《Shadows of the Unseen》


 Into the Unknown

    I was alone when it all started. The night air was cold, biting through my jacket as I sprinted down a dimly lit street, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I ran as fast as I could, my heart pounding louder than my footsteps. But no matter how hard I pushed myself, I could hear it gaining on me¡ªthe sound of something unnatural, something inhuman. I didn¡¯t dare look back. Fear gripped me, stronger than any emotion I¡¯d felt in my twenty-three years.


    Eventually, it caught up to me.


    The memory is a blur¡ªa shadowy figure, glowing eyes, an unearthly roar that made my bones feel like they were vibrating. My legs gave out, and everything went black. When I woke up, I was lying on the ground in an alley, my head pounding and my body aching. For a moment, I thought it had been a dream, some nightmare conjured by an overworked mind. But the faint, lingering smell of sulfur and the scorch marks on the nearby wall told me otherwise.


    I¡¯m Detective Greg Tenebris, and I¡¯m supposed to solve cases¡ªnot end up as one. I idolize the fictional Sherlock Holmes, the ultimate detective who always found the truth, no matter how obscure or bizarre the case. But unlike him, I¡¯ve discovered that being a detective isn¡¯t as glamorous or rewarding as it seems. It¡¯s messy, it¡¯s brutal, and sometimes it feels like the only thing you solve is your own patience.


    My backstory? It¡¯s nothing extraordinary. I grew up alone, far from my parents. They divorced when I was seven, and my father walked out after cheating on my mother. I barely know them now. They¡¯ve become faint memories, ghosts in the back of my mind. Maybe that¡¯s why I¡¯m drawn to solving mysteries¡ªbecause my own life is one I¡¯ll never fully piece together.


    But enough about that. I tend to sidetrack when I talk. Let me set the record straight¡ªI¡¯m young, inexperienced, and, frankly, not all that impressive yet. Fresh out of the academy, I¡¯m the newbie in my department. Nobody trusts me to do much except fetch coffee and observe from the sidelines. Some of the cases I¡¯ve seen, though¡­ Let¡¯s just say they¡¯d give anyone nightmares. Bodies ripped apart like rag dolls, gruesome murders that no amount of training could prepare you for. I¡¯ll spare you the graphic details, but let¡¯s just say meat¡¯s been off my menu for a while now.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Hey, Tenebris! Snap out of it! We¡¯ve got a criminal to catch!¡±


    That¡¯s my partner, Detective Lola Marquez. A veteran in the field and a bit of a legend in our department, Lola is the kind of detective I aspire to be. She¡¯s sharp, meticulous, and fearless. With her long black hair, striking features, and commanding presence, she¡¯s the sort of person who makes an impression. People are jealous that I get to work with her, but they don¡¯t see what I do¡ªa bossy, overbearing mentor who rarely lets me breathe.


    ¡°Coming!¡± I shouted back, climbing into her car.


    Lola drives like she¡¯s in a video game, weaving through traffic with a confidence that borders on recklessness. I hate it. Ever since a childhood accident, speeding cars make my stomach twist in knots. As we sped down the street, I clung to the door handle, wishing I were anywhere else.


    We stopped to grab supper¡ªher idea, not mine¡ªat a small diner on the corner of a quiet street. I stayed outside, leaning against the car and trying to shake the unease that had been building in me since the strange events of the day. The crackle of my radio jolted me back to reality.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got eyes on the suspect! Hurry, guys! He¡¯s got a gun and a hostage at the jewelry store! I may lose sight of him. He¡¯s driving a black Toyota Vios heading south. Over.¡±


    Lola returned, her expression serious. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±


    As we prepared to leave, something caught my attention¡ªa flicker of movement in a nearby alley. A girl in a gray hoodie darted into the shadows, glancing over her shoulder as a man in strange, old-fashioned clothes chased after her. She looked terrified. My instincts kicked in, and I followed at a distance, signaling to Lola that I¡¯d be a minute.


    The girl pulled something from her sleeve¡ªa wooden stick. At first, I thought it was a makeshift weapon, but then it¡­ glowed. A flash of light illuminated the alley, and the man chasing her was sent flying into a garbage heap with a force that defied explanation.


    I froze, my mind racing to make sense of what I¡¯d just seen. ¡®Magic? No, it has to be a trick. Maybe an electric shock disguised as a stick?¡¯ My thoughts spiraled as I tried to rationalize the impossible.


    Before I could react further, the girl appeared beside me, as if she¡¯d teleported. She was grinning¡ªa mischievous, almost knowing smile. She muttered something under her breath, words I couldn¡¯t understand, and suddenly, a black shadow materialized behind me.


    ¡°What the¡ª¡±


    She shoved me, harder than any human should have been able to. I felt the air leave my lungs as I was hurled backward, landing painfully far from where I¡¯d been standing. The last thing I saw before everything went dark was the shadow twisting into a monstrous form, its glowing eyes locked onto me.

 Nightmares from the past

    When I was a child, my grandmother would tell me stories about the creatures of the dark. She described their forms vividly, the aswang with its shape-shifting abilities, the manananggal that split itself in two, and the tiktik, a monstrous predator with an elongated tongue, always lurking, always waiting. ¡°They hide in the shadows,¡± she warned, ¡°waiting for their moment to take over the world, little by little.¡±


    At the time, I laughed it off. They were just stories, after all. As I grew older, I expanded my knowledge, delving into the myths of other cultures. I read about the Greek legends like Medusa, the woman with snakes for hair, whose gaze could turn a man to stone; the Minotaur, trapped in its labyrinth, waiting for unwary travelers to stumble into its grasp. My fascination with these tales remained rooted in the belief that they were nothing more than fantasy.


    But now, waking up in a cold sweat and surrounded by pitch-black darkness, those stories resurfaced with a vengeance. My head throbbed, and nausea overwhelmed me. I doubled over and vomited, the acidic taste burning my throat. For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming, trapped in some terrible nightmare. I blinked several times, but the darkness persisted. Panic crept in. Was I blind?


    Suddenly, a brilliant light pierced the void, so bright it felt like needles stabbing into my eyes. I squeezed them shut instinctively and counted to five. When I dared to look again, the sight before me stole the breath from my lungs.


    Corpses. Not just a few but a mountain of them, piled grotesquely in a clearing surrounded by gnarled trees. Their twisted forms seemed to reach out, their hollow eyes accusing. I stumbled backward, bile rising in my throat again. ¡°Where am I?¡± I whispered, my voice trembling. ¡°This isn¡¯t real. It can¡¯t be real.¡±


    The forest stretched endlessly around me, its dense canopy blocking out the sky. Shadows danced between the trees, and the air was thick with an unidentifiable stench. Then, as I struggled to comprehend my surroundings, movement caught my eye.


    Something stirred within the pile of corpses.


    It was a creature unlike anything I had ever seen. Its skin was leathery and gray, its limbs unnaturally long, and its tongue slithered out like a serpent¡¯s, licking the air hungrily. Its claws gleamed under the faint light, and its fangs dripped with a viscous, dark liquid. My grandmother¡¯s stories came rushing back to me, and the name surfaced in my mind like a whispered warning. Tiktik.


    I froze, every muscle in my body screaming at me to run, but I couldn¡¯t move. The creature climbed down from the pile of corpses with an eerie grace, its glowing eyes scanning the ground. It paused near the spot where I had vomited, sniffing at the acidic puddle. Then, with an unnatural tilt of its head, it turned and locked its gaze directly onto me.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Fear coursed through me like ice water, but I didn¡¯t dare move. Maybe this was a prank, some cruel, elaborate setup for a show. But deep down, I knew the truth that this was not an illusion. The danger was real, and I was living a nightmare.


    I ran.


    Branches tore at my face and arms as I sprinted through the forest, my heart pounding like a war drum. The tiktik gave chase, its guttural growls echoing behind me. I weaved between trees, praying for guidance, for deliverance, for anything that would save me from the horror pursuing me.


    Then, a glimmer of hope.


    Up ahead, I spotted a small hole in the ground, just large enough for me to crawl through. ¡°If I can get inside, it won¡¯t be able to follow,¡± I thought desperately. The adrenaline coursing through me sharpened my focus, and I sprinted toward the hole.


    But just as I was within reach, pain erupted in my leg. I fell hard, the air knocked out of me. The tiktik¡¯s long, prehensile tongue had wrapped around my ankle, its slimy grip pulling me backward. Panic surged, and I fumbled for my gun. With trembling hands, I fired a shot. The bullet grazed the creature¡¯s tongue, causing it to screech in pain, but it didn¡¯t release me.


    A second shot. This time, I aimed for its head. The bullet struck true, and the tiktik collapsed, its grotesque body convulsing before finally going still.


    Relief flooded me, but it was short-lived.


    From the surrounding forest came a cacophony of growls and snarls. The shadows seemed to come alive, the trees trembling as more creatures emerged. My stomach sank. The tiktik wasn¡¯t alone.


    I scrambled toward the hole and squeezed inside, the earth closing around me like a protective cocoon. The creatures clawed and snarled outside, their frustration palpable. But the hole was too small for them to follow. For the moment, I was safe.


    Crawling deeper into the hole, I discovered that it widened into a narrow tunnel. My detective instincts kicked in, and I examined the ground. The sand was damp, the air thick with an earthy scent. My hands trembled as I moved, but I forced myself to focus.


    The growls outside gradually faded, replaced by a heavy silence. Curious, I inched back toward the entrance and peeked out.


    What I saw chilled me to the bone.


    The corpses of the tiktiks littered the forest floor, their bodies torn apart as if by some massive force. Overhead, a figure hovered in the air, a man with enormous eagle-like wings. His presence was both majestic and terrifying, his sharp eyes scanning the forest below.


    At first, I thought he was an angel, a divine savior sent to rescue me. But when his gaze locked onto mine, his expression darkened. He descended swiftly, his wings cutting through the air like blades.


    Another figure joined him a woman with the same powerful wings but a face of ethereal beauty. She stopped him with a raised hand, her voice commanding yet calm.


    The man spoke first, his tone accusatory. ¡°Why did you disrupt the nest of the tiktiks? You almost upset the balance of the wilderness.¡±


    His words were sharp and clear, and they hit me like a physical blow.


    ¡°What are you doing here, human?¡± he demanded, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Why did you come to our world at this time, when war is about to break out?¡±

 The Unraveling

    His words were sharp and clear, and they hit me like a physical blow.


    ¡°What are you doing here, human?¡± he demanded, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Why did you come to our world at this time, when war is about to break out?¡±


    I blinked in confusion, disoriented and still reeling from everything that had happened. I hadn''t expected this. "What do you mean, war?" I asked, trying to make sense of his words. But instead of answering, he glared at me like I had already committed some grave mistake.


    "Your presence here is... troubling," the winged man continued, his voice full of suspicion. ¡°And you have not answered my question. What are you doing here?¡±


    A thousand questions rushed to my mind, but one thing stuck out: they were treating me like I had some part to play in all of this, like I knew what they were talking about.


    I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. This wasn¡¯t the time to panic, but to think. My detective instincts kicked in, and I realized that the only way I might get any answers was to remain calm and take control of the conversation.


    I raised my chin and met his piercing gaze, trying to appear composed despite the fear gnawing at my gut. ¡°My name is Damien Tenebris,¡± I said slowly, trying to steady my voice. ¡°I¡¯m a detective. I don¡¯t know how I ended up here, but I was investigating some... strange occurrences back home. I had no idea any of this existed. I didn¡¯t ask for this.¡±


    For a moment, there was silence. The winged man didn¡¯t speak, his expression unreadable, though I could see the wheels turning in his mind. The woman beside him¡ªher wings as ethereal and graceful as he studied me with an unreadable gaze.


    The winged man finally spoke again, his tone no less sharp but with an edge of curiosity. ¡°A detective, you say? Then you must understand the importance of your presence here, whether you want it or not. This is not a place for accidents. You are here for a reason.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I frowned, shaking my head in frustration. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to survive,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t belong here. I was investigating something. I saw a woman and she had a stick of some kind, and she¡ª¡± I stopped myself, realizing how bizarre it all sounded. "She killed a man, I think. At least, I think she did. And then... I was here. This is all too much."


    The woman with wings took a step closer, her eyes softening, but only slightly. "The one with the stick?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Explain. What did she do?¡±


    My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. ¡°She... she was being chased. By a man who dressed strangely. He looked like some kind of monster. But then she, she pulled out this stick, and it¡ªit flashed, and the man was thrown into a dumpster. I don¡¯t know what happened, but when I tried to follow her, I ended up here.¡± My hands were trembling as I spoke, but I couldn''t stop myself from recounting the events. ¡°I swear, I¡¯ve never seen anything like this before.¡±


    The winged man seemed to digest my words carefully, his expression unreadable. The woman glanced at him, then back at me.


    ¡°We are not certain of your role in all of this,¡± she said, ¡°but your arrival has caused ripples, and we do not take that lightly.¡±


    "Ripples?" I asked, confused. "What do you mean by that?"


    Before either of them could respond, I felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue. My head spun, and suddenly, the darkness around me deepened. I tried to focus on the conversation, but my body felt heavy. Everything went blurry, and before I could say another word, the world around me went black.


