Chapter 19: Separated Qorins
The sound of Quranic verses echoed throughout the room, blending with the heartbreaking sobs of the families.
Their cries broke out as they looked upon the four young men lying stiff before them—as if their bodies had been abandoned by their souls.
One of them was the only son of the Village Head. Just yesterday, he was appointed as the village security officer—a great honor for his family.
But now…
His body was rigid, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling without a single blink.
His mouth gaped, frozen in silence.
His mother, the Village Head's wife, could no longer hold back her tears. She sat beside her son, hands trembling as she guided the holy recitation, as if clinging to her last hope for a divine miracle.
The other three young men met the same fate. They lay in the same room, surrounded by family members who whispered verses of the Quran with desperate hope.
"What should we do, Ustadz? My son is still like this…" The Village Head spoke in a tired voice, his throat hoarse from hours of reciting verses—from dusk until nearly midnight.
The Ustadz nodded solemnly. "Don't worry, sir. I've called someone who might be able to help."
"They're not shamans, are they?" the Village Head's voice rose sharply. "I won't allow anyone dabbling in black magic!"
"No, God willing, they're not. They're… rather unique, actually. But I've heard good things about their work in Tumbularas Village." The Ustadz hesitated for a moment. "Though... there is a fee."
"Whatever it costs. I'll pay. As long as my son recovers," the Village Head said firmly.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Excuse us! Kulo nuwun! Punten! Sepada! Bonjour!" Two voices called out from outside, sounding more like kids looking for their playmates.
The Village Head turned quickly. "Who's that, Ustadz? Don't tell me… it's those ghosts again?"
"I'll check, sir," said the Ustadz, walking toward the door. He paused for a moment, sensing the air outside. No chills or goosebumps. Safe.
He opened the door to find two young men standing politely.
"Good evening, sir. We're from the Ghost Detective Agency. We're here as requested," said Ardian.
The Ustadz let out a breath of relief. "You've finally arrived. Come in quickly, before... well, before they join in."
"Oh, you mean... them?" Rendy glanced over his shoulder, thumb pointing behind him.
The Ustadz followed the direction of the thumb—and was met with a chaotic, unexpected scene.
"HEY! MY HEAD IS NOT A BALL, BRAT!"
"BWAHAHAHA! I'M CAPTAIN TSUBASA, BRO! FLYING AND RUNNING~"
A tiny tuyul darted back and forth, dribbling the severed head of Gundul Pringis, who looked absolutely miserable.
"LIGHTNING KICK!"
WHAM!
Gundul Pringis flew like a bowling ball into a group of other spirits, knocking them down in a heap.
"GOOOAL! UCIL OZORA SCORES FOR TEAM NANKATSU! HELL YEAAAH BABY!" The tuyul jumped up and down with joy.
Suddenly, a pocong shot forward like a rocket.
"MOOOVE! BRAKES ARE BROKEN, BRO!!! I REPEAT! BRAKES ARE GONE!!!"
CRASH!
Om Poci slammed into another group of spirits, sending them tumbling like dominoes.
"Hehehehe! DIE, ALL OF YOU! FOR THE SECOND TIME!" The signature voice of the red kuntilanak came from the shadows, launching brutal, gleeful attacks on the scattered spirits.
The Ustadz stood frozen, unsure whether to be terrified or burst out laughing.
"It's fine, sir. Let them… have their fun," Ardian said calmly with a smile.
"O-oh… right. Please, come in."
Inside the house, the air felt noticeably lighter. The recited verses had formed a strong spiritual shield around the building.
The Ustadz led them to the main room.
There, the four young men lay stiff, surrounded by family and relatives.
Rendy moved quickly. He knelt beside one of the young men and placed his hand on the boy's forehead. Ardian stood beside him, silently observing the atmosphere.
Minutes later, Rendy stood up and approached the Village Head and the Ustadz waiting outside the room.
"How are they?" asked the Ustadz.
"When did this start?" Rendy asked, instead of answering.
"Since last night…"
The Village Head began to explain, but Rendy raised a hand. "No need. I've already seen it."
Ardian gave a quiet nod, allowing Rendy to explain.
"Their Qorin has been separated from their bodies."
The Village Head and the Ustadz exchanged confused looks.
"What do you mean?"
Rendy took a breath. "Here's the thing… The Qorin and the soul are different. But they're usually united within the human body."
"If they're separated for too long, the body becomes completely paralyzed. Can't move, can't eat, not even blink." He looked at them seriously. "Usually, the thing that separates them… is death."
Silence. Only faint sobs could be heard from the room.
"Yeeeah, they're not getting it, Ren. You're talking way too high-level," Ardian mumbled.
"Let it be. I'm just being honest. If they're not okay with it, they can back out. We're human too, not gods."
The Village Head quickly spoke up. "Whatever it takes, I'm in. As long as my son comes back. And this village… is free from those spirits again."
Ardian nodded. "In that case, I'll need a black marker, five glasses of water, and five sheets of drawing paper."
The Village Head immediately went to his son's room and the kitchen.
The Ustadz looked weary, feeling helpless. But Ardian gently patted his shoulder.
"Sir, your presence is exactly why this village is protected. The spiritual energy from the recitations… it's incredibly powerful. I assumed, you're also asking people to starts recites Holy Book after maghrib in their home, regardless their different faith. Every house has their own positive energy to make a spiritual shield."
Rendy added, bluntly, "Yeah, sir, that shield was glowing bright the moment I walked in. Awesome stuff!"
Ardian smiled. "And your presence… helps keep everyone in that room civil. That's more than enough."
The Ustadz gave a teary smile. "Thank you, boys. You're amazing."
Soon after, the Village Head returned with the supplies. Ardian took them.
"Alright, Ren. Time to get to work."
"You got it, boss!"