#torendheavenandearth

[torendheavenandearth]

no update this week

next update will be friday this week, have to fix some things and write everything down. reqs are tighter this week. hopefully we can go back to regularly posting sched by next week. in the meantime, have a guardian anghel

[torendheavenandearth]

2.6

“‘Great Guro,’ asked the Student to Munsad Buralakaw, Civilization Diwata. ‘Pray tell, and let the ancestors hear: for what purpose do we suffer? For what purpose do we let our fellow men take advantage of us?’

‘Violence for violence’s sake,’ replied Munsad Buralakaw. ‘Man is the only soul capable of it. To inflict evil because they want evil. To inflict good because they want good. Higher concepts become swords, ideals become blades. Man is both divine and infernal, God between the fingertips of Good and Evil, neutrality compromised. For this reason, suffering cannot end.’

‘So, Great Guro, do you say that suffering cannot be removed?’

‘To remove suffering is to remove Man.’

‘Then why must Man persist, if all things are to suffer? Would it not be a greater good to simply end suffering by ending man?’

‘Nay, hangal,’ said Munsad Buralakaw. ‘Persist to ease the suffering of others. Because to remove Man is to remove goodness and joy and hope and love.’” - From The Lost Teachings of the Forgotten Diwata.

▼

Upon that bloody throne, they kissed, short and sweet. “Quick! Before more Guwardya Sibil arrive,” said Lulu, breathlessly. They rushed into the busted open door but--

--Lulu was gone. It was only Qayin, again. It always ends with just me, she thought to herself.

Qayin didn’t even go into the door. She was there again, in that door frame, in that liminal space between within and without. The doors bring me to places… thinks Ang Nilapastangan. Do I dare…?

She was already halfway in. If she were to back out now, then it would be a horrible waste of life, now wouldn’t it?

With a breath, Qayin stepped through, and she was there.

She was there at the end of all things.

Again.

Again.

▼

She didn’t think she could do it. She didn’t think she could do it all over again, but there she was.

It’s not fair, Ang Nilapastangan said to herself, her words echoing into white void. She’d come to terms with this. She’d accepted this part of her. She’d accepted that this had happened, that all of this was in the past, it was part of who she was, it was part of her name, it was part of the broken sword that formed her soul.

Why then, was she still so scared? Why then was she still so unsure? Why, then, was she still so angry? Why was she still filled with regret?

Remember what happened here, Qayin, Ang Nilapastangan spoke to her past, but her past does not listen, for the past is not the present and never will be. Always ever-fading memories, stuck in that twilight dream of never-happened and must-have-happened.

Qayin stepped forward. She was in the middle of a sea. A sea that reflected only white sky. And there, in front of her, was God.

Demonyong Bakulaw was in his Dimunyu form. He had revealed to them that he was not simply a demon or a sitan, but he was a Dimunyu, one of the original satan-kings that sided with SANLIBUTAN in his rebellion against his grandfather, MAYKAPAL, the BATALA. In his Dimunyu form, his corpus melted away and vomited a burning serpent-gorilla, with seven-hundred and seven hands, wielding weapons half the length of the sky. His face was that of a gorilla’s but he sported a mane like a lion and whiskers of a dragon. With his sky-rending weapons he faced off against God, this God being DYOSVETA, God the Father.

He was not winning, but his bravado was enough. “I’ve faced off against the Creator!” Demonyong Bakulaw roared. “I am YAWANG BAKULAW DAOTAN, and you will fall by my rebellion!”

In that liminal space, that non-existent yet everpresent space of sea-sky, the demon ape faced off against God the Father. DYOSVETA’s countenance was that of a true demon sky god: a great humanoid lion, with skin of marble clouds, and lightning running down the length of his body. His wings numbered in infinities, and his face was a sculpted marble bearded figure in a perpetual scowl. He had a crown of fire and light, which had been impossibly frozen into a perfect shape, one that resembled a king’s crown and or a sword impaled upon his head.

He wore an armor of angels, and his sword was demonkind melted together in an ever-wailing mass, and was called ATONEMENT. His shield was the sternums of men sewn together, with their still-beating hearts turned into embellishments, turned into roses, and it was called MERCY.

“I come unto you with a form you may decipher with your misunderstanding eyes,” said DYOSVETA. “Now kneel before the Sky.”

Lulu was spent. Her single golden-agimat arm was falling apart, the burning red lights running up its length fading in glow. Her eyepatch had been cut, revealing her missing eye. Qayin knelt next to her, holding her by her shoulders. “Lulu! We have to go!”

“No, Qayin! Remember what we said!” She grasped Qayin’s hand, which was wielding the Soul Eater. “Use it. Use my Gahum.”

Qayin knew what that meant, and she shook her head. “No. Lulu, I can’t.”

“You can. You have to. Become the winner of the Hagdanan, Yinnie. Please.”

Qayin opened her mouth to say something, but her throat tightened up, and she couldn’t choke the words out of her mouth. She was crying, and her tears were blood. “I can’t.” When she said it, it was weak, fractured, broken. Non-words.

“You can,” said Lulu, and her conviction was true.

Demonyong Bakulaw skidded onto his knees and caught the fierce sword strike of DYOSVETA with his arms. His soulstuff, his Kalag, was failing, dissipating, but his scowl never left. “Never let your anger for God fade,” he would always say.

“Lulu--”

Lulu reached up and kissed Qayin wholly in her mouth. A full kiss. A desperate kiss. A final kiss.

And then, as she did so many times before, she guided Qayin’s hand. “I love you,” said Lulu, and they both wept crimson.

Qayin, only with the help of Lulu's own hand, impaled the tamawo woman's chest. “I love you,” replied Qayin, but she couldn’t say the words, so she only mouthed them. Lulu crumbled with her fingers trailing Qayin’s cheeks, trying to wipe away her tears one last time.

Lulu failed, of course, and her hand simply fell to the side. She fell limp.

But in her death, the Soul Eater grew more powerful. The Soul Eater was, in truth, a simple sword. It had the shape of a kampilan, with the difference being the eye that grew at the pommel, held in place by the Bakunawa jaw that was kept open. It also had veins running up the length of its blade, as if it were alive, but it was not.

The blade felt heavy in Qayin’s hands as she rose to her feet, staring at the now dead Lulu. Who thought her final resting place would be here, in the end of all things?

Qayin turned around and readied to face God, DYOSVETA, the Father.

When she turned around, DYOSVETA’s face was there, and his sword was ready. Demonyong Bakulaw was dead, nothing but a lump of meat and Kalag upon the sea-sky. DYOSVETA swung his sword, but Qayin parried it away in the heat of battle. She could only see red. She broke DYOSVETA’s ATONEMENT.