    When I woke up again, I was no longer standing. I was lying on a cold, stone floor, my hands bound by chains. The dim light filtering into the room barely illuminated my surroundings. I was in some sort of cell, the walls made of rough, dark stone. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend what had happened. Had I been knocked out? Where was I? What was going on?


    The echoes of the conversation I¡¯d just had still lingered in my mind, war, prophecy, creatures beyond comprehension. Everything felt so surreal, like I had been transported into a nightmare I couldn¡¯t wake up from.


    I struggled against the chains, but they didn¡¯t budge. My detective instincts kicked in, analyzing my situation. I had to figure out what was happening. There had to be a way out, a clue somewhere. But at that moment, I realized that all my training as a detective couldn¡¯t help me here. The answers were beyond anything I had ever encountered.


    And yet, deep down, I knew one thing for certain. This wasn¡¯t the end. I had to keep fighting, keep asking questions. I had to find a way out and understand why I had been pulled into this strange, dangerous world.


    The door to my cell creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, the woman with the wings. Her gaze softened ever so slightly, but there was still an air of authority in her presence.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± she said, almost as if she had been expecting me to wake up. ¡°We have much to discuss, Damien Tenebris.¡±


    But as she stepped closer, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that I was only beginning to uncover a far bigger mystery than I had ever anticipated

 Veil Between Worlds

    The Mulawins were unlike anything Damien had ever encountered. A proud and ancient tribe, they were humanoid beings with magnificent wings reminiscent of eagles, their feathers shimmering with iridescent hues under the sunlight. Their sharp eyes missed nothing, and their every movement carried an elegance born of centuries of survival and mastery over the mystic arts. They referred to themselves as protectors of the balance, guardians of the fragile veil separating their world from chaos. Damien learned their name only when his imprisonment ended and they grudgingly began to explain their ways.


    Despite their initial hostility, the Mulawins had decided to train Damien, reasoning that his sudden appearance couldn¡¯t be mere chance. Their elder, a stoic leader named Lakan, believed he might serve a purpose even if it was yet unclear. It wasn¡¯t a warm welcome, but Damien found himself immersed in a world of mystic arts and ancient rituals that defied everything he thought he knew.


    The training was grueling. The Mulawins taught him to harness latent energy within him, channeling it into focused bursts of power. ¡°Every creature in this realm is tied to the balance,¡± Lakan explained. ¡°Your existence here means you, too, are part of it. If you are to survive, you must learn.¡±


    Damien struggled to adapt, his analytical mind clashing with the intuitive, almost spiritual nature of the Mulawins'' teachings. His skepticism only fueled their insistence, and bit by bit, he began to grasp the basics. As days turned into weeks, at least as time felt in this world, he began to notice subtle changes in himself. His movements grew sharper, his senses keener, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of power stir within him.


    The training was interrupted abruptly one fateful day.


    The first sign of the attack was the tremor in the earth beneath their feet. The air turned cold and heavy, the ominous energy preceding a battle. Then came the guttural snarls and sharp cries of the dark forces descending upon the Mulawin village.


    ¡°Aswang,¡± Lakan spat, his face grim. ¡°The shadow thrives on destruction. They seek to claim this place.¡±


    The village erupted into chaos as Tiktiks, a grotesque army of creatures with elongated limbs and slithering tongues, poured through the trees, their leader, a monstrous Aswang, towering behind them. The Mulawins fought valiantly, their wings giving them an aerial advantage, but the enemy numbers were overwhelming.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Damien, still untrained, found himself thrust into the fray. His instincts as a detective kicked in, analyzing patterns, looking for weaknesses. But this wasn¡¯t the real world; his gun was useless against the dark creatures. Instead, he relied on what little he had learned, channeling energy into his fists. A spark of light erupted as he struck a Tiktik, sending it reeling back.


    Lakan swooped down beside him, his expression grim. ¡°You must go, Damien,¡± he said firmly.


    ¡°What? I can fight!¡± Damien protested.


    ¡°No!¡± Lakan roared. ¡°You are not ready. Your presence here endangers us all. You must flee to the Southern Tribe. They will shelter you. Go now!¡±


    Before Damien could argue further, another Mulawin pushed him toward a hidden path leading into the dense forest. Reluctantly, Damien ran, his heart pounding as the sounds of battle faded behind him. The Mulawins¡¯ sacrifice weighed heavily on him, but survival was paramount.


    The forest was a maze, and soon, Damien realized he wasn¡¯t alone. The Tiktiks had picked up his trail, their guttural growls growing louder as they closed in. He stumbled through the underbrush, his breath ragged, when a familiar figure stepped into his path.


    It was the woman with the stick.


    ¡°You again?¡± Damien gasped, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and anger.


    She raised her weapon, her expression unreadable. ¡°This time, you¡¯re not running,¡± she said simply.


    Before he could react, she slammed the stick into the ground, unleashing a blinding wave of energy. The force hit Damien like a tidal wave, and the world around him twisted and blurred. He felt himself being pulled, like being yanked out of one dream and thrown into another.


    When he opened his eyes, the world around him shifted violently, and he felt his body hit solid ground. Blinking rapidly, Damien realized he was back in the grimy alleyway, the dim streetlights flickering overhead. The cold, familiar smell of the city hit him like a slap, pulling him fully into his surroundings. It was the same alley where everything had begun, but the jarring transition left him disoriented.


    ¡°Damien!¡± a voice called out, pulling him from his daze. It was his partner, Lucas, who had been waiting for him at the diner. ¡°You okay? You¡¯ve been gone for, like, five minutes. Thought you got lost.¡±


    ¡°Five minutes?¡± Damien muttered, disoriented. ¡°No, that can¡¯t be right¡­¡±


    Lucas frowned. ¡°You sure you¡¯re okay? You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡±


    Damien shook his head, trying to process everything. Was it all just a hallucination? A bizarre dream? He glanced around the alley, half-expecting to see a Tiktik emerge from the shadows, but everything was normal. Too normal.


    Later that night, as he changed into fresh clothes, he caught sight of something on his arm. A faint mark, like an intricate tattoo, barely visible unless the light hit it just right. The pattern was unlike anything he¡¯d seen before¡ªancient, almost tribal, and strangely familiar.


    His heart raced. The mark wasn¡¯t there before.


    He traced it with his fingers, a chill running down his spine. Whatever he had experienced, dream or not, had left its mark.


    Damien Tenebris was a detective, and now he had a new mystery to solve, one that might just change everything he thought he knew about himself and the world.

 Mask and Shadow

    The faint hum of a ceiling fan was the only sound in Damien¡¯s small apartment, its rhythmic rotation failing to stir the stifling air. The dim lighting cast long shadows across a space that was both home and workspace. A cluttered desk sat against one wall, strewn with case files, coffee-stained notebooks, and a laptop humming softly as Damien typed furiously. The faint aroma of instant coffee mingled with the scent of old paper, a comforting yet oppressive mix.


    He sat in his worn leather chair, his gaze fixed on the faint pattern etched into the skin of his left hand. The markings were intricate, almost geometric, but not quite symmetrical which unlike anything Damien had seen before. He ran his fingers over the faint lines as if searching for answers in the tactile sensation.


    Turning to his laptop, Damien scoured the internet for any information that could explain the strange mark. His search history was a jumble of keywords: tribal tattoos Philippines, warrior marks history, ancient patterns. He learned about the warriors of pre-colonial Philippines, their bodies adorned with tattoos that symbolized strength, protection, and rank within their tribes. But nothing matched the intricate design on his hand.


    Frustration gnawed at him as he leaned back, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee from a cracked mug. The room was sparsely furnished and functional but devoid of decoration. A couch, worn to the springs, faced a small TV that flickered with muted light. The open kitchenette bore signs of a bachelor¡¯s life: unwashed dishes in the sink, an empty cereal box on the counter, and a trash bin overflowing with takeout containers.


    The silence was broken by the voice of a newscaster on the TV. Damien glanced up as the news anchor delivered a grim report.


    ¡°Authorities are investigating the gruesome discovery of a mutilated body in a quiet urban neighborhood in Manila. Police describe the wounds as consistent with an animal attack, though experts are baffled by the ferocity and precision of the injuries.¡±


    The news stirred something in Damien, a vague unease that refused to be ignored. He muted the TV and turned back to his laptop, scrolling through forums, obscure blogs, and archived articles.


    Then, he decided to do something bold. He posted a cryptic message on a paranormal forum, describing a ¡°dream¡± about a strange world teeming with dark creatures. He carefully omitted details about the Mulawins and the exact circumstances of his encounter, but the response was immediate.


    Among the replies, one stood out.


    Anonymous Sender: ¡°I¡¯ve seen them too. You¡¯re not alone. Some of us have been taken or been spirited away to another place, like the world doesn¡¯t want us back. Creatures of the dark are real. I¡¯ve been researching this for years. Meet me. I can explain more.¡±


    The sender attached links to stories and articles written by others who had experienced similar phenomena: vanishing into dreamlike realms, encountering shadowy creatures, and returning with inexplicable marks. Damien¡¯s pulse quickened as he clicked through the links, his mind racing.


    Before he could craft a reply, his phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a familiar name.


    ¡°Lola,¡± he muttered, picking up. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Damien,¡± her voice was steady but urgent. ¡°There¡¯s been another murder. A suspect might be involved, but we need to secure the scene first. It¡¯s brutal or worse than before.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m on it,¡± Damien said, shoving his laptop aside and grabbing his coat. He glanced back at the anonymous message, the cursor blinking in the unfinished reply. But duty called.


    The crime scene was a grisly tableau of violence. Blood spattered the walls and pooled on the floor, mingling with fragments of tissue. The victim¡¯s body lay crumpled near a broken window, their eyes pierced by what appeared to be a sharp object. Bite marks marred their torso, chunks of flesh missing in a grotesque pattern. The smell of iron and decay hung heavy in the air, making Damien¡¯s stomach churn.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°We¡¯ve secured the perimeter,¡± said Lola, her face pale but composed. ¡°But it¡¯s¡­ bad.¡±


    Damien nodded, his detective instincts taking over. He began examining the room, photographing the scene and mentally cataloging details. The window frame had deep scratches, and the broken glass suggested something or someone had forced its way in.


    As he crouched to inspect a smear of blood near the door, a flicker of movement caught his attention. He turned sharply, but there was nothing there just shadows pooling in the corners of the room.


    ¡°Did you see something?¡± Lola asked, noticing his hesitation.


    ¡°Probably just my imagination,¡± Damien muttered, though he wasn¡¯t convinced.


    Unseen by anyone, a shadow slipped silently along the walls, its form shifting and writhing. It lingered for a moment, watching, before melting into the darkness.


    The case was growing stranger by the minute, but Damien couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the horrors of the shadow world weren¡¯t as distant as he wanted to believe. And as he caught sight of the faint mark on his hand once more, he knew the mysteries of the night were far from over.


    Days bled into nights as Damien threw himself into the investigation, the city gripped by fear over the string of brutal murders. The victims, mutilated in ways no conventional animal or human could manage, painted a macabre picture. Though the bodies bore a gruesome familiarity to his shadowy experiences, Damien shoved the thought aside. Logic, he told himself. Evidence.


    Each lead seemed to dissipate like smoke. The victims shared no clear connection at first glance, but one detail stood out: they had all frequented a bar on the city¡¯s fringes, a high-end establishment that catered to an elite clientele. Its odd hours from "11 PM to 5 AM" added to its mystique. Damien made a mental note of its name, The Gilded Veil, before heading to a nearby caf¨¦ to bide his time until the bar opened.


    The caf¨¦ was a stark contrast to the eerie, grim streets he had been scouring. Light jazz hummed softly in the background, and the air smelled of roasted coffee and fresh pastries. Damien ordered a cup of black coffee and settled into a corner booth, his back to the wall, a habit he never abandoned. He pulled out his notebook and began sketching connections between the victims, trying to map out patterns in their lives.


    The clock ticked closer to 11 PM, and Damien drained his cup, leaving a tip on the counter before heading home. He rummaged through his wardrobe, searching for something that could pass in the upscale environment of The Gilded Veil. Eventually, he settled on a charcoal-gray suit that was sharp enough to avoid attention but not ostentatious. A plain black mask completed the ensemble, though its pointed ears and subtle ridges gave it a slightly animalistic edge. ¡°Good enough,¡± he muttered, adjusting it in the mirror.


    When Damien arrived at The Gilded Veil, he immediately understood its reputation. The exterior was understated, an unassuming door tucked between nondescript buildings, but the interior exuded wealth. Chandeliers cast soft, golden light over polished mahogany floors. Gilded accents adorned the furniture, and the patrons, masked and draped in fine clothing, radiated an air of secrecy. It wasn¡¯t just a bar and it was a den of indulgence and vice.


    Damien moved cautiously through the crowd, his detective instincts heightened by the charged atmosphere. He noticed drinks being spiked at several tables, money exchanged in handshakes, and the undercurrent of illicit dealings. He made mental notes for his report but stayed focused on his primary objective: finding a lead on the murders.


    Then he saw her.


    A woman sat alone at the edge of the room, her posture relaxed but her expression distant. She seemed out of place in this den of decadence, and something about her struck Damien as familiar. He approached her cautiously, slipping into the chair opposite her.


    ¡°Is this seat taken?¡± he asked.


