Kisah Masyitah Rukyah

Chapter 7 - Al-Makira, Ramya, Xiao

I pull Harmony away and make haste to the other side of the night market. Everyone's looking at us with wide open eyes. For most of them, this must be the first time they've ever seen an ahli sihir in person. A few of them whip out their phones and record us. I don't care about that right now, I just need to get us somewhere safe, and that means as far away as possible from here.

"I was really raining it down on them, ah Kiah? Nate Diaz style!" announces Harmony while running by my side. She didn't leave that fight unscathed as she threw such heavy hands that her knuckles are starting to bruise red. The adrenaline coursing through her veins is forcing her brain to ignore the pain.

"That attracted too much attention!" I pant and take deep breaths. "You should've ran away with us immediately!"

"Haiyaa, fuck that la! Show them a bit what we're capable of, then they'll stop messing with us!"

Casey pops up from a row of stalls and almost bumps into me. One less thing to worry about.

"Wei, Case, what the fuck's our plan now!?"

Frustration twists his face as we sprint through the crowd.

"Fuck! I–I got nothing!"

Shit, even he doesn't have a plan. At the moment, we just keep running and running with barely even a scent of an objective.

"They're recording us, we're surrounded and our names are everywhere!" He throws his hands up. "We're fucking screwed, man! So fucking screw–"

Three bystanders jump in our way a few paces ahead, causing Casey to put aside his nervous breakdown. We come to a halt and almost crash into them. By contrast, they don't move a single centimetre. Casey yells.

"Korang siapa pulak ni!?" / "Who the hell are you, now!?"

They're awfully callous for reasons I can't even fathom. The Indian woman on the right smirks.

"We're here to save your sorry butts."

The short Chinese man on the left pulls his face mask all the way down to reveal patterned blood red lines surrounding his mouth. He opens it and reveals even his tongue has them. I catch his words.

"Kembali semula." / "Return."

They echo and ring inside my head. The androgynous whisper-yell voice in my head earlier, deafening my ears. Only this time, it starts to warp the reality around me. The asphalt shatters, my arms melt and the stalls disappear into dust. I feel no pain, just... jumbled up inside.

What the hell is happening?

>>

Reality becomes physical and real again. We find ourselves in some sort of decrepit interior, but where in the hell can this be? Thank goodness everything in my body is intact. The three who stopped us in the night market—a short Chinese man, the smug Indian and a Malay woman just like me are standing in front of us. Harmony gets something out her mouth but stammers it, understandably so.

"Who–what–where–why–"

"Settle down, mate," reassures the Indian with numerous clinky bracelets on both her wrists and her braided hair resting on her shoulder. "We're not the baddies here, 'kay?"

The Malay woman, who I assume is the leader, steps forward. Her left eye socket has nothing in it and her right leg is a prosthetic. Scars litter the scalp on the left side of her head. She takes over the clearing-up of the situation.

"That was jarring, I know. I apologise for any inconvenience that might have given you all."

"Yeah, you better. Where the hell are we, and who are you?"