She became the Swordbreaker. And with that, Qayin raised her blade and brought it down.

God was Cut.

But without another word, DYOSVETA summoned BLASPHEMER, spear made up of coagulated darkness and the sound of weeping rebellious angels being tortured for eternity. In a space quicker than an instant, the BLASPHEMER was through Qayin’s skull.

“Hesitation leads to death,” spoke DYOSVETA, and Qayin was BLASPHEMED, again and again, until she was thrown out of the End of All Things and left to die upon the wet ground of a random barangay in the middle of the Archipelago.

Her head was punctured, riddled by god-holes, and for her heresy she was laid down onto the muddy ground, never to reach the heights that she did. She failed her friends. She failed Bakulaw. She failed Lulu. She failed herself. She thought she was ready, she thought that surely, this time, she would be able to deal some kind of blow against the Tyrant of Crimson Sky, but no. She failed, she died, and she was going to lie down there, upon the mud ground, as the rain began to patter.

A man and his wife walked up to her and carried her into their house. They were talking, Qayin knew, but she didn’t know what they were saying. Her memory was hazy, her hearing blurred and unfocused.

All she remembered was that, as they were mending the wounds that they could--and called for a mananambal to heal the rest (the God-driven spikes into her head, the hatred of god lashed across her back)--they asked for her name, and she responded: “Ang Nilapastangan.”

Apparently, her story had already begun spreading from there. From the people that saw her--watched her--literally descend from heaven like a hated lightning bolt. When it got out that her name was Ang Nilapastangan, she was cemented upon the fabric of the universe. She became one of the Karanduun, one of the few that the masses and the oppressed and the countryside would tell stories about in their darkest nights.

“Swordbreaker,” they whispered, and deviled-spirits carried their words to the next town, to the next barangay, to Biringan, to the villages and hamlets of the Empire. “The Blasphemed: Ang Nilapastangan. She Who Broke God’s Sword.”

▼

Like a gasp, Ang Nilapastangan is hurled back into the hallway. The blue figure is closer now. Just a door away. A room away. The Pistang Gatusan nga Gabi’i to her left is ending. The greatest of the spirits, the Philippine dragons: crocodiles that swim in the clouds as if the sky was a river, are already making their way through the parade. The crocodiles are always the last, and these giant ones burn with the colors of the four primary elements: of fire, water, earth, and air. The Ninuno of the World.

Ang Nilapastangan turns back to the blue figure, and it’s in front of her. A gaping maw, jaw ripped open, mouth revealing not a throat but another face within it. The face of a smiling woman, eyes blackened with ash poured into her sockets. Blood drips from her lips. “Qayin?” Her tongue seems to savor the word, the secret name of Ang Nilapastangan.

“Yawa,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “Leave me now. I have made my peace with who I was, who I am. You have no power over me.”

The blue figure’s sprouts spider legs, tipped with razor sharp blades and each one with a long proboscis tongue extending from invisible compartments. Her wings sprout from behind her, webbed with blackness. “What makes you think I am Yawa?” and the woman laughed.

Ang Nilapastangan’s eyes narrow, just for an instant, and then she smirks. “Ah, you must forgive me. Sometimes I forget my own stupidity. If you wanted my Gahum, Asuwang, then perhaps you should’ve just asked.”

“Hm?”

“Here.” And Ang Nilapastangan raises her hand, filling it with contained pastel power. The technique she learned from Lulu.

I will never use blades again, thinks Ang Nilapastangan. Like Lulu, I will rend heaven and earth with my own two hands.

With a single punch, she punches the Asuwang away, sending her flurrying back through the endless hallway that they are in. Pastel light streaks from her fist and paints the walls white. The Asuwang, however, lands on the ground and then skitters onto its spider-blade legs.

Ang Nilapastangan raises an eyebrow.

The Asuwang flings itself forward, bladelegs ready to cut, but Ang Nilapastangan steps into the lunge--some of the blades cut into her skin--and grabs the Asuwang’s body, which is now shaped more or less like a serpent-centipede. Ang Nilapastangan whirls around, dragging the Asuwang’s head across the pastel painted wall, and then flings her out of the window.

Ang Nilapastangan’s Gahum ignites as she flings her, and the glass windows shatters as the Asuwang’s body slams against it. The Asuwang flies across forestry, over to where the Pistang Gatos nga Gabi’i is happening.

Ang Nilapastangan turns around and kicks a door down. A normal room. She kicks another one down and there! A staircase. She runs down it, stopping for nothing. It’s a long staircase, much longer than it had any logic being, and she knows that this is not the city hall but the illusionary labyrinth of a madman demon.

As Ang Nilapastangan steps on a step halfway down, the Asuwang explodes into the scene and slams against the staircase and begins scuttling down the steps. Below, a pile of corpses writhing and eating each other grows, rises, and stops Ang Nilapastangan from reaching the ground.

Ang Nilapastangan leaps, bringing her fist up and performing that pastel technique again, this time infused with her most violent Gahum.

In the air, she throws her fist down.

Her Gahum tears through the staircase, obliterating it completely, and the pastel power slams against the pile of corpses, flattening them and sending them flying against the walls. Ang Nilapastangan uses this opportunity to use the midair amalanhig to buffet her fall down to the ground.

Ang Nilapastangan throws the battered amalanhig away from her and stands.

The Asuwang slams down to the ground behind her.

Before Ang Nilapastangan is an opening that led to the open doors of the lobby. There she ses that past the doors of the lobby there’s nothing but more hallway.

“Foolish girl!” screams the Asuwang, and Ang Nilapastangan tilts her head back in both exhaustion and boredom. “You think you can get out? This entire town hall has been given to me by Padre Sangalang to become my fantasy! My reality! You cannot escape for as long as my nightmare-proboscis seeps into your soul!”

Ang Nilapastangan turns. Her punch made a makeshift circular arena for them: flanked and walled off by the mass of writhing corpses and body parts. There, before her, blade-legs clinking against the stone floor, is the Asuwang woman, seemingly in her fully manifested diyablo form: a serpentine centipede, although the little legs are little blades, useless for moving. Eight spider legs, two of them for piercing, all of them made of demon-swords. Her face is, in truth, a shield-mask that hides her true face within her maw. A veil of hair, beautiful and silky, flutters about her as if she’s underwater, and her eleven wings sprout from behind her. The wings seem to be grafted on, since they grow and overwhelm her left side like a tumor.