    She looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly behind her ornate mask. ¡°Depends. Are you here to buy me a drink or sell me something?¡±


    ¡°Neither,¡± Damien said with a small smile. ¡°Just a conversation.¡±


    ¡°Then I suppose it¡¯s yours,¡± she said, tilting her head. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Damien Tenebris,¡± he said, leaning back. ¡°I¡¯m curious about this place, and you looked like you might have some answers.¡±


    ¡°Curious, are we?¡± she asked, her lips curving into a faint smirk. ¡°You¡¯re a detective, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Damien stiffened slightly, but the mask he wore gave him some cover. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°Your demeanor. Observant, but not just in a social way. You¡¯re working.¡± She sipped her drink, her eyes scanning his face. ¡°So, what are you looking for?¡±


    ¡°Clues,¡± Damien admitted. ¡°There have been¡­incidents. People connected to this place.¡±


    Her gaze darkened slightly. ¡°You think someone here is responsible.¡±


    ¡°I think someone here knows more than they¡¯re letting on,¡± Damien said carefully. ¡°Have you noticed anything unusual?¡±


    Before she could respond, the music dimmed, and the DJ¡¯s voice boomed over the speakers.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you¡¯ve been waiting for. Please welcome the owner of The Gilded Veil, the one who makes all of this possible, Mr. Vincent Dela Torre!¡±


    The crowd erupted in applause as a tall, enigmatic man stepped into view, his mask more elaborate than the others. It was black and gold, with intricate filigree that caught the light, and he carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew he was untouchable. Damien felt an immediate sense of unease.


    ¡°That¡¯s him,¡± the woman murmured.


    ¡°Vincent Dela Torre?¡± Damien asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the man.


    ¡°The man who runs this place,¡± she said. ¡°And if you¡¯re looking for answers, you¡¯ll want to keep a close eye on him. People disappear around him.¡±


    Damien¡¯s pulse quickened. If Vincent Dela Torre had ties to the victims, this investigation might finally crack open. But as he watched Vincent greet the crowd with a charming smile, Damien couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was staring into the face of something far darker than just a suspect.

 Shadow in the Sky

    Vincent Dela Torre was now on my radar. The guy screamed privilege, with layers of security and power that made him virtually untouchable for someone like me. I knew I¡¯d have to get creative if I wanted a conversation with him, let alone answers. Listing him as a person of interest was the easy part. Planning my next move? That was going to take some finesse.


    The night air was heavy as I left the bar and headed home, the city lights flickering above me. Manila always had a way of feeling alive, no matter the hour there are cars honking, street vendors shouting, even the faint hum of karaoke drifting through the alleys. But tonight, something felt... off.


    As I rounded a corner, I saw something in the sky, a shadow gliding silently against the backdrop of the moon. My stomach dropped. The shape wasn¡¯t right. It wasn¡¯t a bird or even a plane. It was a half-human figure, its wings spread wide, claws reflecting the faint light.


    Fear gripped me, but my curiosity was stronger. I followed the creature, staying in the shadows. The streets in this part of town were eerily quiet, no CCTVs or streetlights. It was almost like the thing had chosen this area deliberately.


    Eventually, the creature dove sharply, disappearing behind a row of abandoned buildings. I quickened my pace, my heart hammering in my chest. When I reached the area, I saw deep scratches on the walls and ground, evidence of its landing. The air smelled damp and metallic, like blood and rust.


    Then, I saw it.


    The other half.


    It was lying there, a torso, legs, and lower body severed cleanly at the waist, yet disturbingly intact. My breath caught in my throat. My grandmother¡¯s voice echoed in my mind, recounting an old story.


    She once told me about a beautiful woman, the pride of her hometown. Kind and pure, she was beloved by all until pregnant women started dying, their bellies torn open, their unborn children taken. The husbands of the victims sought vengeance and discovered the culprit one night: the woman herself, flying away from her severed lower half to feast. They called her a Manananggal. If the creature couldn¡¯t reconnect with its lower half before sunrise, it would burn away into ash. The key to stopping it was simple just pour salt or ash onto the severed half to keep them apart.


    The memory snapped me back to reality. I had to act quickly. My eyes darted around, and I spotted a 7-Eleven down the block. I sprinted there, grabbed a bag of salt, and tossed some cash at the counter without waiting for change.


    When I returned to the spot, heart racing and salt in hand, the lower half was gone.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± I muttered under my breath, scanning the area. Had the Manananggal returned to claim its body? Or had someone something moved it?


    The silence was deafening. I felt like I was being watched, every shadow suddenly alive with menace. My grip tightened on the salt, though I knew it was useless now.


    For the first time in years, I felt truly out of my depth.


    My mind raced as I stood in the eerie silence, clutching the bag of salt like it was a lifeline. I had been so sure of my plan, so sure that I could stop the Manananggal from reuniting with its lower half. Now, the empty space where it had been lying mocked me.


    I scanned the area again, taking in every detail I could under the dim moonlight. The abandoned buildings around me were in varying states of decay and walls crumbling, windows shattered, rusted metal hanging precariously from their frames. Graffiti covered the walls, some crude tags, others cryptic symbols I didn¡¯t recognize. The air was heavy, humid, and thick with the faint, nauseating scent of decay.


    The scratches on the ground and walls were deep, deliberate. Whatever this creature was, it was strong and vicious. The marks reminded me of claw marks from wild animals I¡¯d seen in forensics photos but these were larger, more purposeful, like they were made by something intelligent.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The other half. My grandmother¡¯s voice continued to echo in my mind: "They must reconnect with their body before sunrise, or they¡¯ll burn away into ash. Pour salt on the severed half to trap them."


    It was a foolproof plan in the stories. But this wasn¡¯t a story. This was real.


    The rational part of me wanted to believe this was a hallucination, that I was imagining things after a long day of stress and chasing shadows. But the scratches, the faint metallic smell in the air, the torso I had seen moments ago and it was all too real.


    I crouched down, inspecting the ground where the lower half had been. The earth was disturbed, the marks suggesting it had been dragged away rather than reconnected. My stomach churned. If the Manananggal hadn¡¯t come back for it, what had?


    The legends I¡¯d grown up with didn¡¯t prepare me for this. In those stories, the Manananggal was always isolated, a lone predator haunting small villages or remote barrios. But now, in the heart of Manila, amidst the sprawling chaos of urban life, the rules seemed to be different.


    My grandmother had hinted at it once. ¡°They¡¯re scattered, Damien. The Manananggal aren¡¯t just one creature and they¡¯re a kind. A cursed lineage that thrives in secrecy, hiding in plain sight. In the provinces, they live among the people, hunting when the opportunity arises. In the cities... they adapt. They blend into the shadows of modern life, preying on those who won¡¯t be missed.¡±


    I shivered, remembering the stories she told about groups of them operating like a pack, hunting together to evade detection. The idea of more than one Manananggal in this city was almost too much to comprehend.


    A sound snapped me out of my thoughts, a faint rustling, like the whisper of wings.


    I whipped my head around, my pulse quickening. The darkness pressed in on me, the shadows stretching and shifting like living things. My breathing grew shallow as I tried to pinpoint the source of the noise.


    Then, I saw it.


    High above, a figure hovered near the roofline of a crumbling building. Its wings were massive, leathery, and silent as they flapped in the still air. The silhouette of its upper body was unmistakable the grotesque half-human form with elongated arms and sharp claws. Its face was obscured, but I could feel its gaze burning into me.


    It wasn¡¯t alone.


    Another shadow joined it, then another. Three Manananggal hovered in the air, their wings eerily synchronized. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized the depth of the danger I was in.


    The one in the center swooped lower, just enough for me to make out its features. Its face was contorted, a twisted combination of human and beast. Its eyes glowed faintly, like embers in a dying fire, and its mouth twisted into a grin, revealing rows of jagged teeth.


    This wasn¡¯t just a random encounter. They knew I was here.


    Instinct took over, and I bolted, clutching the salt to my chest as I ran. The shadows around me seemed to come alive, each alley and corner a potential hiding spot for more of them. My mind raced as I tried to remember the details of the stories.


    ¡°Salt and garlic repel them,¡± my grandmother had said. ¡°But fire is their true enemy. If you can burn them, you can destroy them.¡±


    The problem was, I had none of those things with me except the salt, and I wasn¡¯t sure it would be enough.


    As I sprinted through the dark streets, I tried to think of a plan. The abandoned area was a maze of dead ends and collapsing buildings. I needed to get out into the open, somewhere with light and people. But the Manananggal were fast, their wings making them predators built for the hunt.


    I turned a corner, my legs burning with the effort, and found myself back at the spot where I¡¯d first seen the lower half. My chest heaved as I stopped, looking around wildly for any sign of movement.


    Then I saw it, a trail of blood leading away from the area, smeared and erratic, like something had dragged the body in a hurry.


    A low growl rumbled from the shadows, and I froze.


    One of them had landed nearby. Its wings folded against its back as it stepped closer, its claws clicking against the concrete. The glow of its eyes pierced the darkness, locking onto me.


    I clenched the bag of salt tighter, my mind racing. If this was how I went out, at least I¡¯d give it a fight.


    But then, the creature paused. It tilted its head, sniffing the air like it was trying to decide if I was worth the trouble.


    A sound broke the tense silence, the distant hum of an approaching vehicle. Headlights illuminated the street, and the creature hissed, retreating into the shadows.


    I didn¡¯t wait to see if it would return. I ran toward the light, toward safety, my mind reeling with questions and a growing sense of dread.


    The Manananggal were real, and I was far from ready to face them.


    High above the crumbling rooftops of Manila¡¯s abandoned district, the Manananggal gathered under the cover of night. Their grotesque forms hovered in a circle, their wings creating a soft, ominous hum. Beneath them, hidden in the shadows of an ancient structure long forgotten by the city, stood their leader. A monstrous figure cloaked in darkness, his voice was a guttural snarl that carried authority. ¡°Report,¡± he commanded.


    The leader among the Manananggal stepped forward, its claws glinting in the faint moonlight. ¡°The Mulawin tribes have suffered heavy losses,¡± it hissed. ¡°Our assault on the Northern Tribe crippled their defenses. The sacramentum possessor escaped to another tribe, but their numbers grow weaker with each attack. The balance will shatter soon.¡± The leader¡¯s expression darkened further, a malevolent grin forming as the figure continued. ¡°But there is a problem. A human stumbled too close. He investigated where one of us hunted tonight.¡±


    The leader growled, his wings spreading wide as his voice echoed through the gathering. ¡°The surface world must remain blind to our movements. If they suspect anything, they could interfere with our plans. And the Shadow World? They cannot know of our efforts to unseat their fragile balance. They believe we are isolated pests, not architects of their collapse.¡± He paused, his claws raking the air as he seethed. ¡°Find this human and silence him. Ensure he cannot reveal our presence.¡±


    The Manananggal screeched in agreement, their wings beating harder as they prepared to disperse into the night. Unbeknownst to them, Damien¡¯s retreat to the real world had kept him far from their grasp. For now.

 Engkanto

    My breath came in ragged gasps as I sprinted through the dark alley, heart pounding like a drumbeat of survival. The sharp screeches of the manananggals echoed behind me, their grotesque forms silhouetted against the faint moonlight. My focus was razor-sharp, every ounce of my energy poured into escaping, so much so that I didn¡¯t notice I¡¯d stumbled into a crowded night market until the press of bodies surrounded me.


    The chaos of the crowd shielded me. Neon lights from vendor stalls flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows as I weaved through the maze of faces, my mind racing. My eyes darted to the details of the place I¡¯d just fled: a crumbling old building, vines snaking up its sides, and a macabre sight, the dismembered lower halves of the manananggals lying in wait for their return. Something about their presence, their organized violence, suggested a larger plan at work.


    Back in my apartment, the faint hum of the ceiling fan did little to soothe me. I leaned against my cluttered desk, my hand instinctively tracing the strange tattoo etched into my skin. The clues I¡¯d uncovered tonight replayed in my mind.


    Vincent Dela Torre. His name kept surfacing in whispers and shadows. If anyone knew what was going on, it had to be him. But he was untouchable and surrounded by bodyguards and perpetually busy.


    For days, I trailed him like a shadow. Every move he made, every meeting he attended, I documented. Finally, my patience bore fruit when Vincent checked into an upscale hotel with a woman who was stunning, almost unnaturally so. Her presence set off alarm bells in my mind, but I stayed silent, waiting.


    From the adjacent room, I listened intently. Ten minutes passed before a sound shattered the quiet.


    A scream.


    Vincent¡¯s scream.


    Gunshots followed, muffled through the walls but unmistakable. I grabbed my phone, calling in backup. ¡°Something¡¯s going down at the Regal Star Hotel. Possible hostiles. I¡¯m heading in.¡±


    I burst into Vincent¡¯s room, my weapon drawn. The scene before me was a tableau of carnage. His bodyguards lay strewn across the floor, their chests torn open, hearts ripped out in savage precision. Blood soaked the plush carpet, the stench of death thick in the air.


    And then I saw her or rather, what she had become.


    The woman¡¯s beauty had melted away, replaced by something horrifying. Her skin had turned pale and cracked, her eyes glowing like embers, and her limbs stretched unnaturally long. Her mouth widened into a grotesque maw lined with jagged teeth. An engkanto, I realized, my blood turning to ice.


    She held Vincent by the neck, dangling him like a ragdoll. He gasped for air, his face a mask of terror.


