High up in the mango tree, a shadowy figure sat swinging lazily on a thick branch. Its crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness, watching the house with burning hatred. Though the protective barrier of prayers prevented him from entering, Zahir could still observe and seethe.
Inside, Laras stirred restlessly on the sofa. Her breathing grew ragged. Suddenly, her body arched sharply as a violent shiver ran through her. A low, guttural hiss escaped her lips again, louder this time.
Mrs. Restu gasped and held her daughter-in-law tighter. "Ya Allah, what's happening to her?"
Raka's head snapped up from his Qur'an. He started to rise, but Kiai Jaffar raised a hand to stop him.
"Stay focused. Keep reciting. Do not break the flow," the Kiai said firmly, though his eyes never left Laras.
Laras's eyelids fluttered. For a brief moment, her eyes opened — completely white, with no pupils visible. She stared at the ceiling and whispered in a voice that was not entirely her own.
"Zahir, come! Take me back!"
The words sent a chill through the room.
Raka's face twisted in pain and anger. "Laras! Fight it, darling! You're stronger than this!"
Kiai Jaffar immediately raised his voice, reciting Surah Al-Jinn with powerful intensity. Raka joined him, his voice trembling but determined. The combined recitation filled the house like a rising tide.
The shadowy figure in the mango tree hissed in frustration. It leaped from branch to branch, circling the house, testing the invisible walls of protection. Every time it drew too close, the Quranic verses seemed to push it back like a physical force.
Laras began convulsing lightly. Thin wisps of black smoke rose from her skin, only to dissipate instantly as the prayers grew stronger. Mrs. Restu kept wiping her forehead with a cloth soaked in zamzam water, whispering prayers between her tears.
Slowly, the white in Laras's eyes faded. Her body relaxed. The hissing stopped. She let out a long, exhausted breath and fell into a deeper, quieter sleep.
Kiai Jaffar finally lowered his voice, though he continued reciting softly.
"Alhamdulillah, the influence is weakening. But Zahir is still watching. He is angry. He will not give up easily."
Raka wiped sweat from his brow. His hands were shaking. "How much longer must she suffer like this, Kiai?"
"As long as the blood bond remains," the Kiai replied gravely. "Tomorrow night we will perform the final ritual. It will be dangerous. We may need more help from the pondok."
The night dragged on. The shadowy figure eventually vanished from the mango tree just before dawn, leaving only the cold wind behind.
As the first light of Fajr appeared on the horizon, Kiai Jaffar closed his Qur'an and stood up slowly, his body stiff from hours of sitting.
"Subuh is near. Let us pray together. Then we rest for a few hours. The real battle is still ahead."
Raka nodded, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but burning with resolve. He glanced at Laras, now sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms, and whispered under his breath:
"I will protect you, my love. No matter what it takes."
***
The following night, the atmosphere in the house felt heavier than ever. The air was thick with tension and the scent of incense mixed with zamzam water. Kiai Jaffar had called upon ten of his most senior santri. They formed a tight circle around Laras, who sat in the center of the living room on a prayer mat, wrapped in a white cloth.
Laras looked frail but determined. The strange hairs on her body had mostly fallen out, but dark veins still faintly showed beneath her pale skin — the last remnants of the blood bond.
Kiai Jaffar stood before her, holding a bowl of blessed water mixed with salt and saffron. His face was solemn.
"Tonight, we sever the final bond — the blood tie between Laras and the jinn child," he announced. "This will be the most dangerous part. Zahir will fight with everything he has. Everyone must not stop reciting, no matter what happens."
Raka knelt beside his wife, holding her hand tightly. "I'm here, darling. We're ending this tonight."
Laras gave a weak nod, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm ready, Kiai."
The ritual began.
Kiai Jaffar started with a powerful recitation of Ayatul Kursi, his voice booming through the house. The santri joined in unison, their voices creating a spiritual wall of sound. Raka recited along, never letting go of Laras's hand.
As the verses intensified, Laras suddenly gasped. Her body jerked violently. The dark veins beneath her skin began to glow crimson.
"Ahh—! It hurts!" she cried out.
From outside the house came a deafening roar. The windows rattled. A powerful gust of wind slammed against the walls as Zahir's voice echoed through the night:
"SHE BELONGS TO ME! LARAS IS MINE! YOU WILL NOT TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME!"
The temperature in the room dropped sharply. Frost formed on the windows. The lights flickered wildly.
Kiai Jaffar remained unshaken. He dipped his hand into the blessed water and sprinkled it over Laras's head while reciting louder.
"By the power of Allah, I sever every blood connection! Every tie between this woman and the jinn spawn! Return to your realm, creature of fire!"
Laras screamed in agony. Black smoke began pouring from her mouth and nose. Her belly swelled slightly as if something inside was trying to claw its way out again.
Raka's eyes widened in horror. "Laras! Fight it!"
Zahir's manifestation suddenly appeared in the corner of the room — a tall, shadowy figure with glowing red eyes. Though not fully physical, his presence was suffocating. He stretched out a clawed hand toward Laras.
"Jamila, come back to me! Our child needs you. You are my wife!"
Laras's eyes rolled back. She reached out weakly toward the shadow. "Zahir…"
"No!" Raka shouted, pulling her into his arms. "She is my wife!"
Kiai Jaffar stepped forward fearlessly, holding up his tasbih like a weapon.
"I command you in the name of Allah, the Most Merciful, the Most Compassionate — leave this woman! Return to the Hellfire from which you came!"
He splashed the blessed water directly at Zahir's shadowy form.
The jinn let out an earth-shattering scream. His figure twisted and burned where the water touched him. The santri raised their voices to a crescendo, reciting Surah Al-Jinn and Al-Falaq without pause.
Laras convulsed violently in Raka's arms. Dark blood trickled from her nose. For a terrifying moment, her voice overlapped with Zahir's — two voices speaking as one.
Then, with a final, piercing cry, a burst of black energy exploded from her body.
Zahir's shadow shattered into thousands of burning embers, screaming in rage as he was violently thrown back into his realm.
"LARASSSSS—!!! THIS IS NOT OVER!!!"
The scream faded into nothingness.
Laras went limp in Raka's arms. The dark veins under her skin disappeared completely. The room grew warm again. The oppressive weight in the air lifted.
Kiai Jaffar breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his face. He checked Laras's pulse, then smiled faintly.
"Alhamdulillah… the blood bond is broken."
Raka hugged his wife tightly, tears streaming down his face. "Laras, my love. It's over."
Laras slowly opened her eyes. They were clear once again — warm brown, free of any supernatural glow. She looked up at Raka and whispered weakly:
"Honey! I'm here. I'm really here."
Mrs. Restu, who had been watching from the side, fell to her knees in gratitude, crying tears of joy.
The santri raised their voices in takbir, filling the house with celebration and relief.
Kiai Jaffar looked at the exhausted but relieved couple and spoke softly.
"The battle is won tonight. But stay vigilant. Zahir is wounded and furious. He may return one day. Keep your faith strong, guard your prayers, and never leave Laras unprotected."
Raka nodded firmly, still holding his wife close.
"I understand, Kiai. Thank you for everything."