“Face me, Karanduun!” shrieks the woman. “I am Kinalimutang Birhen ng Walang Hanggang Kasakiman, the Fantasy Arachne Demon, and you will know my name as I eat yours!” She surges forward, four spider blade-legs acting like hydraulic presses. In the next instant she is in the air above Ang Nilapastangan.

Ang Nilapastangan, all this time, has been keeping her Gahum in check. If she didn’t, they’d find her. She’d be a bonfire in the middle of the forest, with night-demons watching all about.

But if she wants to get out of this alive, she has to bring out her Gahum. This is potentially a powerful asuwang, perhaps a Gabunan, an elder, but she isn’t sure. If she holds back, she can die, and with her death will be the beginning of the end.

She takes the attack head on, choosing to let her Gahum burn. Her soul a furnace, she catches Birhen’s lunge and digs her heels to the ground. She is driven back a good few feet from the force of impact, but she manages to catch the attack. Ang Nilapastangan slams the Birhen down to the ground, making sure her faceshield cracks against the stone. The Birhen shrieks, and swings wildly with her spider blade-legs, and Ang Nilapastangan has to leap back to avoid the swings.

Not wild swings, Ang Nilapastangan understands. Those are calculated swings, trying to lop her head and feet off.

With the pressure off of the Birhen, she rises to her feet and, using her wings, takes to the air. Ang Nilapastangan smirks: no way can she be that aerodynamic with that body.

Of course, that thought is immediately broken when the Birhen begins gliding around like a dragon in water, swooping down and cutting with her bladelegs. Ang Nilapastangan is caught by one. It cuts through her skin like a hot knife upon clay. She curses and evades the rest of the attacks.

“For a Karanduun, you are not living up to your reputation!” shrieks the Birhen, flying into a graceful spiral in the air and then turning to face her, coiling her serpent-centipede body.

But, Ang Nilapastangan notices, her mask-shield is cracked, and she smirks.

She leaps up just as the Birhen strikes forward, like lightning. Ang Nilapastangan catches the two blade-legs pointed at her like spears, lifts her feet, and then slams them up against the Birhen’s mask shield.

The Birhen screams. The crack spiderwebs, but it does not shatter. Not yet.

The Birhen flails around, flinging Ang Nilapastangan against the wall. She flips and then slams feet first against it. The corpses beneath her writhe, are crushed by some aftershock.

“You cannot kill me, fool!” yells the Birhen, spiralling in the air again and then launching black javelins at Ang Nilapastangan. Ang Nilapastangan turns to one side and then sprints. The black javelins impale the wall in her wake. Ang Nilapastangan’s every stride is burning crimson as she moves diagonally across the wall, moving to a spot higher than the Birhen.

A black javelin bites at Ang Nilapastangan’s ankle, but it’s negated by a sudden flash of bright red light. No beats missed: Ang Nilapastangan launches herself off the wall, turning into a red lightning bolt heading straight for the Birhen. The Birhen, apparently, sees it coming: she twists her entire body around to avoid the lunge, catches Ang Nilapastangan’s body with her serpent-centipede body, and then flings her down to the ground.

Ang Nilapastangan isn’t going to lie: She felt that one.

She pushes herself off of the ground, just as four javelins impale her hands and feet, pinning her to the ground. Ang Nilapastangan winces, and blood runs down her wounds. She shakes her head and flexes her muscles once, and the javelins shatter.

She pushes herself up again, but as she does, another javelin is sent through her back. Blood splashes up, red blossoming. Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t let herself fall to the ground. She keeps her body off the ground.

And then a great force sends the black javelin down even more, opening her wounds. The Birhen has turned into a modest devotee, a woman with a conservative skirt and with a tapis over that, with a butterfly-sleeved blouse, and a panuelo on her head. Her eyes and hair glow azure, even as her face is a placid mask.

She’s standing on top of the black javelin, driving it deeper.

“Oh, you’re disappointing,” she says, in an infruriatingly patronizing tone.

Ang Nilapastangan bursts.

Inhibitors released. She has to. She knows that if she doesn’t, her sheer luck isn’t going to be enough to save her. She has to bring back the things she’s learned, the skills she’s hidden away deep in the recesses of her soul when she inhibited her Gahum.

But not the weapons that she’s accumulated. Never the weapons.

Karanduun are known to be prone to great shows of brilliance, their faces and skin burning like the sun, their veins like magma. Their hair is like the sky. It was the highest form of visual expression: becoming nature.

Ang Nilapastangan becomes Ang Nilapastangan, the Swordbreaker, the Crimson Bodhisattva Biraddali. Her hair turns into wings, her horns shatter and form into a halo of power. Her eyes burn bright magenta, and her skin turns into the sun-fire hot skin of a demon, liquid steel.

With another flex of her body, she blows the Birhen away. The Birhen slams against the wall.

The javelin is gone now. Ang Nilapastangan is standing now. She tilts her head back and stares at the Birhen.

The Birhen, eyes wide, takes to the air and then shapeshifts back into her serpent-centipede form, her body contracting and then unfolding like cloth thrown to the wind.

Before she can finish her transformation, Ang Nilapastangan is there, above her, fist sent straight down. “Sinagsibat!” Ang Nilapastangan announces, as her fist burns violently with the pastel brush strokes, melting together to create a white-red spear of energy, which she launches straight through the still-shapeshifting Birhen.

The spear-fist sears through some of the newly formed legs of the unfolding cloth. When the Birhen completes her shapeshifting, she has lost 3 of her legs, and 3 of her wings.

She screams. She attacks without abandon now: the Birhen assaults Ang Nilapastangan with her blade-legs. “Spider Rips the Web!”

Ang Nilapastangan parries every attack without a single cut. She catches the last blade leg, turns in the air, and then flings the Birhen straight to the ground. The ground shatters, the debris turns into strands of illusory matter.

It’s breaking apart, Ang Nilapastangan thinks. She knows the truth about this place, however. Some kind of illusory labyrinth, formed by powerful Asuwang sorcery. In the back of her mind, Ang Nilapastangan congratulates the Birhen for putting up such a convincing fever dream. That would mean that the Birhen is truly an adept Asuwang, with many years upon her back.

Unfortunately, it’s time for it to end.

She bends Gahum and impossibly pushes against air, sending her streaking straight down into the earth where the Birhen has fallen. Her fist slams against the Birhen’s now exposed head-tongue, sending a shockwave rattling bones.

Debris and dust kick up as if someone had dropped a cannonball into water. When the dust clears, Ang Nilapastangan is gripping the Birhen’s neck. A vise grip, one that no being in Sansinukob can remove.