    ¡°Put him down!¡± I shouted, raising my gun.


    The first shot hit her squarely, but it might as well have been a toy dart for all the good it did. She didn¡¯t even flinch. The second shot was met with the same indifference.


    Her attention shifted to me, and she dropped Vincent with a thud. He lay gasping on the floor, but I had bigger problems. The engkanto turned toward me, her elongated claws glinting in the dim light.


    Desperate, I grabbed a vase from a side table and hurled it at her. It shattered against her head but had no effect. She shrieked, the sound grating and unnatural, and in the blink of an eye, she was in front of me.


    Her claws wrapped around my throat, lifting me off the ground. Her grip was iron, her nails slicing into my skin. As she raised her other hand, claws poised to strike, a sudden warmth spread through my body.


    The tattoo on my hand began to glow, its intricate patterns blazing with golden light. The engkanto froze, her eyes narrowing in confusion and fury.


    I gasped for air, my mind flashing back to my time with the Mulawin tribe. I could almost hear the elders¡¯ voices, chanting incantations meant to repel dark creatures. Summoning every ounce of focus, I rasped out the words they¡¯d taught me:


    ¡°Santisima, ilayo ang nilalang ng dilim, sa pangalan ng Inang Kalikasan, ipahayag ang liwanag!¡±


    (Most Holy One, banish this creature of darkness. In the name of Mother Nature, let the light prevail!)


    Golden light erupted from the tattoo, forcing the engkanto to release me. She staggered back, shrieking in pain as the glow seared her skin.


    I stumbled to the floor, my hand clutching at the salt packets I¡¯d stuffed into my pocket earlier. My fingers trembled as I tore one open, flinging its contents into her glowing red eyes.


    Her shriek pierced the air, deafening and furious. The salt worked it blinded her, buying me precious seconds. I grabbed Vincent, slinging his arm over my shoulder, and bolted for the door.


    As we reached the hallway, her voice echoed behind us, guttural and ancient. ¡°Hindi mo ako matatakasan, anak ng liwanag!¡±


    (You cannot escape me, child of light!)


    Her words chilled me, but I didn¡¯t look back. I pushed forward, dragging Vincent with me until we burst into the night.


    Safe for now.


    As I dragged the man Vincent, the hotel lobby, his weight pressed heavily against my shoulder. I scanned the dimly lit surroundings, my senses on high alert for any sign of the engkanto. Her chilling words still echoed in my mind, a sinister promise lingering in the air.


    Outside, the cold night slapped me awake as we stumbled onto the sidewalk. I eased him down onto a bench beneath a flickering streetlamp, its unsteady light casting long shadows around us. His breathing was ragged, his face pale, and sweat dripped from his brow.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be okay,¡± I said, crouching in front of him. ¡°Just breathe. Can you hear me?¡±


    He nodded weakly, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. ¡°Okay? After what just happened? I don¡¯t think so.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I ignored his sarcasm and glanced back toward the hotel, half expecting to see the engkanto emerge from the shadows. ¡°Look, you¡¯re alive, and that¡¯s what matters right now. What the hell happened back there? Why was she after you?¡±


    His eyes darted around like a cornered animal¡¯s. ¡°I don¡¯t know! She seemed normal at first beautiful even but then¡­¡± His voice trailed off, and he shuddered.


    ¡°Then she turned into something out of a nightmare,¡± I finished for him. My tone was sharp, but my mind was spinning. ¡°She wasn¡¯t human. You saw her claws, her face¡ªif you can call it that.¡±


    The man nodded, his eyes wide with disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you¡¯ve seen something like that before?¡±


    I hesitated, then sighed. ¡°Not exactly, but I¡¯ve¡­ dealt with things most people wouldn¡¯t believe. That¡¯s not important right now. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    He blinked at me, as if the question had come from nowhere. ¡°Vincent. Vincent Dela Torre. And you?¡±


    ¡°Damien. Damien Tenebris,¡± I replied. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve got that out of the way, why don¡¯t you start explaining why a creature out of folklore is trying to kill you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Vincent said, his voice rising. ¡°She showed up at the bar. We talked for a bit, and I thought¡ª¡± He stopped, his face reddening. ¡°I thought it was just a normal night. But as soon as we got upstairs, she changed. Her face, her voice¡ªit was like she was someone else entirely.¡±


    ¡°Not someone else,¡± I corrected him. ¡°Something else.¡±


    Vincent let out a shaky breath. ¡°You¡¯re saying that thing was real? That it wasn¡¯t just some kind of...hallucination?¡±


    I gave him a hard look. ¡°Does it feel like a hallucination? Your guards are dead, Vincent. Torn apart. I doubt your imagination did that.¡±


    Before he could respond, the sound of sirens cut through the night air. I stood, my shoulders tensing as squad cars pulled up, their flashing lights painting the street in bursts of red and blue.


    ¡°Police?¡± Vincent muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, stepping away from him and raising my hands as the officers approached. ¡°And I¡¯ll bet they¡¯re not going to believe a word of this.¡±


    One of the officers recognized me and lowered his weapon. ¡°Detective Tenebris? What¡¯s going on here?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s been an incident,¡± I said, keeping my voice steady. ¡°The scene¡¯s upstairs. This man is a victim and a witness. You¡¯re going to want to see for yourself.¡±


    The officer hesitated, then gestured for his colleagues to follow him inside. I turned back to Vincent. ¡°Stick to the facts¡ªat least the ones that won¡¯t get you laughed out of the room.¡±


    Vincent gave a bitter laugh. ¡°Facts? What facts? That a monster ripped my guards apart and tried to kill me?¡±


    I ignored him and followed the officers back into the hotel. The elevator ride was silent, the tension so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing down on us. When we reached the crime scene, the smell of blood and death hit me like a blow.


    The bodies were exactly as I¡¯d left them, sprawled on the floor with their hearts torn out. The officers exchanged horrified glances, and one muttered a curse under his breath.


    ¡°We¡¯ll check the security footage,¡± another officer said, his voice shaky.


    Back in the lobby, we watched the footage on a small monitor. The grainy video showed Vincent entering the room with the woman, her beauty almost unnerving in its perfection. Moments later, the guards entered. Then, chaos.


    But there was no sign of the engkanto.


    On the screen, Vincent convulsed, clutching his throat as if being choked by invisible hands. The guards fired their weapons, but their bullets seemed to hit thin air. Finally, I appeared, dragging Vincent out of the room.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± an officer said, his voice incredulous. ¡°There¡¯s no one else in the footage. No woman. Nothing.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± Vincent whispered, his face pale.


    ¡°Hallucinations,¡± another officer suggested. ¡°Mass hysteria. Or maybe you two have some explaining to do.¡±


    I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. ¡°You saw the bodies. Whatever happened in that room wasn¡¯t hysteria.¡±


    Vincent slumped forward, holding his head in his hands. ¡°They don¡¯t believe us.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I admitted, my voice grim. ¡°And they¡¯re not going to.¡±


    As the officers continued their investigation, I turned to Vincent. ¡°This isn¡¯t over. Whatever that thing was, it¡¯s not going to stop until it gets what it wants.¡±


    ¡°And what does it want?¡± he asked, his voice trembling.


    ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re going to find out,¡± I said, the mark on my hand pulsing faintly as if in agreement.


    "Did you know that there are serial killings happening in the city?" I asked Vincent.


    Vincent stared at me, his face pale and drawn. ¡°Serial killings?¡± he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall of the alley where we¡¯d retreated to avoid the swarm of police. ¡°You didn¡¯t think tonight was the first time something like this happened, did you? There have been multiple murders across the city over the last few months¡ªgruesome ones. Victims ripped apart, their hearts missing. The police are baffled, and the only connection between all of them is a bar.¡±


    Vincent¡¯s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of recognition. ¡°The Gilded Veil?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Your bar.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°I run a high-end establishment. The people who come there are wealthy, influential. Sure, we¡¯ve got some secrets and some shady business deals, but nothing¡­ supernatural.¡±


    ¡°Secrets have a way of catching up to you,¡± I said sharply. ¡°Do you have any idea who¡ªor what¡ªmight be using your place as a hunting ground?¡±


    Vincent slumped against the wall, his hands trembling. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I mean, we have regulars. VIPs. Some of them have unusual tastes, but I¡¯ve never seen anything like what happened tonight. That woman no, that thing¡ªshe wasn¡¯t human. How does this connect to the murders?¡±


    I studied him for a moment, trying to gauge whether he was hiding something or just overwhelmed. His confusion seemed genuine, but I¡¯d learned not to take anything at face value.


    ¡°All the victims were last seen at The Gilded Veil,¡± I said. ¡°Every single one of them. The police didn¡¯t piece it together at first because they didn¡¯t want to upset your clientele. But I¡¯ve been following the trail for weeks, and it always leads back to your bar.¡±


    Vincent ran a hand through his hair, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. ¡°If what you¡¯re saying is true, then that means¡­¡± He paused, his eyes widening. ¡°Oh God. It means I¡¯ve been unknowingly running a slaughterhouse.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said, my tone cold. ¡°Or maybe you knew more than you¡¯re letting on.¡±


    His head snapped up, and for the first time, there was a spark of anger in his voice. ¡°I had no idea! Do you think I¡¯d willingly let something like that happen in my place? I have a reputation to protect¡ªmy clients¡¯ trust to maintain.¡±


    ¡°Reputation isn¡¯t going to mean much if you end up like your guards tonight,¡± I shot back.


    Vincent flinched, his bravado crumbling. ¡°What do we do?¡±


    ¡°We start by figuring out why your bar is the common thread,¡± I said. ¡°Think. Have there been any new patrons, strange incidents, anything out of the ordinary in the last few months?¡±


    He frowned, his brows knitting together in concentration. ¡°There was a man¡­ well-dressed, always in black. He started coming around a few months ago. Never drinks much, just sits in the corner and watches. My staff calls him the Watcher. I thought he was just some eccentric.¡±


    ¡°And this Watcher¡ªdid he ever interact with the victims?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Vincent admitted. ¡°But I can check the records. The Gilded Veil has security cameras and a guest log for VIPs. Maybe there¡¯s something there.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re going to pull those records and show me everything. We don¡¯t have much time before this thing strikes again.¡±


    Vincent nodded reluctantly, then hesitated. ¡°What about you? You seem to know more about this¡­ supernatural stuff than any normal person should. How do you fit into all of this?¡±


    I glanced down at the faint glow of the mark on my hand, feeling its power simmer beneath my skin. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯ve had my own encounters with things that go bump in the night.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Vincent said, his voice wary. ¡°But if we¡¯re going to survive this, I need to know one thing: can we stop it?¡±


    I met his gaze, my expression grim. ¡°We can try. But if we fail, you¡¯d better be ready to face a reality much darker than you ever imagined.¡±

 Running in the Shadows

    The morning sun had barely risen when Lola pulled up in her car, her expression grim as usual. Another victim had made the news, this one more gruesome than the rest. The details were horrifying: the body mutilated almost beyond recognition, with a head conspicuously missing. As I climbed into the car with Vincent in tow, Lola shot me a questioning look.


    ¡°Who''s this?¡± she asked, her sharp eyes darting between me and my reluctant companion.


    ¡°He¡¯s a key witness,¡± I said matter-of-factly, ignoring Vincent¡¯s glare.


    The crime scene was a nightmare. Blood painted the walls in haphazard streaks, as though the victim had fought tooth and nail against whatever horror had claimed them. Deep claw marks gouged into the furniture hinted at something inhuman. The body or what was left of it lay sprawled on the ground, missing its head. Flies buzzed lazily in the heavy, metallic air.


    Vincent took one look and doubled over, vomiting noisily onto the curb. I couldn¡¯t blame him; the scene was enough to churn even my seasoned stomach.


    ¡°That¡¯s... not normal,¡± he stammered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.


    ¡°No kidding,¡± I muttered, stepping over a pool of blood to get a closer look.


    The rest of the day passed in a blur of statements and speculation, but the real action didn¡¯t start until dinner.


    We ended up at a local karinderya that evening, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and a menu written in chalk on a weathered board. Lola dug into a steaming plate of adobo, blissfully ignoring Vincent¡¯s scowl.


    ¡°You seriously eat here?¡± he muttered, poking at the sinigang I¡¯d insisted he try.


    ¡°It¡¯s good, and it¡¯s cheap,¡± I shot back, taking a generous bite of lumpia. ¡°Not all of us eat at The Gilded Veil every night.¡±


    ¡°Clearly,¡± Vincent replied, pushing his plate away with a grimace.


    Before I could retort, my attention was snagged by a figure at the edge of the street. A woman, her silhouette eerily familiar, walked with deliberate purpose. Something about her sent a shiver down my spine.


    ¡°I know her,¡± I whispered, standing abruptly.


    ¡°Who?¡± Lola asked, mouth full of rice.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I know her,¡± I said, already pulling Vincent to his feet. ¡°We¡¯re going.¡±


    ¡°What? Where?¡± Vincent protested, stumbling as I dragged him along.


    The woman led us to a dark alley, one of those shadowy stretches of the city that no sane person would willingly enter. Vincent grumbled the entire way.


    ¡°First, you drag me to a crime scene, then to a karinderya, and now here? What¡¯s next? A sewage plant?¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± I hissed, peeking around the corner.


