.
He couldn't care.
His lips curled into something that might have once been a smile—
but now resembled a predator baring its teeth.
"Again!"
BAM!
Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone.
Ajin's laughter—dry and hoarse—echoed across the courtyard.
The sensation was wrong.
Terrifying.
Addictive.
Pain was no longer an obstacle.
It was a taste.
He craved it.
He fed on it.
It fueled the fire that had replaced his heart.
Ajin pressed a hand against his chest.
He struck himself.
KREK!
His ribs shuddered violently beneath the blow.
He winced—
but the wince slowly melted into a strained, manic grin.
He struck again.
And again.
Each hit sent vibrations throughout his torso—
bones hardening in real time,
marrow thickening,
muscles weaving tighter like cords of twisted metal.
He looked insane.
He was insane.
A man remaking himself through agony.
Forging himself through trauma.
A body hammered into steel by hatred alone.
Ajin's breaths came sharper.
Short.
Quick.
Almost feral.
He pounded his chest.
He pounded his ribs.
He pounded his arms until his skin ruptured anew.
The ground beneath him darkened with fresh blood.
But Ajin's face—
dripping red, bruised, half-swollen—
wore the expression of a man discovering his purpose in suffering.
He was lost in it.
Lost in the madness.
Until—
DHUUUMMMMM!!
A thunderous impact echoed from deep within the forest.
Ajin froze.
The sound didn't resemble thunder.
Nor a falling tree.
Nor any beast he had ever heard.
It was a collision.
A clash of raw power.
A battle.
DHUUUMMM!
Another shockwave rippled through the ground, kicking dust into the air.
Ajin's eye narrowed.
Someone—
something—
was fighting.
And not quietly.
Ajin raised his head—
instincts sharpening like a blade.
His breathing steadied.
His muscles tensed.
His bones hummed.
This wasn't the usual rustle of hunters or villagers.
This was something greater.
Heavier.
More dangerous.
A warrior.
Or perhaps—
an enemy.
Ajin wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hardened hand.
He stood straight, despite the cracks and bruises and fractures still mending beneath his skin.
"Someone else…"
He muttered.
"…is angry."
The wind shifted—
carrying the faint scent of burning leaves, disturbed soil, and adrenaline.
Ajin exhaled.
His path had never been straight.
But now—
it was painted clearly before him.
Toward the southeast.
Toward Merapi.
Toward Dahana Satria.
Toward the unknown battle shaking the forest.
Without hesitation,
without fear,
without doubt—
Ajin stepped toward the sound.
Toward violence.
Toward destiny.