However when the dust clears, Ang Nilapastangan sees that it’s not the Birhen she’s strangling with a single, Gahum-burning hand, but Lulu. Her tears are blood, her face that immaculate white again. Her single eye blinking red.

“Q-Qayin…” her breath is ragged. She’s dying again. She’s dying again.

She’s dying again.

Ang Nilapastangan’s grip faltered.

Return to the Table of Contents.

[torendheavenandearth]

1.5

“The world will never be able to be what it once was, before BATALA was killed, before the Trinity came, during the age of heroes and gods. Yawa and Halimaw and sitan rule these lands now. God rules these lands now.” - From The Drunken Teachings of Master Erpat.

▼

Before long, Makabintang jumps back in. He lands on the floor without making any sound. “Bad shit, guys,” he says. “So get this: the entire village of Laurel is swarming with Guwardya Sibil. There are some anghel as well there too. Mostly just Guardian Anghel.”

Ang Nilapastangan rises and curses. “Ah fuck, that’s not a good sign.” She clenches her fist and waits for a bit. She turns to look at Angela, who has more or less already dried her eyes up, although her eyes have gone a bit puffy and red.

Angela rises to her feet. “So? What do we do now?”

“Makabintang, give her a bolo.”

Makabintang runs over to the banig on the floor and pulls a weapon from underneath. A bolo, basic, with a wide and flat blade similar to a machete, and with a handle made of hand-carved wood, sculpted to look like the opening maws of a serpent. 

“Now be careful, this is a real weapon,” says Makabintang, as he walks over and hands it to her. “It’s super sharp, so be careful.”

“Do you have an anting-anting there that she can wear?” adds Ang Nilapastangan.

Makabintang gulps. “Sadly, I do not. It’s why I’m wearing this barote.”

Ang Nilapastangan curses beneath her breath. “All right. All right then, we have to be careful of how we step. Since you can go quietly, Makabintang, you go on ahead. Angela, you stay close to me, got it?”

Angela blinks, staring at the bolo now in her hands. A single thought permeates her thoughts: she has no idea how to fight! Well, there was that one time she took karate when she was younger, and also that time Arnis was taught to them during PE class. Other than that, nothing. She wouldn’t know what to do when it came to the time she had to kill somebody, or at least defend herself. She’d just break down. Simple, normal, everyday living tasks already tear her to pieces, what more of something so stressing as fighting?

Angela grips the handle. Her hands are shaking. She’s trembling.

She nods. “I’m sorry. I… don’t know how to use a bolo.”

“Thwack nasty guwardya in the face,” says Makabintang, making a swinging motion. “Make stabby stabby,” and Makabintang does a stabby stabby motion. “Make sure blood goes splotchy. Got that, school girl?”

Before she can say something back, Makabintang turns to Ang Nilapastangan and tells her that he’ll go first and that they have to go quickly while the morning is still dark. With that, he leaps up through and out of the hole once again.

Angela is still staring at the bolo in her hands. At the blade that is shined and oiled so well that she can see herself within it. Ang Nilapastangan appears in front of her and gives her hand. “As long as you stick close to me, you might not even need to use that,” she says. “Trust me, all right?”

Angela looks up at her and swallows. With a single, slow nod, she secedes. “Okay.” Her voice is small. Smaller than she thought it would be. Weak and frail, just like her.

“Come on,” says Ang Nilapastangan, her voice firm and unwavering. She helps her up the rattan ropes and straight up through the mound opening.

They come out into a small garden of these same mounds, each one having a little wooden sign in front of them to signify who owns them. A brisk wind caresses Angela, causing her to shiver a bit. It’s cold here, surely brought about by the combination of the fresh wind and the early dark morning.

Ang Nilapastangan stands up before her. “Keep close behind me.” She begins walking to the dirt road and Angela follows after her. They pick their way through the garden of mounds, making sure to step on none of them this early in the morning. 

“Tabi-tabi po,” they both say, in addition to already gingerly making their way over the mound garden. Eventually, they reach the small bamboo fence that keeps them in. They hope over it, for its not terribly tall, and descend on the other side. Angela turns around to look at the mounds from outside. The mounds look like their own microcosm of an apartment district, with a main road and everything. All of them are lined up in emanating rows from the tree in the middle, which itself is beside the house of the green-skinned elderly woman. The woman stares at her from within, shrugging.

“Sa ngalan ng mga ninuno,” mutters Ang Nilapastangan, kissing the back of her hand, before breathing deeply, letting the air flow through her, becoming somewhat… well to Angela’s eyes, more missable? Like, if one were not looking for Ang Nilapastangan, one would easily overlook Ang Nilapastangan as just a part of the scenery. Magic, Angela thought.

And then, with that, they are out on the main road. “We will travel through the back alleys. Follow me, and stay close behind.”

As they’re about to set out on this mission to sneak through the barangay, Ang Nilapastangan grabs Angela by the arm and hauls her straight to the back of a house. 

Ang Nilapastangan pulls Angela so quickly that all wind is knocked out of her. She has to inhale suddenly, but that is going to be too much noise, so Ang Nilapastangan clamps her hand over her mouth, and then presses most of her body weight against her. Now all the houses are upon pillars, so they had to make do by pressing themselves against the thick bamboo pillars of said houses. 

Angela’s eyes widen and she grows hot, and her brain goes fuzzy, unsure what to do.

“Just keep quiet.” Ang Nilapastangan’s whispers are warm.

Angela is breathing too quickly, she realizes. She forces herself to take a few longer, deeper breaths to control her breathing and then tries to listen around for sounds that she can focus on instead. The sounds of footsteps now suddenly reveal themselves to her, loud and clear. The sound of leather boots against the dirt of the road. And then… the sound of chains? Yes, that’s definitely the sound of chains clanking. It’s a bit too similar to how Angela would lock the gates of her house at night. Just the heavy clanking of chains.

“Buwisit,” curses Ang Nilapastangan. “They’re in pairs.”

Angela leans out of the pillar to see what Ang Nilapastangan is looking at. She only sees a quick view of what Ang Nilapastangan is looking at, but it's enough to be burned into her mind. On one hand, there is a woman guwardya sibil, wearing navy blue trousers and the navy blue rayadillo. She wears a salakot to protect her head and then wields a bolo and a revolver. She’s wearing boots, something that’s bound to be an irritation in the heat. Although it is a damp and cold morning, so it might not be so much of an inconvenience.