    In the dim light, the woman stopped walking. Her body twisted unnaturally, bones cracking audibly as her torso separated from her legs. Large, bat-like wings sprouted from her back, and her skin darkened, taking on a leathery texture.


    ¡°She¡¯s a manananggal,¡± I whispered, horror dawning on me.


    Vincent screamed more of a high-pitched yelp, really and the creature¡¯s head snapped toward us.


    ¡°Run!¡± I shouted, grabbing Vincent¡¯s arm as the manananggal lunged in our direction.


    What followed was less a chase and more a chaotic sprint through the labyrinthine streets. Vincent panted beside me, swearing with every step.


    ¡°Why am I here? Why is this my life?!¡± he shouted, nearly tripping over a stray cat.


    ¡°Keep running!¡± I yelled, throwing a trash can behind us to slow the creature down.


    ¡°I¡¯m a bar owner, for God¡¯s sake!¡± Vincent continued. ¡°Not a monster hunter!¡±


    We turned a corner and found ourselves at a dead end. The manananggal landed with a heavy thud, her wings folding behind her as she approached, claws gleaming in the faint light.


    ¡°I hate you,¡± Vincent muttered, backing up against the wall.


    ¡°Noted,¡± I said, reaching into my pocket.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Luckily, I¡¯d prepared for something like this. I pulled out a pouch of salt and a clove of garlic, holding them like makeshift weapons.


    ¡°What are you going to do, season her to death?¡± Vincent asked, incredulous.


    ¡°Watch and learn,¡± I shot back, tossing the salt at the creature¡¯s eyes.


    The manananggal screeched, clutching her face as the salt burned her. I took the opportunity to chant an incantation I¡¯d learned from the Mulawin tribe.


    ¡°Tabi-tabi po, mga bantay ng dilim. Lumayo sa amin ang masamang hangin!¡±


    The air around us seemed to shift, a faint glow emanating from my mark as the creature hissed in frustration.


    ¡°Now what?¡± Vincent asked, still plastered to the wall.


    ¡°We fight,¡± I said, brandishing the garlic like a dagger.


    ¡°What am I supposed to do? Yelp at her again?¡±


    ¡°Here,¡± I said, tossing him a handful of garlic. ¡°Just aim for her face.¡±


    The next few minutes were a blur of chaos and comedy. Vincent flung garlic cloves like a bartender tossing cocktail shakers, his aim wildly inconsistent.


    ¡°Take that, you flying freak!¡± he shouted, narrowly missing her head.


    ¡°Stop wasting ammo!¡± I yelled, slapping a clove against her wing.


    Finally, the creature snarled and retreated, flapping her wings to gain altitude. She hovered for a moment, glaring at us with eyes full of malice, before disappearing into the night.


    Vincent slumped against the wall, breathing heavily.


    ¡°If I survive this, I¡¯m never speaking to you again,¡± he said.


    ¡°Deal,¡± I replied, equally exhausted.


    But as we stood there in the dark alley, the faint glow of my mark still lingering, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.


    The manananggal hovered in the air, her grotesque wings beating rhythmically, sending a gust of foul-smelling wind toward us. Her face, once alluring, was now a twisted mask of hunger and rage, with sharp fangs glinting in the dim light. Vincent and I stood side by side, clutching our pitiful arsenal of garlic and salt like kids trying to fend off a schoolyard bully with water balloons.


    "Is she... hissing at us?" Vincent asked, wide-eyed.


    "Focus!" I barked.


    The creature dove suddenly, her claws outstretched like talons, aiming for my throat. I sidestepped just in time, throwing a handful of salt directly at her face. The grains sparkled in the faint light before hitting their target.


    The manananggal screeched in pain, her wings flapping wildly as she stumbled mid-air. ¡°Nice shot!¡± Vincent yelled, momentarily impressed.


    Encouraged, I tossed another handful of salt, but this time she twisted mid-flight, dodging it with inhuman agility. Before I could react, she shot back down, landing with a thud right in front of us. Her claws raked across the ground as she let out an ear-piercing scream.


    ¡°Time to shine, Vincent!¡± I shouted.


    Vincent froze. ¡°What do you want me to do? Bartend her a cocktail?!¡±


    ¡°Throw the garlic! Aim for her eyes!¡±


    He fumbled with the cloves in his pocket, finally managing to lob one awkwardly. It hit her wing, bouncing off harmlessly.


    ¡°Eyes, Vincent! Eyes!¡± I yelled, backing away as she lunged for me again.


    She swooped back into the air, her wings propelling her upward as she surveyed us like prey. The alley became eerily quiet except for the sound of her wings cutting through the still night air. Vincent crouched next to me, visibly trembling.


    ¡°She¡¯s playing with us,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°I know,¡± I muttered, my mind racing for a plan.


    Suddenly, the creature swooped again, this time targeting Vincent. He screamed, flailing wildly with his arms, garlic flying in all directions. One clove struck her cheek, causing a sizzling sound and a furious hiss.


    ¡°Yes!¡± I cheered, grabbing a fistful of garlic from the ground. ¡°That¡¯s it!¡±


    We both started throwing everything we had. Garlic cloves rained through the air like bizarre confetti, some hitting their mark while others clattered uselessly onto the cobblestones. The manananggal recoiled, her skin sizzling wherever the garlic made contact.


    But she wasn¡¯t done yet. Enraged, she lashed out with a clawed hand, slashing through the air. I barely dodged, feeling the whoosh of her claws as they missed my face by inches.


    "Is she bulletproof?" Vincent shouted.


    "Yes!" I snapped. "Focus!"


    I grabbed another pouch of salt and flung it at her chest, hoping to weaken her further. The salt landed with a satisfying splatter, making her shriek and falter in mid-air.


    Seizing the moment, I grabbed a large piece of discarded wood lying nearby and brandished it like a baseball bat.


    ¡°What are you doing with that?¡± Vincent asked, horrified.


    ¡°Improvising!¡± I yelled, swinging it at her as she dove again.


    The wood made contact with her wing, sending her spiraling awkwardly to the ground. She landed on all fours, her claws digging into the pavement as she snarled at us.


    Vincent stood frozen, his mouth agape. ¡°Okay, that was cool. Now what?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s grounded. Keep throwing!¡±


    Garlic and salt rained down on the creature as she struggled to regain her footing. Her wings flapped erratically, sending up clouds of dust that stung our eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this!¡± Vincent suddenly shouted, grabbing a metal trash can lid.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked, alarmed.


    ¡°Channeling my inner Captain America!¡± he yelled, hurling the lid with surprising precision.


    The lid hit her square in the face, making her stumble backward with a startled growl. I couldn¡¯t help but laugh, even as adrenaline coursed through me.


    Realizing we had the upper hand, I stepped forward, holding up the pouch of salt and another clove of garlic.


    ¡°Lumayo ka sa amin, halimaw! Sa ngalan ng liwanag at proteksyon, layuan mo kami!¡± I chanted, my voice steady despite my racing heart.


    The air seemed to shimmer as my words took effect. The manananggal hissed again, this time with a note of fear, her movements slowing.


    Vincent, emboldened, grabbed the remaining garlic and hurled it with all his might. ¡°And stay down!¡± he yelled, his voice cracking slightly.


    The garlic struck her chest, and she let out one final, agonized scream. With a furious flap of her wings, she launched herself into the air and disappeared into the night, her wail echoing down the alley.


    We stood there, panting, the silence almost deafening after the chaos.


    ¡°That... was insane,¡± Vincent said, leaning against the wall. ¡°And I hated every second of it.¡±


    ¡°Could¡¯ve fooled me,¡± I said, smirking.


    He glared at me but didn¡¯t argue.


    ¡°You okay?¡± I asked, patting him on the shoulder.


    ¡°Define okay,¡± he muttered, looking at the ground littered with garlic and salt.


    As we stumbled out of the alley, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a flicker of pride. For all his complaining, Vincent had held his own. Maybe, just maybe, he¡¯d survive this after all.

 Ashes of Regret

    The alley was still buzzing with tension as Vincent and I burst onto the nearby street, panting and clutching our supplies. The manananggal was gone for now but we both knew her upper half wasn¡¯t the end of the story. Somewhere nearby, her severed lower half was waiting, and we had precious little time to find it before she returned to claim her body.


    ¡°Where the hell would a severed bottom half hide?¡± Vincent wheezed as we jogged.


    ¡°Think!¡± I barked. ¡°It¡¯s got to be somewhere secluded. Maybe back where she started hunting tonight!¡±


    ¡°You mean you don¡¯t have a GPS tracker for these things?¡± Vincent snapped.


    I ignored him, my mind racing as we veered toward the darker side streets. Every second counted. If she beat us back to her lower half or worse, alerted her kin our faces would be on the supernatural equivalent of a most-wanted poster.


    We finally stumbled into a small, overgrown lot behind an abandoned house. The air was heavy with the scent of rotting vegetation, and I could feel my skin crawl.


    ¡°There!¡± I pointed toward a cluster of bushes. Sure enough, two pale, humanlike legs stood upright, perfectly still in the shadows.


    ¡°Why is it just... standing there?¡± Vincent whispered, his face pale.


    ¡°Don¡¯t question it!¡± I hissed. I whipped out my pouch of salt and garlic, motioning for Vincent to do the same. ¡°Let¡¯s end this before she¡ª¡±


    Before I could finish, a tiny figure darted out from behind the legs. It was no bigger than a toddler, with a bulbous nose, pointy ears, and a mischievous grin plastered across its face. A dwende.


    The little creature cackled, snatching up the severed legs in a feat of inexplicable strength and sprinting toward the other side of the lot.


    ¡°Are you kidding me?!¡± Vincent groaned, clutching his head.


    ¡°Stop complaining and run!¡± I yelled, bolting after the dwende.


    The chase was pure chaos.


    The dwende was fast and unnaturally fast. It zigzagged through the weeds, its tiny feet moving like a blur. Every time we got close, it would let out a mocking laugh and dart just out of reach.


    ¡°Is it taunting us?¡± Vincent yelled, dodging a rusted wheelbarrow the dwende had somehow kicked into our path.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dwende! That¡¯s literally their thing!¡± I shot back, leaping over a pile of broken wood.


    At one point, Vincent managed to get close enough to grab at the creature, only for it to dodge with a somersault and flick a clump of dirt at his face.


    ¡°Ugh!¡± Vincent sputtered, wiping his eyes. ¡°This is why I hate the supernatural!¡±


    ¡°No, you hate running,¡± I retorted, skidding around a corner.


    The dwende dashed into an old shed, slamming the rickety door behind it. I threw my shoulder against the door, bursting inside, only to find it perched on a high shelf, still holding the legs and grinning like it had won the lottery.


    ¡°Now what?¡± Vincent panted, hands on his knees.


    I scanned the shed. ¡°We corner it. You distract, I grab.¡±


    ¡°Oh, great plan,¡± Vincent muttered. ¡°What do I look like, bait?¡±


    Before I could argue, the dwende lobbed a handful of what looked like sawdust directly at Vincent¡¯s face.


    He screamed, flailing. ¡°It¡¯s in my mouth! It¡¯s in my mouth!¡±


    Seizing the moment, I grabbed a nearby broom and poked at the dwende¡¯s perch. It dodged, cackling, and leapt to another shelf, knocking over a can of paint thinner in the process.


    ¡°Stop laughing, you little gremlin!¡± I shouted, swiping at it again.


    The chase continued in the cramped shed. At one point, Vincent grabbed a jar and tried to throw it, only to miss and accidentally break a window.


    ¡°That¡¯s coming out of your paycheck,¡± I deadpanned.


    ¡°I don¡¯t work for you!¡± he snapped.


    Finally, the dwende made a mistake. It tried to climb a precarious stack of boxes, only for the whole pile to collapse under its weight. With a surprised yelp, it tumbled to the ground, the severed legs scattering out of its grip.


    ¡°Gotcha!¡± I yelled, diving forward with the jar.


    The dwende tried to scramble away, but Vincent, still furious about the sawdust incident, tackled it with surprising enthusiasm.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Not so fast, you little nightmare!¡± he shouted, holding it down as I clamped the jar over its squirming body.


    We both sat back, panting and covered in dirt. The dwende banged angrily against the glass, its tiny fists shaking in frustration.


    ¡°You think this thing works for her?¡± Vincent asked, eyeing the jar warily.


    ¡°Probably,¡± I said, wiping sweat from my brow. ¡°They¡¯re tricky like that.¡±


    ¡°Well, tricky or not, it¡¯s not laughing now,¡± Vincent muttered, glaring at the creature.


    I glanced at the severed legs, then at the jar, then at Vincent. ¡°Now, let¡¯s finish this before her top half finds us again.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Vincent said, groaning as he stood. ¡°But next time, you¡¯re the bait.¡±


    With the legs salted and garlic¡¯d, and the dwende safely contained, we made our way out of the lot, ready to face whatever the shadows threw at us next.


    The severed legs sat unnervingly still as Vincent and I prepared the salts and garlic. I poured a hefty dose into my palm, grimacing as the pungent smell hit my nose.


    ¡°This better work,¡± Vincent muttered, standing a cautious step behind me. ¡°If those things start moving, I¡¯m out.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t move,¡± I assured him, though my voice lacked conviction. ¡°They don¡¯t need to. Just watch.¡±


    I scattered the salt and garlic over the pale, sinewy flesh. At first, nothing happened. The silence was deafening, broken only by Vincent¡¯s nervous foot tapping.


