ARBIND_JASWARA

In a world where shadows lurk unseen, Paritraan is not your typical hero. Born from loss and forged in hardship, he abandoned his dreams to support his struggling family—only to lose everything. Left broken after his mother’s mysterious death, he stumbles upon Anahata, a sentient machine from a forgotten civilization, who offers him more than just power—it offers him purpose.

With scraps and technology far beyond human comprehension, Paritraan crafts his own suit of Armor and weapons to wage war against hidden enemies who threaten humanity from the shadows. As he unravels the dark conspiracy behind his mother’s death, he discovers that aliens walk among humans, and not all of them come in peace.

But being a hero isn’t easy. Haunted by his past, hunted by unknown forces, and burdened by an AI that’s as playful as it is powerful, Paritraan must rise above his pain. Because in the fight for humanity’s future, even a hero forged from scrap can shine brighter than steel.

In this battle between light and shadow, will Paritraan’s redemption be the world’s salvation?

PARITRAAN:Rust and Redemption

Paritraan sat cross-legged on the cold junkyard floor, his bruised hands trembling as he held up his creation. The suit—if you could call it that—was a chaotic mess of fabrics stitched together from old clothes. Shirts, jackets, and gloves of all colors collided into a patchwork disaster. His father's cracked, nearly broken mask, the only piece that mattered to him, sat on top—a lone remnant of his childhood.

Paritraan tilted his head.

Paritraan: (Grimacing) "Well… at least it has character."

Next to the suit lay his so-called sword. It was, to put it kindly, a disaster. Jagged, uneven, and crudely hammered from scrap metal. The hilt, wrapped in an old leather belt, barely held together. But he lifted it proudly, presenting it like a royal offering.

Paritraan: (Smiling through exhaustion) "Behold, Anahata! The finest craft skills this junkyard has ever seen!"

Anahata's voice, laced with dry amusement, echoed softly.

Anahata: "Oh… wow. (pauses) It's… spectacularly awful."

Paritraan shot back immediately.

Paritraan: "Hey! I told you I don't know anything about making swords or suits! It's my first time, okay?"

Paritraan dropped his head back, sighing deeply.

Paritraan: "Fine. What now, genius?"

The tone in Anahata's voice shifted—serious, with a hint of excitement.

Anahata: "Now… you watch and learn. Be patient."

Suddenly, metallic tendrils shot out from Paritraan's chest, emerging from the heart-shaped core where Anahata resided. They slithered and wrapped around both the suit and the sword. Before Paritraan could react—

Paritraan: (Eyes wide) "W-WHAT THE—?!"

The tendrils pulled everything into his chest, disappearing into the glowing core. He stumbled back, his heart pounding.

Paritraan: (Panicking) "W-What the hell is inside me?!"

Anahata: (Calmly) "A workshop. My workshop. Relax. This will take… about two days."

Paritraan: (Breathless, hand on chest) "Two days?! And you didn't think to warn me first?!"

The tendrils returned, pushing out the suit and sword. Paritraan's eyes flicked between them… and disappointment struck.

They looked exactly the same. Same messy patchwork suit. Same dented, crude sword.

Paritraan: (Deflated) "… Nothing's changed."

Anahata: "Patience… Try them on."

Reluctantly, Paritraan pulled on the ridiculous suit and the battered mask of his father. The sword felt cold and heavy in his hand.

A strange liquid emerged from his chest, crawling over his body and the sword. It covered everything, shifting, merging—until the world around him went dark.

The darkness shattered. His suit had transformed. The random patches fused into seamless armor. It was rugged but… refined. And at its center, on his chest—

Paritraan stared down, wide-eyed.

Paritraan: (Suspiciously) "Hold on… Are you making me an Iron Man rip-off?"

Anahata: (Chuckling) "I like this style. Plus—"

Anahata: "—when enemies see that blue spot, they'll aim for it, thinking it's your weak point."

Paritraan raised an eyebrow.

Anahata: "But the truth? It's me. An extension of mine. Your real heart lies behind layers they'll never reach. Let them aim for the trap."

Paritraan grinned, gripping his sword tightly.

The blade felt different—balanced, familiar—alive. Though it looked like a scrap, it hummed softly in his hand.

Rise and Ruin