Behind her, however, is a stranger creature. Imagine a human body bathed in pure white milk, and then tied up by chains. Their hands tied up above their head, their ankles tied together and then wrapped by a strange veil that gives them some semblance of clothing. Their heads are shaved, and their eyes are blindfolded. Wrapping around the creature’s neck is a black leather choker, upon where a chain hangs. However, the chain is not tied to anywhere, although it is clearly supposed to. Their mouth is gagged by chains. They hover above the ground, carried by wings of heaven-white down.

“What is fuck is that?”

“Guardian Anghel,” says Ang Nilapastangan says. “The lowest in the Koro Esfera.”

“The fucking what?”

“That’s the word for the Spheres of the Choirs of Angels of God,” says Ang Nilapastangan absent-mindedly while she’s still looking out at the pair. “Koro Esfera. The Guardian Anghel is the lowest of the low, the Third kind of Anghel in the Third Sphere, farthest from God.”

“Okay…” she blinks, and then tries to ease out her frustration and irritation by exhaling slowly. She only kind of understands this due to having played JRPGs. “I think I understand.”

“You will not engage,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “Come on, let’s try not to make too much of a commotion.”

They wait for the pair to pass their position before Ang Nilapastangan hauls Angela to the other side of the house, and into the streets of Barangay Laurel. Angela does her best to follow Ang Nilapastangan as she rushes through the in-betweens of the houses, over stacks of cargo, and under the pillars of the houses, which are surprisingly clean. Eventually, they arrive at another wide road.

“Wait.”

Angela does so. Her hands tremble as they grip the bolo. 

A voice pipes up from behind them. “All right so--” Angela jumps and screams, but Ang Nilapastangan is like lightning. Her hand is over Angela’s mouth, muffling the sound before it echoes across the barangay.

Makabintang winces, appearing from underneath one of the houses--which isn’t too hard for him since he’s their height. “Sorry. I tried my best not to be too shocking.”

“It’s all right,” says Ang Nilapastangan, using her eyes to tell Angela to shut up. “What’s the lay of the barangay?”

“Well, since you’ve gotten this far, you probably already know that most of the patrolling guwardya sibil now have their own physical Guardian anghel.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods grimly.

“I’m here to reassure you that it’s going to be like that for the rest of the way to the stables. However, I know that the kalesa is ready: I managed to get that far. It’s going to be an easy escape. The hard part will be getting through the entire place without being seen.”

Ang Nilapastangan inspects the wide road that’s before them. “A few more blocks before then. Any larger threats other than Guardian anghel and Guwardya Sibil?”

Makabintang nods. “Near the borders, some of the Guwardya Sibil are accompanied by Soldado anghel, and not just Guardian anghel.”

“Shit. All right. Those are a bit more tricky to dispose of.”

Ang Nilapastangan turns to Angela. Angela is biting her lip, wondering the next course of action.

“All right,” says Ang Nilapastangan, rising to her full height. “We’ll time the patrols so we get across this wide street. After that, we’re going a bit northwest and we’re going to find the stables there. This wide road is going to be our biggest point of vulnerability,” says Ang Nilapastangan.

Angela gulps and nods. “Because we’ll be out in the open for a while?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Go on, Makabintang. Go first.”

“Gotcha. Stay safe, both of you. Bantayan kayo ng ninuno.”

“Ikaw rin.”

Angela inhales. “May the ancestors watch over you.” “You too.” That’s what they said, but they said it in such a ritual style that Angela thought that it would’ve been something they did in their religion.

Considering everything going on, that wouldn’t be too crazy, actually.

“All right.” Ang Nilapastangan peeks out, and Angela follows suit. Ang Nilapastangan shoots her a strange, almost irritated look, but doesn’t stop her. Outside, in the wide roads, Angela notices that the dirt is not even. It looks like it’s been stamped upon by elephants.

When she sees that, she suddenly remembers the events just the other day. Or was that yesterday? She mentally shrugs that off; time, along with many other things, does not make sense anymore. Anyway, she remembers that during the procession of traders there were a lot of parades and animals stomping about the main road.

Angela notices that Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t give it any special heed to the uneven, battered dirt road, which probably means that it’s a normal occurrence.

Angela follows Ang Nilapastangan’s line of sight. She’s staring to the right of the opening they’re in. She’s gazing over at another alleyway wherein they can presumably slip into. However, walking up the street is a pair of Guwardya Sibil and Guardian anghel, both looking about them, making sure they had no blind spots. 

Cursing, Ang Nilapastangan turns to her left, and Angela follows her. She sees that there is another one--a larger man this time, still wearing the clothes of a Guwardya Sibil, although this one is wielding a long rifle.

“Barilero,” says Ang Nilapastangan.

“Barilero?” asks Angela. 

“Those that use those rifles. The rifles are called baril. They work purely mechanically, shooting balls of steel. Those will hurt if you’re hit.”

“I know what happens if you get shot,” says Angela, but she shudders still at the thought. The fuzzy anxiety that gripped her before grasps her heart again, now realizing just how close she is to danger.

Ang Nilapastangan whips her head to the right once again. Angela follows suit, and then sees a strange winged human, wearing a long black coat that reaches his knees, crimson trousers, and black shoes. He looks like an evangelist. His hair is the color of crushed grapes, and his eyes a burning silver. His skin is immaculately white as well. He walks with a cane. His wings are the color of the sky during the last parts of twilight, right before sunset.

Of course, the more alarming thing is the strange, six-limbed creature that walks with him. Now, this creature somewhat resembles the mix of a man, a dog, and a crocodile. Its back is ridged and sharp like a crocodile, but its snout is like a dog. But it has the shape and demeanor of a human with two sets of arms, and with skin so white they looked as if they had been bleached. Its hands are talons, and its tail is the tail of a crocodile.

“What the fuck is that?” hisses Angela through shut teeth.

“Halimaw,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “A kimera halimaw. Those are uh… the kind of halimaw that are weird mixtures and blends of different creatures.”

Angela blinks. Halimaw means “monster” or “beast” in Tagalog. “Okay, all right. You’re saying there are other kinds of halimaw?”

“As many as there are animals,” says Ang Nilapastangan. She retreats for a bit, and Angela joins her, resting against one of the pillars of the hoses. Angela notices then, as she presses against one of the four pillars of the house they’ve chosen to hide behind, that the houses on the other side of the road are bahay-na-bato style instead of the usual bahay-kubo style. Instead of being built on wooden pillars or bamboo stilts, they’re built upon a stone base.

Angela swallows and waits for Ang Nilapastangan’s move. Ang Nilapastangan looks up at the morning sky for a bit. The sky is slowly turning indigo. Moving toward the bright blue of the rising sun. “Angela, you just stick as close to me as possible, ha? That means you have to match my speed as much as you can.”

Angela licks her lips but then nods anyway.