    Then the legs began to writhe.


    The skin bubbled like boiling water, black veins crawling to the surface as if something sinister was trying to escape. The smell of burnt flesh and rot filled the air, and Vincent gagged, turning his head away.


    ¡°Holy¡ªwhat is that?¡± he gasped, his face twisted in horror.


    The legs twisted unnaturally, their form slowly collapsing in on itself. A viscous black liquid oozed from the melting remains, hissing as it touched the salted ground. Bones snapped audibly, splintering into fragments that dissolved like sugar in hot water.


    ¡°Yep. Definitely worse than the crime scene,¡± I muttered, holding my breath as the last remnants dissolved into an oily puddle.


    Vincent covered his mouth and nose with his shirt, his face pale. ¡°Is it¡­ dead-dead now?¡±


    ¡°Dead-dead,¡± I confirmed, stepping back. ¡°Without its other half, it¡¯s done for.¡±


    As the eerie silence settled again, we turned to the jar holding the dwende. The little creature sulked in the glass, its once-mischievous grin replaced by a pout.


    Vincent peered at it and smirked. ¡°Well, at least that guy isn¡¯t melting.¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± I quipped, earning a scandalized squeak from the dwende.


    Back at the Karinderya


    The small eatery was still lively when we returned, its warm yellow lights and the smell of grilled food a stark contrast to the grim scene we¡¯d left behind. Lola sat at one of the plastic tables, tapping her fingers impatiently against a plate of half-eaten pancit.


    ¡°There you two are!¡± she barked the moment we stepped inside. ¡°Do you know how long I¡¯ve been waiting? You didn¡¯t even leave money for the food!¡±


    Vincent groaned, rubbing his temples. ¡°Lola, we had an emergency.¡±


    ¡°An emergency?!¡± she shot back, standing up. ¡°Do you know how embarrassing it is to sit here like some freeloader, waiting for two men who ran off in the middle of dinner?¡±


    I held up my hands defensively. ¡°Lola, we didn¡¯t mean to leave you hanging. It¡¯s just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Just what?¡± she interrupted.


    Vincent opened his mouth, but I shot him a warning look. No way we were dragging her into this mess.


    ¡°It¡¯s just that Vincent got sick,¡± I lied smoothly. ¡°Too much pancit. We had to find a pharmacy.¡±


    Lola raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. ¡°And you didn¡¯t think to come back for me after?¡±


    Vincent, who was halfway through pulling out his wallet, froze. ¡°You could¡¯ve gone home, you know. We¡¯re grown men. We can commute.¡±


    Lola¡¯s glare could¡¯ve melted steel.


    ¡°Vincent!¡± I hissed, elbowing him. ¡°What he means is that we didn¡¯t want to bother you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sure,¡± she said sarcastically, crossing her arms. ¡°So thoughtful of you.¡±


    As we sat down to smooth things over, the jar with the dwende tucked into my bag gave a sudden, loud rattle.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Lola asked, narrowing her eyes.


    Vincent froze, his eyes darting to me. ¡°Uh, just a loose bottle of water!¡± he blurted.


    ¡°A loose bottle of water?¡± Lola repeated, suspicious.


    ¡°Yep,¡± I said quickly, standing up. ¡°You know, we¡¯ve got a long night ahead, so we should probably get going.¡±


    ¡°Again?¡± Lola sighed, throwing her hands up. ¡°You know what? Fine. But you two owe me. Big time.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll pay you back,¡± I promised, pulling Vincent toward the door.


    ¡°For the pancit?¡± she called after us.


    ¡°For everything!¡± I yelled back.


    As we walked away from the karinderya, Vincent muttered, ¡°You¡¯re the worst liar.¡±


    ¡°Coming from the guy who nearly spilled everything about the dwende?¡± I shot back.


    He groaned. ¡°We need to get rid of that thing. And I need a drink.¡±


    ¡°No drinks,¡± I said firmly. ¡°Not until we figure out what¡¯s going on. That thing in the jar might know more than it¡¯s letting on.¡±


    Vincent sighed, shaking his head. ¡°Fine. But next time, we¡¯re eating somewhere that has actual napkins.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. For all his complaints, Vincent wasn¡¯t going anywhere.


    The manananggal, wounded and weary from her earlier encounter, landed heavily in the forest clearing. Her leathery wings folded around her trembling form as she staggered toward the spot where she¡¯d hidden her lower half. Her claws dug into the soil as she hastened her approach, her sharp breaths mixing with the night¡¯s eerie silence.


    When she reached the area, she froze.


    The ground where her lower half had been hidden was blackened, the grass singed and salted. The faint, acrid smell of burned flesh lingered in the air, cutting through the thick aroma of the forest. In the center of the clearing, only a pile of ash remained, scattered and lifeless under the moonlight.


    ¡°No¡­¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. Her crimson eyes widened in disbelief. She dropped to her knees, the sharp claws on her fingers digging into the dirt as if clawing her way back to reality. ¡°No¡­ they wouldn¡¯t¡­ how could they?¡±


    Her mind raced. These humans she had underestimated them. One possessed not just courage but power, an aura that pulsed with ancient strength. The glow of his tattoo still burned in her memory like a curse.


    As realization dawned on her, her form sagged. She clutched her chest, her breathing shallow and ragged. The knowledge she had uncovered would die with her, and she knew it.


    ¡°The Sacramentum,¡± she hissed, her voice filled with regret. ¡°The one who carries it... the hunter... he walks among us again.¡±


    Her body began to convulse as the absence of her lower half took its toll. A guttural cry tore from her throat as her skin began to sizzle, her essence unraveling like threads of smoke pulled toward the heavens.


    She thought of her brethren, the ones who shared her dark existence. They would never know what she had seen. They would remain blind to the danger that now stalked their kind.


    Her vision blurred, the shadows of the forest closing in around her. Her body turned to ash, carried away by the faint breeze that whispered through the trees.


    With her last fleeting thought, she cursed her weakness. She had failed to report what she knew the identity of the Sacramentum¡¯s possessor. That failure would haunt her final moments, even as her cursed life dissolved into nothingness.

 Sacramentum

    After Vincent and I parted ways, I finally returned to the relative stillness of my apartment. The quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the faint glow of the city lights through the window should have brought some comfort, but my mind was a tempest of memories. The events of the night played over and over in my head: the manananggal''s grotesque transformation, its harrowing screams, and the sinister truth of my grandmother¡¯s stories that I had dismissed for so long.


    I sat on my worn leather chair, staring at the shelf where an old, thick book rested. It was bound in dark leather, its spine cracked from years of existence, and etched into its cover was a script I couldn¡¯t read. My grandfather had given it to me years ago, and he¡¯d always said, ¡°When the time is right, Damien, open it. It will guide you.¡± I¡¯d laughed then, chalking it up to his penchant for spinning tall tales. But now, after everything I¡¯d seen, I wasn¡¯t laughing anymore.


    I picked up the book, its weight grounding me, and traced my fingers over the intricate patterns pressed into the leather. The letters on the cover, written in Baybayin, were unfamiliar to me, but a quick internet search confirmed the name I¡¯d heard whispered tonight: Sacramentum.


    With cautious fingers, I opened the book. The scent of old paper and something faintly herbal wafted up, and I was greeted by page after page of illustrations and ancient text. The first image I saw sent a chill down my spine it was a detailed sketch of a manananggal, eerily similar to the one I had faced. Next to it were notes, small symbols, and what appeared to be a description of its mannerisms, weaknesses, and even the variations of its form.


    I flipped through the pages feverishly. There were drawings of other creatures: tikbalang, tiyanak, aswang. Each page contained information that could have been torn straight out of my grandmother¡¯s bedtime stories stories I¡¯d dismissed as the product of overactive imaginations. But here it was, laid out in painstaking detail: their traits, their dangers, their vulnerabilities.


    The book wasn¡¯t just an encyclopedia of horrors. Among the pages were handsigns and symbols, paired with instructions for spells and protective charms. Some pages described agimats, talismans that carried unique powers. It was a treasure trove of knowledge, yet most of it was locked away from me by the Baybayin script. Learning to decipher it would take time, but something told me I didn¡¯t have the luxury of waiting.


    As I turned the pages, one caught my eye. It was different from the others, glowing faintly as though it were alive. The text seemed to ripple across the page like a living thing. The word Sacramentum was written in bold, looping letters that seemed to beckon me closer. I hesitated but couldn¡¯t resist I reached out and touched the word.


    The moment my fingers brushed the page, a golden light erupted, spilling from the book like liquid sunlight. I cried out, shielding my eyes as the light consumed me. I felt weightless, my body pulled into the blinding brilliance.


    When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my apartment. I floated in an endless expanse of shimmering light and soft, swirling mist. My feet weren¡¯t touching the ground as if there wasn¡¯t a ground. The world around me felt unreal, like a dream.


    And then I saw him.


    A man stood in the distance, his presence commanding even in the vastness of this ethereal plane. He wore garments that reminded me of the ancient depictions of datus which have a richly patterned cloth draped over his shoulders, a belt of intricately carved metal, and beads that gleamed like stars. His stance was proud but not intimidating, his head held high as though he were surveying the heavens themselves.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    He turned his gaze toward me, and I felt a strange pull, as though I knew him somehow, though I couldn¡¯t place where or when. His eyes glimmered with an ageless wisdom, and his face carried the weight of untold stories.


    I tried to speak, to ask who he was or where I was, but no words came out. He raised a hand, and though his lips didn¡¯t move, I felt his voice resonate within me which is a deep, powerful presence that seemed to come from the very air around us.


    And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the vision ended.


    I was back in my apartment, the book still on the table before me. Its pages were normal now, the glow gone as though it had never been. But my hand still tingled where I¡¯d touched the word, and my mind raced with questions. Who was that man? Why did I feel as though I¡¯d seen him before?


    The answers, I realized, were in the book. And perhaps, they were also within me.


    As I changed into my pajamas after a quick shower, I caught a glimpse of my tattoo in the mirror. Something about it was¡­different. I leaned closer, rubbing my eyes as if to clear away some imagined trick of the light. But no, it wasn¡¯t my imagination. The tattoo, once confined to a single section of my arm, now seemed longer, its intricate patterns weaving further down my skin.


    ¡°What the¡­?¡± I muttered, staring at it in disbelief.


    It wasn¡¯t just its length. As I focused on the markings, they began to glow faintly, pulsing like a living thing. A warm sensation spread from the tattoo, not unpleasant but undeniably strange. Suddenly, images flashed in my mind, like fragments of a dream I couldn¡¯t quite grasp.


    The flashes grew more vivid: an ancient bolo, a blade forged in the fires of an era long past. I saw warriors wielding it with precision, their faces resolute as they fought against shadowy figures that felt eerily familiar. Then, as quickly as the images had appeared, they were gone, leaving me gasping for air.


    I stumbled back, gripping the edge of the sink to steady myself. The glowing of the tattoo dimmed, but the impression of the bolo lingered in my mind. It wasn¡¯t just a vision and I knew the incantation to summon it. The words weren¡¯t in English, nor in any language I¡¯d consciously learned, but they were there, etched into my memory as though they¡¯d always been a part of me.


    ¡°I¡¯m losing it,¡± I muttered, shaking my head. But deep down, I couldn¡¯t deny the truth: I wasn¡¯t losing my mind. This was real. And though I didn¡¯t fully understand why, I had the overwhelming sense that I would need that blade in the days to come.


    I sighed, throwing myself onto my bed, but sleep didn¡¯t come easily. My thoughts were a tangle of ancient warriors, glowing tattoos, and the creatures that haunted the night. Just as I was beginning to drift off, I remembered something else it was the anonymous message I¡¯d received earlier.


    As I lay back on my bed, my mind wandered to the message I¡¯d received a few days ago, an anonymous text that had been haunting me since it appeared on my phone.


    ¡°You¡¯re not alone. Some of us were spirited away, others dragged into this nightmare of the supernatural. We need to talk before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    At the time, I¡¯d brushed it off as a prank or some cryptic spam. But now, after everything I¡¯d seen the manananggal, the Sacramentum, the glowing tattoo and I couldn¡¯t ignore it any longer.


    Whoever sent that message wasn¡¯t just guessing. They knew. They had answers, or at least they were involved in something just as bizarre as what I was going through.


    I picked up my phone and opened the message again, my thumb hovering over the reply button. This wasn¡¯t just about curiosity anymore; it was survival. I needed to know more.


    ¡°Who are you, and what do you want to talk about?¡± I typed, then hesitated before sending it.


    I decided to be upfront and added:


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen things. I¡¯ll meet you, but I¡¯m bringing someone with me.¡±


    Satisfied with the response, I hit send and set my phone down, my heart racing as if I¡¯d just set something irreversible into motion.

 A Victims Past

    The cafe, aptly named "But First, Coffee," was buzzing with the steady hum of conversation, the clinking of mugs, and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Vincent and I entered, scanning the sea of people for the person who had been texting me. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with faint traces of vanilla and caramel, a deceptively comforting ambiance for what was bound to be anything but ordinary.


