The creature’s footsteps pounded against the cave floor like hammers striking an empty drum. Raka held his breath.

“If light can blind when too bright, then sound can deafen when too loud. And if your main sense is hearing… I’ll rip it apart.”

"If I miss, I die. If I hesitate, I die. There’s no second strike.

Without hesitation, Raka thrust several metal tubes into the sulfur steam vents nearby. A series of piercing flute-like whistles echoed through the chamber—disorienting the monster from multiple directions.

Slowly, Raka crawled toward the body of the fallen Jawak Pedang. Beside it, he grabbed a broken sword—flat and dull on one side—and a sharp-tipped keris from the warrior’s waist.

But the moment he moved, the creature sniffed the sound… and charged.

CRASSSH!

Its claw tore through the air, smashing into the cave wall and shattering an ancient carving. Raka rolled low and leapt to the right, narrowly evading its grasp. His footsteps echoed—just as he intended.

“You hear everything… but sound can flood your senses, so you can't tell what's real anymore…”

He leapt into a narrow crack in the wall, searching. There—two materials: a slab of old steel and the sharp, crystalline tip of an ancient Éra stone embedded in the rock. He struck them together

SCREEEEEEEEECH!

The noise was piercing. Agonizing. Like a knife scraping against glass. The cave's narrow walls amplified the sound, bouncing it back again and again.

The monster roared, its body convulsing. Its petal-like ears flared wide, twitching violently, forced to endure the shrill scream that sliced through its nerves.

In Raka’s mind: "Sound between 130–150 dB causes physical pain. Above 185 dB can rupture internal organs if close enough. But the screech of glass and metal? It’s packed with high-frequency waves over 8,000 Hz—causing panic and neural disorientation, especially for creatures with hyper-auditory systems."

The beast thrashed wildly, its attacks losing precision. It was panicking. The aura from its artifact flared violently, as if trying to shield itself from the pressure.

It stumbled again, swaying. Its ears remained open, desperate to locate its prey.

Then—it turned. A pulse of oppressive aura burst forth like a shockwave.

Raka’s head pounded. The world tilted. That artifact… its presence pierced straight into his fear centers.

He dropped to one knee. Trembling.

“No… not now…”

With desperate resolve, he bit into his own tongue. The taste of blood flooded his mouth. The pain was excruciating—but it snapped him out of the trance.

Raka rose. Bloody, shaking. But he had to move. Fast.

The monster froze only while its hearing was disrupted. Raka knew… this was his only chance.

He charged.

He stabbed the broken sword straight into one of the monster’s ears. Then—before it could react—he scraped the keris blade hard against the sword’s metal.

The result: a focused, direct screech. Éra against steel. A sonic spear launched straight into the monster’s auditory canal.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!

The beast convulsed. Its artifact flared—erratic and unstable.

Raka leapt onto its back, driving the keris into its head again and again, clawing at the glowing red artifact. Occasionally, he scraped the blades again, sending out more shrill pulses.

The creature writhed, hissed, gushed blood.

"If sound resonance can shatter crystal glass… then in a closed space, high-frequency pressure can rupture the brain’s soft tissue from within."

CRACK!

The creature’s head exploded in a burst of thick black blood—gushing from its eyes, nose, ears, and even the mangled slit of its mouth. Its petal-shaped ears tore apart and fell like scorched leaves. Raka yanked the artifact free with brute force. It still glowed… but the oppressive aura had dimmed.

Silence.

The creature collapsed. Motionless. No more pressure. No more shrieking.

Only Raka’s breath remained—heavy, ragged—blending with the steam from his burns.

He collapsed to his knees. Shivering. His tongue bled. His hands were scorched. But he was still alive.

And through clenched teeth, he muttered bitterly,

“That… was called a Stick-Slip Sound Trap… bastard.”

He had chosen to kill—before he could be killed.