“Okay.” She turns to the ground and then whispers. “Makabintang!”

A moment passes, before the ground in front of her turns into a mound, and Makabintang pops into view. “What’s up? The place past this is clear for the most part. The Soldado anghel that was guarding the stables has gone.”

“Yes. Because he’s here. And he has a kimera halimaw?!” 

Makabintang winces. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“All right. You’re going to have to make a distraction for us.”

Makabintang rises to his feet and raises his hand to protest, but then before he can say anything his eyes glisten with either ideas or understanding. He sighs and lowers his hand. “Fine. You’re really gonna go ahead and exploit me, huh? I better get something good out of this.”

“When the people come out, that’s your cue to dive into the ground and get to us. Got it?”

Makabintang sighs and nods. “Got it. Come on then.”

“Nawa’y bantayan ka ng mga umalagad.”

Makabintang repeats the words back to Ang Nilapastangan in a mocking fashion. He disappears into the dirt.

Ang Nilapastangan and Angela wait. They wait in bated breath. Angela specifically waits with her heart beating against her chest, threatening to shatter her rib cage. Her hands begin to shake. She starts moving them around in strange patterns to shake off the jitters.

A moment passes. And then, the sound of “Hoy!” followed by the sound of a gunshot.

Angela’s eyes widen at Ang Nilapastangan. “Don’t worry. Trust in Makabintang,” says Ang Nilapastangan.

Angela gulps and nods. As she does, she and Ang Nilapastangan see the kimera halimaw and the Soldado anghel zoom past, with the Soldado flying upon his twilight wings and the kimera scrambling across the ground as if it’s a wall that it’s trying to scale. 

“Umalagad favor you, Makabintang!” mutters Ang Nilapastangan as she rises to her feet. “Come on!”

Angela stands and absent-mindedly grabs for Ang Nilapastangan’s hand, but she’s already moving. Angela curses and follows suit, a desperate sprint to catch up. 

The road is bumpy, pocked with holes and puddles, and is somewhat muddy, making footholds a bit difficult. She’s wearing sandals that she borrowed from Ang Nilapastangan, but it’s not helping her all that much. As she runs, she sees that there are people peeking out of their windows and doors, either suddenly interested or suddenly awoken by the commotion going to their far left. 

Ang Nilapastangan and Angela, however, are moving toward the right. Toward that alleyway in between two bahay-na-bato. The road is wide, but Ang Nilapastangan leaps through it as if it were plain grass. Her strides are confident, every movement performed to be able to give her more speed to get to the other side. She jumps over a large pock-hole easily.

Angela, however, doesn’t have her kind of movement or physical prowess. In fact, all the physical movement she’s ever had other than getting on and getting off the bus is through her school’s PE. Sure, that involved running track, but PE was her lowest grade.

She tries her best to keep up, prancing around pock holes and almost tripping once, twice, due to strange height differences and the persistence of mounds. She leaps over a puddle and then looks up. Ang Nilapastangan is already on the other side, turning around to see behind her. Angela is still just about halfway through the road.

“Where did it go? What was it?” Angela hears a deep voice far to her left.

Looking up is her first mistake.

As she takes another step without looking first, she doesn’t realize that there is another mound right before a depression in the earth. She hits it and misses her footing, tripping forward and into the hole, slamming against it. Thankfully the earth is soft, so other than the initial shock of hitting the ground, she isn’t very hurt.

However…

Ang Nilapastangan’s looks over her shoulder. Her eyes go wide, and she curses.

Angela looks to her left, and she sees the Soldado is already looking in her way. She sees the two Guwardya Sibil turning to see what the commotion is, and why the Soldado is looking in her direction. The Guardian anghel, despite being blindfolded, also turns to her direction.

And the kimera halimaw is dashing full speed towards her.

Next Chapter.

Return to Table of Contents.

[torendheavenandearth]

1.4

“Clutch the sword and expect to bleed. Wield the sword and expect to cut. Clutch and wield the sword to harness violence.” -- From The Teachings of the Tambay Swordsman, p. XX

▼

Ang Nilapastangan stares at the larawan she’s brought, sometimes caressing it, as she tells her story. “The world has been here for as long as we know. In the beginning, there was nothing but The Sea, and The Sky. They had names, of course: Lihangin for the sky and Lidagat for the sea. This vast expanse encompassed everything you know. From the land that we’re sitting within to whatever shitty universe you came from.”

“Yeah it is pretty shitty,” interjects Angela, moving her hand to brush some stray strand of hair from her face. She removes her glasses from her face and puts it down on the wooden table. She rubs her eyes. The dark bags under them have never been deeper nor heavier. Without them, all she sees is a blur, but she notices that it's somewhat easier to see. She then realizes that it’s mostly because of all the debris and drops of blood that have splattered across the front of her glasses.

Makabintang brings over a small soft cloth. “Wipe it down. It’s been like that since I first saw you.”

“Right.” She curses, thinking about why she didn’t think to fix it while she was changing clothes. As she wipes down her glasses, she continues listening to Ang Nilapastangan’s story.

“Now the Sky and the Sea weren’t the first beings in the world. Before even the Sky and the Sea there was a singular being, named MAYKAPAL, which means “the-one-who-thickens” or “the-one-who-forms”. It is said that MAYKAPAL was a being that is the pure pinprick of light, and that light was MAYKAPAL. When, out of Love, MAYKAPAL expanded to create the Sky and Sea, MAYKAPAL Itself became a separate being from the rest of them. He became a being with many spirits at his side. These Spirits eventually became known as the Anghel.

“When he expanded, his being became two, and the two became that Sky and Sea. And the rulers of Sky and Sea were Kaptan and Maguayen, the Nuno, or Ancestor, of the Sky, and the Nuno of the Sea. These two fell in love, and when Sea and Sky fell made love, they created the first diwata: Lidagat, the Bathala of the Sea, and Lihangin, the Bathala of the Sky.

“A thousand years pass, and Lidagat and Lihangin give four children before passing away into that embrace. The Nuno of the four children became their caretakers. But it was not long before the four children had thoughts of usurpation: ‘Why should only Kaptan sit upon the throne of heaven?’ and so they rebelled, but Kaptan was mightier than they, being the Nuno, and thus killed them with his Bolt. Kaptan and Maguayen gave light to their corpses: Adlao, the bravest one, became the golden sun. Bulan, the most beautiful, became the copper moon. Suga, the smartest and youngest one, became a million stars.

But Kalibutan, the instigator of the rebellion, they deemed wicked, and thus they threw his fractured body to the Sea, and he became the Pearlescent Archipelago, where we are now.”