    I spotted her sitting in a corner booth. She was stunning a woman with sharp, elegant features, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like waves of ink. Her confidence radiated even in the way she sipped her coffee, completely unfazed by the crowded surroundings. My gut told me this was her.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Vincent muttered under his breath as we approached the table. ¡°If she¡¯s the one who texted you, I hope she¡¯s single.¡±


    I shot him a glare, but he was already grinning, clearly amused by his own remark.


    As we reached her table, she looked up, her piercing eyes locking onto mine. ¡°Damien, right?¡± she said, her voice smooth and composed.


    ¡°Yes. And you must be...?¡±


    ¡°Lara. Lara Urbano,¡± she replied, gesturing for us to sit.


    Vincent slid into the seat opposite her with a flourish, flashing his most charming smile. ¡°Well, hello, Lara. I have to say, if I¡¯d known the supernatural world included meeting someone as gorgeous as you, I¡¯d have signed up sooner.¡±


    Lara raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. ¡°Charming,¡± she said flatly, turning her attention back to me. ¡°I assume he¡¯s your ¡®plus one¡¯?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Unfortunately, yes. Lara, this is Vincent. He¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°A ruggedly handsome man of many talents,¡± Vincent interrupted, extending his hand. ¡°Nice to meet you.¡±


    Lara ignored the hand and dove straight into the conversation. ¡°So, Damien, you said in your reply that you¡¯ve seen things. Shadow things. I¡¯m guessing that¡¯s not just a metaphor.¡±


    I leaned forward, lowering my voice. ¡°Not a metaphor. I¡¯ve been... dragged into something. The shadow world. I don¡¯t even know how to describe it, but you seem to understand.¡±


    Lara nodded slowly. ¡°More than you know.¡±


    Before she could continue, Vincent leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. ¡°You know, Lara, your eyes remind me of something.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she asked, visibly irritated.


    ¡°The stars. Specifically, the ones I¡¯d get lost in if you¡¯d agree to dinner.¡±


    ¡°Vincent, shut up,¡± I snapped, exasperated.


    Lara rolled her eyes but finally cracked a small, reluctant smile. ¡°Are you always this annoying?¡±


    ¡°Only when I¡¯m awake,¡± Vincent quipped.


    Lara turned back to me, ignoring him again. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure if I should even come here today. But you seemed genuine. And after what I¡¯ve been through, I figured it was worth the risk to talk to someone who might actually believe me.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°We believe you. Trust me. Whatever you¡¯ve been through, it¡¯s probably not far off from what I¡¯ve seen.¡±


    Lara leaned back in her seat, her gaze distant as she began her story. ¡°It happened a few months ago. I was walking home late at night. I live in Quezon City, not exactly a quiet place, but this particular street was... off. The streetlights were dim, flickering like a bad horror movie. I thought maybe it was just a random blackout, but something felt wrong. The air felt heavy, like I was being watched.¡±


    She paused, her fingers tightening around her coffee mug.


    ¡°I started hearing footsteps behind me. At first, I thought it was just some holdaper, you know? Someone trying to scare me into giving up my bag. But when I turned around, it wasn¡¯t a person.¡± Her voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°It was a creature. Its face was twisted, almost human but not. And its tongue long and sharp, like a blade was flicking in the air as if it could taste my fear.¡±


    Vincent¡¯s usual smirk faded. ¡°Holy... That¡¯s... graphic.¡±


    Lara shot him a look but continued. ¡°I ran. I didn¡¯t even think, I just ran and screamed. But no one came. No lights turned on, no doors opened. It was like I¡¯d fallen into a void where no one could hear me. And then it caught me.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    She closed her eyes, her voice trembling slightly. ¡°Its claws raked across my shoulder, and I fell. I thought that was it and that I was going to die. The last thing I remember was it leaning over me, its tongue inches from my face. And then... darkness.¡±


    ¡°What happened next?¡± I asked, leaning forward.


    ¡°When I woke up, I was in some kind of cave,¡± Lara said, her voice steadier now. ¡°It smelled like death. Bones were scattered everywhere there are human bones. I could hear someone screaming, but I couldn¡¯t see them. It was pitch black, except for the faint glow of moonlight coming through cracks in the cave walls.¡±


    She shuddered. ¡°I thought I was done for. But then I heard something a commotion, like gunfire in the distance. The screams stopped. When I finally crawled toward the sound, I found the creature lying dead on the ground. It had a bullet wound in its head, and when I got closer, I saw this.¡±


    Lara reached into her bag and pulled out a small, tarnished object. She placed it on the table, and Vincent and I leaned in to get a closer look.


    It was a bullet, its tip silver and slightly deformed from impact.


    ¡°Silver?¡± I guessed, picking it up carefully.


    Lara nodded. ¡°It was lodged in the creature¡¯s skull. Whoever shot it saved my life, but I never saw them. I just ran.¡±


    Vincent whistled softly. ¡°Well, that¡¯s one hell of a story. And here I thought my worst date was bad.¡±


    ¡°Vincent, not now,¡± I said, pocketing the bullet. ¡°Lara, thank you for sharing this. It matches up with a lot of what I¡¯ve seen. This... shadow world I think it¡¯s real. And it¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    She nodded solemnly. ¡°I know. That¡¯s why I reached out. Whatever¡¯s going on, we need to figure it out before more people get hurt.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± I said, glancing at Vincent, who was now making heart eyes at Lara. ¡°And Vincent, please try to focus.¡±


    ¡°Focusing,¡± he said, sitting up straight. ¡°But just for the record, I¡¯m still free for dinner.¡±


    Lara groaned, but this time she didn¡¯t seem entirely annoyed.


    Lara leaned forward, her expression darkening as she continued her story. "When I finally got out of that cave, I thought I¡¯d be safe. But what I saw outside..." Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t anywhere I¡¯d ever been before. The air was thick, stifling. The sky was this sickly red, like it was bleeding, and the ground...¡± She shook her head. ¡°It was covered in corpses. Not human corpses at least, not entirely. There were these creatures everywhere, twisted and monstrous. Some of them were half-decayed, others looked like they¡¯d been freshly killed. And the stench...¡± She broke off, clutching her stomach as if the memory itself was enough to make her sick.


    Damien leaned in, his tone suddenly sharp. ¡°The creature in the cave. Did it have a long tongue? Sharp claws? Almost bat-like features?¡±


    Lara nodded slowly, her brow furrowed. ¡°Yes. That¡¯s exactly what it looked like.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a tiktik,¡± Damien said grimly. ¡°They¡¯re a kind of aswang, a manananggal variant. Their tongue is used to suck the life out of their victims, usually pregnant women or those close to death.¡±


    Lara shuddered, her hands tightening around her coffee cup. ¡°I thought it was bad in the cave, but outside... it was like hell itself. I panicked. I cried. I screamed for help, even though I knew no one would hear me. And then, in the middle of all that despair, I saw something.¡±


    ¡°What was it?¡± Vincent asked, his usual humor absent for once.


    ¡°It was this... thing. A black, glowing... I don¡¯t even know what to call it. A portal, maybe? It was just floating there, like it didn¡¯t belong in that place. And for some reason, I felt drawn to it. Like it was my only way out.¡±


    ¡°What did you do?¡± Damien asked, though he already suspected the answer.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice,¡± Lara said. ¡°I ran to it and stepped through. The next thing I knew, I was back in Manila, in a dark alley. It was as if no time had passed, but everything felt... off. Like I wasn¡¯t really back, even though I was.¡±


    She paused, her gaze distant. ¡°I went straight to the police station. I thought someone would help me, that they¡¯d believe me. But they didn¡¯t. They accused me of being crazy, told me to go home and sleep it off. One of them even laughed when I started crying.¡±


    ¡°Typical,¡± Damien muttered under his breath.


    ¡°So,¡± Lara continued, ¡°I started posting online. Just small things at first, asking if anyone else had seen strange things or experienced... whatever it was I went through. And eventually, I started hearing from others. People who had their own stories. People like me, who¡¯d been taken or attacked by these creatures and lived to tell the tale. That¡¯s how I found you.¡±


    Damien nodded, but before he could respond, Lara added, ¡°There was one time, though, when I almost didn¡¯t make it. It was after I started meeting these people, sharing stories. I¡¯d gone to meet someone, a woman who claimed she¡¯d been attacked by a kapre. On my way back, I ran into this man. At first, he seemed normal. Friendly, even. But then... he changed.¡±


    ¡°Changed how?¡± Vincent asked, his curiosity piqued.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t human,¡± Lara said, her voice trembling. ¡°He was pretending to be. I could see it in his eyes, they went black, like pools of ink. And then he grabbed me.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± Damien pressed.


    ¡°I was lucky,¡± Lara said, her tone bitter. ¡°Since then, I always carry an electric gun for protection, and I used it. He screamed like a banshee and let me go. I ran as fast as I could, not stopping until I reached a crowded area. That¡¯s why I only meet people in places like this now. Places where there are witnesses.¡±


    Vincent leaned back, a smirk returning to his face. ¡°Smart move. Though I can¡¯t blame the guy for pretending. If I were a creature of the shadows, I¡¯d probably want to get close to you too.¡±


    Lara glared at him, but Damien quickly interjected. ¡°That¡¯s horrifying. But it also confirms what I¡¯ve been seeing and this isn¡¯t random. These things are out there, blending in with us, and they¡¯re getting bolder.¡±


    Lara nodded. ¡°That¡¯s why I reached out. We can¡¯t ignore this. Not anymore.¡±


    Damien exchanged a look with Vincent, who shrugged. ¡°Guess we¡¯re in it now,¡± Damien said. ¡°Together.¡±


    Vincent raised his coffee cup in a mock toast. ¡°To not dying horribly.¡±


    Lara rolled her eyes but couldn¡¯t hide the small smile that tugged at her lips. For a moment, the weight of their conversation lifted, replaced by a glimmer of camaraderie. But deep down, they all knew this was only the beginning.

 Clue to the murders?

    The air grew heavy with unease as I felt a piercing gaze boring into me, a presence far more sinister than mere curiosity. My eyes darted to the corner of the coffee shop where a man sat, seemingly engrossed in a newspaper. But something was off his stiff posture, the paper held upside down, and the way his eyes flicked over the top toward us betrayed his intentions. My instincts kicked in, and I approached him, confronting him outright. He denied everything, his voice shaky, but the tension snapped when he bolted for the door. Without hesitation, I gave chase, weaving through the crowded streets as he darted around corners like a shadow. My heart pounded as I finally closed the distance, only to lose him when he turned a corner and vanished into thin air. It was as if he¡¯d evaporated, leaving me standing there, baffled and winded.


    Lara and Vincent caught up moments later, panting and confused. I explained the encounter, my voice tinged with frustration. "Someone was watching us, listening in. We need to be careful this isn¡¯t just coincidence anymore." Their faces mirrored my concern, but before we could dive deeper, my phone buzzed. Lola was on the other end, her tone grave.


    ¡°There¡¯s another suspect tied to the murders,¡± she said. ¡°A man named Manalo. Ex-convict. Big guy, intimidating. They called him ¡®The Headsquasher¡¯ in prison for a reason. Someone bailed him out recently¡ªrich guy. Suspicious, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The name sent a jolt through me. Manalo. I knew him. Years ago, he¡¯d been accused of a brutal crime, his reputation cemented by his hulking frame and the whispers of prison legend. Yet something about his case had never sat right with me. Back then, I lacked the experience to dig deeper, to see the man beneath the rumors. But now...


    If Manalo had connections to the shadowy events gripping the city, I couldn¡¯t afford to ignore it. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re going to the skwater area,¡± I said, already planning my approach. Vincent groaned in protest, but Lara¡¯s steely gaze told me she was ready. Whatever dark truths awaited us, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that we were getting closer to something far bigger and far deadlier than we¡¯d imagined.


    The neon lights of the bar flickered against the humid night air, illuminating the cracked pavement and the hazy smog hanging over the skwater area. The pounding bass of music grew louder as Vincent and I approached the entrance. Lara had parted ways with us earlier, saying she needed to head home and process everything we¡¯d discussed.


    ¡°She¡¯s probably having second thoughts about getting involved,¡± Vincent muttered, adjusting his collar. ¡°Smart choice. Unlike us, plunging headfirst into this mess.¡±


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°She¡¯s brave. More than you, playboy.¡±


    ¡°Brave? Please. I could handle ten of those monsters if they came at me right now,¡± Vincent boasted, flexing slightly.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t embarrass yourself in there,¡± I replied, exasperated.


    As we entered, the smoky, dim-lit bar was alive with energy. Men in leather jackets leaned against the walls, women with smudged eyeliner laughed at tables, and bartenders slung drinks with practiced efficiency. The air smelled of cheap booze and sweat, a mix that clung to the walls like a second skin.


    Near the entrance stood Manalo, his hulking frame unmistakable. His sheer size made him an intimidating presence, but his smile was disarming, genuine even. When he saw me, his face lit up with recognition.


