Marvel & Wattpad's Cicakman 3: Bloodlines of Vengeance

Chapter 20 / Epilogue

In the aftermath of the final, blood-soaked battle, Klon, his once indomitable spirit shattered and body bruised, was mercilessly shackled and led away by the cold, unyielding grasp of the authorities. The quartet, their unity tested and shadows vanquished, stood amidst the dissipating darkness, the air thick with the acrid scent of metallic blood and the bitter taste of victory. Yet, as the crimson-streaked sun ominously set over Kuala Lumphattan, casting an eerie glow on the desolation below, a lingering unease settled in their hearts, like a festering wound refusing to heal.

Cicakman, his battered suit clinging to his worn frame, stood stoically, his radar senses attuned to the city's pulse. The once vibrant metropolis now bore the scars of war, its towering structures crumbling like broken dreams. In the deafening silence, broken only by the distant wails of sirens, Cicakman felt a disquieting presence that sent shivers down his spine. The shadows of deception, it seemed, had not fully receded, leaving behind a haunting residue of malevolence that clung to the air like a foul stench.

"I thought it was over," muttered Lina, her voice hoarse from the screams of the battle. Her eyes, a reflection of the brutality witnessed, darted nervously around the war-torn landscape. "But something doesn't feel right."

Azhar, his once gleaming blade now stained with the blood of enemies, nodded grimly. "There's a darkness here that refuses to die," he observed, his senses heightened by the adrenaline of combat. "We may have won the battle, but the war against this insidious evil is far from over."

As they exchanged uneasy glances, the distant sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the desolate streets. The quartet instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons, their eyes narrowing as a group of authorities emerged from the shadows. Among them, a stern-faced officer approached, his gaze cold and unyielding.

"Your victory is appreciated, but the city demands more," the officer declared, his words cutting through the heavy silence. "There are still remnants of darkness that must be purged. Your mission is not yet complete."

With those ominous words hanging in the air, the quartet reluctantly followed the authorities into the heart of the city, where the true extent of the lingering malevolence awaited them, hidden beneath the rubble of a city once known for its vibrant life and now reduced to a haunting battleground. The shadows may have retreated, but the scars of war ran deep, etched into the very soul of Kuala Lumphattan.

Weeks passed, each day etching a deeper scar on the city's once vibrant facade as it grappled with the haunting aftermath of the veiled vendetta. The quartet, unwavering in their commitment to protect the beleaguered streets, tirelessly patrolled the urban expanse. Their watchful eyes moved with a rhythmic precision, scanning for any ominous signs of the vendetta's resurgence that lingered like an uninvited specter.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the prison where Klon, a notorious figure of malevolence, languished behind cold steel bars. It was an evening marred by an ominous stillness, and as the shadows deepened, Cicakman, a hero hardened by battles fought and scars earned, felt a shiver of premonition slither down his spine.

Cicakman, his voice tinged with urgency, addressed the quartet, "Something's not right."

Yet, his allies dismissed the warning, their confidence perhaps clouded by the illusion of victory. Undeterred, Cicakman, fueled by an indomitable resolve, made his way into the labyrinthine prison, determined to confront Klon about the lingering shadows that seemed to stretch beyond the boundaries of the final battle.

Within the cold, unforgiving confines of the prison, Klon sat in stoic silence, a malevolent aura surrounding him like an invisible cloak. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, met Cicakman's with a knowing glint, the unspoken language of adversaries who understood the gravity of their shared history. The air within the prison seemed to thicken with the tension of unresolved conflicts, and the looming confrontation promised a reckoning that transcended the mere clash of physical prowess.