“You know what? That sounds oddly familiar.”

“It should be. It’s a common creation myth across all universes.” Ang Nilapastangan stands up and then walks over to the stone box that Makabintang came from. She opens it and retrieves a strange vessel made of wood, seemingly sealed with some kind of sap or resin. She cracks it open and then drinks from within. And then, she reaches for something within and brings out a frozen strip of bacon, which she brings over to the table and puts in front of the larawan.

Angela blinks. “Uh?”

“A daily offering,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “It’s for the Bathala Inaginid.”

“Bathala Inaginid?”

“This world,” says Makabintang, as he’s now filing his razor-sharp claws with a flat wooden stick. “Is alive. In truth all worlds are alive. Everything--every single thing--has a soul within them. Not just us. And those souls are called diwata, that elemental, intelligent being that houses within the object, giving it its inherent objective quality.”

Angela blinks again. She casually ponders removing her glasses and wiping them down again.

“It’s… an animistic belief. We call it Anito, it’s the religion of the forgotten. It’s the religion of the Pearlescent before Trinitarianism became too large.”

“Okay. So, what, you don’t believe in God?”

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head. “I guess I’ll have to explain a bit more. Settle down. Maybe eat some of that chocolate bar, it’s gonna melt.

“As I said, Maykapal was always there, the being separated from all things, the Ab Eterno, the Beginning, Middle and End. The diwata call him BATALANG MAYKAPAL, to distinguish him from the other Bathala, which are basically like the chiefs of the diwata, who live within the larger and more important things in life, like the sea, the sky, the air, large important mountains, that kind of stuff.

“Now this belief, this reverence of nature and worshipping of natural places, is called Anito now in modern Sansinukob. Anito is the word for the ritual of speaking with these unseen beings, the diwata and umalagad. A lot of this is facilitated by a spirit medium, usually called babaylan or katalonan, depending on where you are in the Archipelago.” Ang Nilapastangan raises the larawan. “This is a larawan of Bathala Inaginid, one of the three Bathala of War, otherwise known as the War Triad. The other two being Makanduk, Bathala of Raiding, and Barangaw, the Rainbow Bathala of Victory.

“Now this is important to you because most of Anito practice has been extinguished, replaced with Trinitarianism and the worship of the Holy Trinity, now known as God. Dyosveta, the Abusive Father, Yezu, the Idiot Son, and Shinseina Yurei, the Holiest Ghost. Together, the three of them make God. Where they come from, not many know, although the popular theory is that they are a Triad of War Gods as well coming from three different places that teamed up and amassed a huge following, which in turn gave them many offerings, which in turn gave them the power they needed to kill MAYKAPAL.”

Angela blinks. “MAYKAPAL is dead?”

“Yeah,” says Ang Nilapastangan, drinking from the wooden can again. “Anyway, ever since the Trinity came, they brought with them the anghel, umalagad from the continents by the border of the world that have chosen to side with the Trinity. They number 777,777 in total, and there are 7 chief angels among them, known as the Arkserapin. Each of them leads 111,111 anghel, of varying power. The one that leads Para Sa Luklukan is supposedly an Arkserapin: Barachiel, the Patron of Guardians.”

Angela nods slowly as Ang Nilapastangan chugs on her cup again. “So… the anghel… I suppose they’re like the servants of the Trinity? Like, I can kinda understand what you mean with the Trinity in all, especially considering where I came from.”

“You have the Trinity in your country?” asks Makabintang, suddenly with eyes wide open.

Angela shrugs. “Not… exactly? But close enough.”

“Ah, do you mean a belief that’s similar to the Trinity?” asks Ang Nilapastangan. “Because in this present moment, the Trinity is out sailing in the Neverending Ocean, conducting the Multiversal Conquest, where they aim to conquer all 100,000 Universes that arose from the shards of dead BATALA after the Trinity killed Them.”

“Wait, the universes come from BATALA? MAYKAPAL?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “The 7641 Universes float haphazardly in the Neverending Ocean past the borders of Sansinukob, also known as the Jaws of the World. Your universe is one of them. All of them are chunks of MAYKAPAL’s corpse.”

“What the fuck.”

Ang Nilapastangan shrugs. “You get used to it.”

“Get used to what?”

“Saying ‘what the fuck’.” Ang Nilapastangan drinks a bit more, and Angela doubts the size of the can. 

“Fine. All right. So what’s happening is that there is… this world, that was made by god. And then MY universe is from the bloody chunks of God after They were killed by God?”

“Correct.”

“And now I’m finding out that there was this whole thing, this world, this entire time because I was abducted by angels?”

“Correct,” says Makabintang. “And they are theoretically trying to sacrifice you to give more power to the Holy Trinity so that their diyostek works even in the Neverending Ocean so that they can continue their Omniversal Conquest.”

“They call it as them ‘Claiming Fate’. They say that, since they have killed BATALANG MAYKAPAL, it is their duty, their responsibility, their destiny, to invade and conquer the rest of the universes.”

Angela rubs her temples. “You know what’s insane? What’s insane is that logically, yeah, that makes sense. But, like, in common sense? This is all bullshit.”

“Oh, Angela,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “There is no common sense in Sansinukob.”

▼

After that brief rundown of what’s going on, Angela decides to go to sleep. She decides that he’s had too exciting of a first rodeo here in this weird and strange new place and decides that the comfort of oblivion is something she needs right now. She sleeps on the banig on the floor that Makabintang has provided for her. As she sleeps, Ang Nilapastangan smokes a yosi. 

“What do we do with her?” asks Makabintang. “I don’t get why you want to help her.”

“Three-fold,” says Ang Nilapastangan, dragging and then letting the smoke out through her nostrils. 

Makabintang snorts. “What are you, a buddha?”

Ang Nilapastangan ignores him. “Firstly, we’re leaving this place anyway, we can’t stay here anymore. The Guwardya Sibil, now with the help of the Hukbong-Katihan, are going around the entire village. There’s no escape. We have to leave.

“Secondly, the Hagdanan has begun. I told you. And she--” Ang Nilapastangan points at Angela, “--is going to be a part of it. “

“What makes you think she wasn’t just abducted by Para Sa Luklukan?”

“Sometimes Tadhana works strangely, all right? There are a lot of things we cannot explain, and some coincidences are too convenient to be true. She’s a competitor in the Hagdanan, I’m sure of it. I can see her soul, and it burns with that same fire hot wind of all the destined competitors.” Ang Nilapastangan looks over the girl. A soft, almost motherly, look shadows her face. 