    ¡°Damien,¡± he said, his deep voice cutting through the noise like a knife. ¡°Been a while. Figured you¡¯d find your way here eventually.¡±


    I extended a hand, which he clasped firmly. ¡°Manalo. Good to see you. How¡¯s your mom?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s good,¡± he said, his voice softening. ¡°Thanks to you. She thinks the help we¡¯ve been getting is from me. But I know who deserves the credit.¡±


    ¡°You earned it,¡± I replied, my tone sincere. ¡°I always knew you were innocent.¡±


    Manalo¡¯s expression darkened slightly. ¡°Not everyone believed that. But you... your gut was right. What do you need from me?¡±


    I leaned in, lowering my voice. ¡°There¡¯s been a lot going on. You¡¯re being tied to the serial murders happening in the city. I don¡¯t believe it for a second, but if you¡¯ve seen or heard anything anything at all, it could help clear your name and get us closer to stopping this.¡±


    Manalo sighed heavily, glancing around the bar. ¡°There is something. The guy who bailed me out... he wasn¡¯t just some random rich dude. He offered me a job in delivering a suitcase to an abandoned building. When I got there, it wasn¡¯t just any old drop-off. There were men there... strange men, dressed in robes and muttering things I couldn¡¯t understand. They gave me the creeps, like they were sizing me up to eat me.¡±


    ¡°Eat you?¡± Vincent interrupted, raising an eyebrow. ¡°You sure this wasn¡¯t just a weird dinner party?¡±


    Manalo ignored him, continuing, ¡°Their boss stepped in. He told them to back off, and they did like he had some kind of control over them. If he hadn¡¯t, I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d be here talking to you.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    I leaned closer. ¡°Who is this boss? Do you know his name?¡±


    Manalo shook his head. ¡°No. But I know where you might find him. He¡¯s connected to a place. Here.¡± He scribbled an address on a napkin and handed it to me. ¡°Be careful, Damien. This isn¡¯t something you should dig into lightly.¡±


    I pocketed the napkin. ¡°If I don¡¯t, more people will die. I can¡¯t let that happen.¡±


    As we wrapped up the conversation, a loud commotion erupted from the other side of the bar. I turned to see Vincent of course, and  Vincent who was standing in the middle of a circle of angry-looking men, his face flushed.


    ¡°What the hell is he doing now?¡± I muttered, heading toward the chaos.


    Apparently, Vincent had decided to ¡°charm¡± a group of women sitting at the bar, showering them with over-the-top compliments and declarations of his supposed wealth. Unfortunately for him, one of the women¡¯s boyfriends, a mountain of a man with tattoos covering his arms had taken offense. Now, Vincent was gesturing wildly, trying to talk his way out of a fight.


    ¡°Look, I didn¡¯t know she was taken!¡± Vincent said, backing up. ¡°But hey, compliments are free, right? No harm done!¡±


    The boyfriend cracked his knuckles. ¡°You trying to steal her, pretty boy?¡±


    ¡°No, no, no! Just appreciating the view! You know, like a fine art exhibit¡ª¡±


    The man lunged, but Vincent darted behind a table, upending drinks and eliciting shouts of protest from nearby patrons.


    I stepped in, raising my hands. ¡°Alright, everyone, calm down. Vincent, stop antagonizing people.¡±


    ¡°Antagonizing? I¡¯m the victim here!¡± Vincent protested from behind a chair.


    Manalo stepped forward, towering over the boyfriend. ¡°Hey. This guy¡¯s with me. Let it go.¡±


    The boyfriend hesitated, glancing at Manalo, and then backed off with a grunt. ¡°Fine. Keep your clown on a leash.¡±


    Vincent straightened his jacket, grinning sheepishly. ¡°See? All part of the plan.¡±


    I glared at him. ¡°Next time, I¡¯m letting you handle it alone.¡±


    As we left the bar, Manalo gave me a final warning. ¡°Be careful, Damien. And keep an eye on him,¡± he added, nodding toward Vincent.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying,¡± I replied, exhausted. ¡°I¡¯m really trying.¡±


    As we stepped out of the bar, the night was heavy with tension. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional flicker of a streetlamp and the distant hum of a tricycle engine. Vincent was still preening after his ¡°victory¡± in avoiding a fight inside.


    ¡°You see that, Damien? Smooth as silk,¡± Vincent said, gesturing dramatically. ¡°They didn¡¯t stand a chance against my diplomacy.¡±


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°Diplomacy? You mean hiding behind a chair until Manalo saved you?¡±


    He waved me off. ¡°Details, details.¡±


    We were halfway to our rides when a shadowy group of figures emerged from an alley. At first, I thought they were just passersby, but as they drew closer, I recognized them the tattooed, angry, and armed men with glinting balisongs. The boyfriend from earlier was leading the pack, his expression twisted with rage.


    ¡°Well, well, look who¡¯s still hanging around,¡± he sneered. ¡°You think you can embarrass me in front of my girl and just walk away?¡±


    Vincent froze, his bravado quickly evaporating. ¡°Uh, Damien, I think they want a rematch. You got this, right?¡±


    I stepped forward, my body tense but ready. ¡°We don¡¯t want any trouble,¡± I said calmly. ¡°Walk away while you still can.¡±


    The man laughed coldly, flipping his balisong open with a practiced flourish. ¡°You¡¯re the one who¡¯s gonna be walking away in pieces.¡±


    The first attacker lunged, his blade aiming for my side. Years of training with my father kicked in instinctively. I sidestepped, grabbing his wrist mid-swing and twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the ground, and with a quick elbow to his temple, he crumpled to the pavement.


    Two more men charged at me from opposite sides. I ducked under the wild swing of one and landed a solid punch to his ribs, feeling the satisfying crack of bone beneath my fist. Spinning on my heel, I blocked the second man¡¯s blade with my forearm, then delivered a sharp knee to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.


    ¡°Whoa, Damien! You didn¡¯t tell me you were Bruce Lee¡¯s long-lost cousin!¡± Vincent shouted, clearly impressed but doing nothing to help.


    ¡°Less talking, more running!¡± I snapped, dodging another strike.


    The fight was relentless. One of the attackers managed to slash at my shoulder, the blade grazing my skin and drawing a thin line of blood. I hissed in pain but retaliated with a roundhouse kick that sent him sprawling into a pile of garbage bags.


    Another man tried to grab me from behind, but I threw my head back, smashing it into his nose with a sickening crunch. He staggered away, cursing and clutching his face.


    Just as I was gaining the upper hand, I heard Vincent scream.


    ¡°Damien! Help!¡± he yelled.


    I turned to see Vincent held at knifepoint by the boyfriend, who had one arm wrapped around his neck and the other pressing the blade against his throat.


    ¡°Alright, tough guy,¡± the man growled. ¡°Drop the act, or your friend gets it.¡±


    Vincent, despite the danger, couldn¡¯t resist a quip. ¡°I¡¯m not his friend. I barely know the guy. You¡¯re making a huge mistake!¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± the man barked, tightening his grip.


    ¡°Damien!¡± Vincent called out again, his voice rising in panic. ¡°Do something! Preferably something heroic!¡±


    I assessed the situation quickly. The other men were either unconscious or too dazed to pose an immediate threat, but this guy wasn¡¯t bluffing. I needed a distraction.


    That¡¯s when I spotted a loose rock on the ground near my foot. It wasn¡¯t big, but it was heavy enough.


    Keeping my movements slow and deliberate, I bent down as if surrendering, pretending to reach for the dropped balisong from earlier. The man smirked, thinking he had the upper hand.


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna regret...¡± he started, but he didn¡¯t finish.


    With a sharp flick of my wrist, I hurled the rock at his head. It hit its mark with a dull thud, and the man¡¯s grip on Vincent slackened as he stumbled backward, dazed.


    ¡°Nice shot!¡± Vincent exclaimed, prying himself free and scrambling out of reach. ¡°You should join a baseball team.¡±


    The boyfriend tried to recover, but I was on him in an instant. A quick jab to his throat and a sweeping kick to his legs sent him crashing to the ground. I pressed my foot against his chest, pinning him down.


    ¡°This is your last chance,¡± I said, my voice cold and unwavering. ¡°Stay down.¡±


    He glared up at me, breathing heavily, but the fight had left him. With a nod, I stepped back, letting him crawl away into the shadows.


    Vincent dusted himself off, shaking his head. ¡°Well, that was... invigorating.¡±


    ¡°You mean terrifying,¡± I replied, wiping the blood from my shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here before they come back.¡±


    As we walked away, Vincent couldn¡¯t help himself. ¡°You know, I think I handled that pretty well. Great teamwork, right?¡±


    I shot him a look. ¡°Next time, you¡¯re on your own.¡±


    ¡°Noted,¡± he said, grinning. ¡°But I¡¯d still prefer if you saved me. It¡¯s kind of your thing now.¡±

 Night chase

    The following night, I arrived at the address Manalo had given me. The area was desolate, shrouded in an unnatural stillness. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally long, and the air carried an oppressive weight, as though the place itself warned me to turn back. Every instinct screamed at me to leave, but my determination outweighed my fear.


    I approached the dilapidated building, its door barely hanging on rusted hinges. My hand hesitated for a moment before I pushed it open, the creak echoing through the hollow structure. The metallic scent of blood hit me instantly, sharp and nauseating.


    Inside, the sight that greeted me turned my stomach and sent a bolt of fury through my veins. The scene was macabre, almost theatrical in its cruelty. Severed arms dangled from chains like grotesque ornaments, while legs jutted out of a broken crate like discarded firewood. Other body parts were strewn across the floor, half-hidden in pools of congealed blood.


    But the centerpiece of this horrific tableau was what broke me. In the middle of the room, mounted on a crude pedestal, were two severed heads, it was Manalo¡¯s and his mother¡¯s. Their lifeless eyes stared into nothingness, frozen in an expression of terror that mirrored the pit of rage and regret boiling inside me.


    My knees buckled for a moment, but I steadied myself. This wasn¡¯t just a warning, it was a declaration. Someone wanted me to know the cost of poking around where I didn¡¯t belong. But they had made a grave miscalculation.


    I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms until they drew blood. "Manalo," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of sorrow and fury. "You deserved better. Both of you did."


    The overwhelming grief ignited something inside me, something primal. This wasn¡¯t just about the supernatural anymore, it was about the cruelty of people who thought they could get away with playing gods.


    "I¡¯ll find them," I vowed aloud, my voice echoing through the hollow building. "Whether they¡¯re monsters or men, I¡¯ll find them. And they¡¯ll regret ever crossing me."


    The air seemed to grow colder as I left the building, my resolve steeling with every step. Manalo had been a good man, caught in a web far darker than I could have anticipated. Now, it was up to me to untangle it. No matter what it took.


    I stepped outside the building, the cold night air doing little to quell the storm raging inside me. My hands trembled, not from fear, but from barely contained fury. The flickering streetlights outside only added to the oppressive atmosphere, casting dancing shadows that felt almost alive, mocking me. I couldn¡¯t get the image of Manalo and his mother out of my head. This wasn¡¯t just murder, it was a message.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    I scanned my surroundings, expecting something or someone to emerge from the shadows. My instincts were sharper than ever, honed by years of street brawls and survival. Every sound, every shift in the darkness, felt amplified. The city, always alive with noise, seemed eerily quiet here. It was as if this part of town had been abandoned by even the most desperate souls.


    I walked back to my motorcycle parked a block away, the rhythmic sound of my boots against the pavement grounding me. But my mind churned, replaying the gruesome scene and Manalo¡¯s last words. He had trusted me, given me a lead, and in return, he and his mother paid the ultimate price.


    As I mounted the bike, I glanced back at the building one last time. Something caught my eye, a faint glimmer from one of the windows. Someone was watching. Without hesitation, I revved the engine, pretending not to notice. My heart pounded in my chest as I drove off into the night.


    I didn¡¯t head straight home. Instead, I took a convoluted route, weaving through alleyways and backstreets. Whoever was watching me might decide to follow, and I wasn¡¯t about to lead them to my doorstep. I stopped under a bridge, killed the engine, and waited in the shadows. My senses were on high alert, my breathing steady.


    Minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Finally, I saw movement, a sleek black car idling a block away, its headlights off. My gut twisted. Someone had followed me.


    They were careful, patient, but so was I. I waited, letting the silence stretch, testing their resolve. When the car started creeping forward, I swung back onto the bike, kicked the engine to life, and roared into the night.


    The chase was on.


    I led them through the city¡¯s maze-like streets, pushing my bike to its limits. The wind whipped against my face, the roar of the engine drowning out my pounding heartbeat. The car behind me wasn¡¯t backing off. Whoever they were, they were determined.


    I veered into a narrow alley, tires screeching as I slid into the turn. The car hesitated and it was too big to follow me here. I heard its engine rev as it sped past the alley entrance, searching for another route.


    I cut the engine and waited in the shadows, my chest heaving. The sound of the car faded into the distance. After a few minutes, I exhaled, the adrenaline still coursing through me.


    When I was sure the coast was clear, I started the bike again and headed home, taking an even more roundabout route this time.


    Back at my apartment, I locked the door, bolted the windows, and sat in the dark, my mind racing. Whoever was behind this, they weren¡¯t just ruthless, they were organized. They had resources, connections, and a network that operated in the shadows.


    I glanced at the Sacramentum book sitting on my desk. The glowing symbol I¡¯d seen earlier flashed in my mind. Maybe the answers I needed were hidden in its pages.


    Manalo¡¯s death wasn¡¯t going to be in vain. If these monsters, supernatural or not, wanted a fight, they¡¯d get one. I wasn¡¯t just hunting them anymore and they were hunting me. But unlike Manalo, I wouldn¡¯t be caught unprepared.


    Let them come. This time, I¡¯d be ready.