“Thirdly, she needs to be protected, for now. Even just for now, while she hasn’t cultivated and grown her Gahum. If I cannot protect them all, then I can at least protect one.”

Makabintang stares at Ang Nilapastangan, startled at the sudden shift in tone. He sighs. “Hey, what happened wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know better.”

“I know.”

“And you survived!” Makabintang turns to the sleeping girl. She looks even more confused asleep. “Fine. I get what you’re trying to do. I’ll help you, but this won’t be the atonement you think you need.”

Ang Nilapastangan smirks. “I know. This is penance. A penance without atonement. It’s the only one I deserve.”

“Damn bitch, you’re really torn up about it.”

“I’m tao, duwende. Unlike you, you little weirdo.”

“Wow, look who’s talking! Miss black-and-red eyes and big ass horns. Fuck you, I’m going to nap.”

Makabintang walks over to his chair and then curls up in it since he’s small enough to curl up in his chair and sleep. Ang Nilapastangan smiles and watches him, dragging on her cig.

▼

When Angela awakes, the other two are already standing underneath the rope that leads to the opening of the mound. Ang Nilapastangan still wears her signature baro and tapis, although other than that all she wears is that salakot and rattan backpack. 

Angela pushes herself up and rubs at her eyes. She reaches for her folded glasses and puts them on. 

Makabintang is a bit more decked out: he also has a salakot on, albeit a bit smaller than Ang Nilapastangan’s, and the salakot is lined with iron. He wears cotton-padded armor on his torso called a barote, and he wields a pistol which he holds more or less like a rifle. On his hip dangles his belt. There Angela notices that the blue sprites that dance upon the stone box that he uses to hold his chocolate bars are gone and they look trapped instead in the little strange, bird-caged shaped cartridges upon Makabintang’s hip.

“Ah, finally, you’re awake,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “Come, get up. Get some water, there’s some I’ve prepared over on the table.”

Angela yawns. “What time is it?”

“Bukang-liwayway,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “The moment of breaking dawn. I have arranged a kalesa to be prepared for us at this point, but it's a bit of a walk, and we have to walk through the village to get there.”

“I’ll scout ahead,” says Makabintang. Ang Nilapastangan turns and gazes at him sharply, but Makabintang shrugs. “What? I’m duwende, I can turn myself invisible.”

“Anghel can sense Kaluluwa,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “It won’t be of much help.”

“Yeah but it’s better than having you, a walking sun in spiritual power terms.” Makabintang prepares to leap. “You get ready. I’ll get back when I’ve scouted out the area and think it’s clear to move.” And not wanting to hear any more protest from Ang Nilapastangan, Makabintang leaps straight up and through the hole of the mound. The mound opening seals closed as soon as he’s out.

Ang Nilapastangan sighs. She turns around, grabs and hauls a chair to a spot underneath the rope, and then sits right below it.

Angela goes ahead and pours herself a glass of water from a ceramic pitcher. The water is clean, and is oddly refreshing. She notices that she hasn’t been drinking anything all this time. Eating, yes, but not drinking. The water is extremely refreshing, and she finishes two glasses in relative ease, too overwhelmed by the refreshing power of simple water.

Afterwards, she washes her face by the sink, wiping herself down. When she looks up to look for a towel, Ang Nilapastangan sighs and then walks over to her. She uses her panuelo to wipe her face dry. “Hoy babae, Makabintang bathes by the river. He doesn’t keep towels here. There’s a bunch of towels that they sell by the river which are usually disposable.”

Angela, though, is a bit too flustered by Ang Nilapastangan’s gesture, letting her wipe her entire face until it’s dry, her hands stuck to the sides of her body. “Th-thank you,” says Angela, after she’s more or less dry.

“Get the parts I didn’t,” says Ang Nilapastangan, giving her the panuelo, before walking back to the chair. Angela stares at the panuelo for a bit. Her breathing is hot. She feels fuzzy.

She decides to dry parts of her stupid bangs that didn’t get dried. Her hands once again bump into the horns that she’s grown ever since she’s been branded. She sighs. She feels them up, and the strange sensuality of the gesture isn’t lost on her. She holds in a laugh. 

The horns are strangely sensitive. Not in that weird way, but as if she’s grown new nerves so that the horns can feel whenever someone is touching them. It’s strange, having new parts of you grown onto you. She can’t quite explain the feeling either, she just feels it, and that’s that. Sometimes it twitches, other times it’s solid and erect.

She sighs.

“That’s the branding,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “As long as you have those, you’ll be easy to track, and your soul will be more or less confined to this place.” Ang Nilapastangan turns to her then. “This place being, Sansinukob, I mean. You can’t return to where you were until those have been removed.”

She gulps. “How do I get it off?”

“Physically? I’m not sure,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “But spiritually? We’d just have to remove the spiritual properties that live within that. To do that, we’d have to go visit an albularyo.”

“Albularyo?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “An herbalist. Sometimes called a witch doctor. We don’t have any here, since it’s too easy to be ratted out by villagers and then be burned by the Priests of the Church. However, the place where we’re going to, San Justo village, is known to house some. It’s been a bastion for Anito.”

“And there’s an albularyo there?”

She nods in reply. “I’ve been told. We’ll get the branding upon your soul so that the anghel can’t find you anymore.”

Angela swallows and then nods. “O-Okay. I think… I think that makes sense. Will there be any way that I can remove them?” she asks, as she puts her glasses back on after wetting and wiping them as well.

Ang Nilapastangan shrugs.  “We can cut them off, but if you want that to be done surgically and cleanly, we’re going to have to go to Biringan, the City of Cities. After that, well, you’re going to have to participate in the Hagdanan.”

“Can I… not? Can’t I just forfeit and go home? See my family? Go back to fucking normal?”

“No can do, girl,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “You see, once you’ve been chosen by Tadhana to become one of the competitors of the Hagdanan, you’re in it for life. Even if you do manage to get out of Sansinukob and back to your universe, the competitors will chase you down, since there can only be 1 winner. If that happens well, you might just bring about godly destruction upon your universe.”

Angela inhales. She notices that she’s sniffling. She notices that her cheeks are wet. She tries speaking, but a lump forms in her throat, and she can’t say it properly. “I can’t… go back?” her voice is pained and forced, as the lump gets bigger and impossible to overcome.

“If you win,” says Ang Nilapastangan, looking away. “There might be a way to leave Sansinukob and never be found. I mean, I’ve done it, more or less.”

“O-okay.” She’s crying now. Angela is crying now. Ang Nilapastangan lets her, staring away, picking up another cig and lighting it with the tip of her crimson finger.

Next Chapter.

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