ULANON RAN through the forest, bleeding and limping. The trees clawed at him like jealous spirits. Vines tangled around his ankles, and the ground, soaked from the evening's rain, sucked at his feet with every step. Still, he ran. Faster. Harder. The air stung his lungs with every breath, and yet he pressed forward, biting down the pain. The wounds on his side had opened again—three long gashes that stretched from his ribs to his back, painted dark red and glistening under the moonlight.
His shirt had long since torn away, shredded by claws and thorns alike. He clutched the remnants of it in one hand, the other pressed hard to his side to keep the blood from pouring faster. Only the moon lit his path. Even through the mist, it followed him. He glanced up for a heartbeat and whispered, "Salamat, Mayari."
The fog was thick tonight. Too thick. The trees rose like titans. Molave, kamagong, and towering almaciga trees, sacred and ancient, their roots older than memory. Every inch of Mount Banahaw whispered old secrets. The kind you weren't meant to hear. Still, Ulanon pushed forward, his boots slipping on the moss-covered stone. The only thing louder than his panting breath was the hammering in his chest.
"They need to know..." he muttered under his breath, the word like a prayer. He reached for the trunk of a dao tree, its thick bark covered in lichen and moss. He slumped against it, trying to catch his breath. His legs trembled. His vision blurred.
A low rustle snapped his head to the side. He froze. Leaves trembled. Branches groaned. There was something in the mist—several somethings. Footsteps, soft and measured. Not beasts. Not mortals. That's quick, Ulanon thought grimly. They tracked him faster than he hoped. No time, he lunged forward into the fog, gritting his teeth through the pain. He ducked under low branches, leapt over snarled roots, until a shape moved. A flicker to his left. Then claws slashed toward his throat.
He jerked back just in time. The tree beside him hissed, and from its shadow came a shape, gaunt, hunched, snarling.
Aswang.
Its skin was a mottled gray, stretched too tight over its bones. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of sharp, even teeth, not just fangs, but all teeth like knives. A long tongue slithered from between its lips, flicking side to side like a serpent dancing for the soft lute music. But it was the eyes that stopped Ulanon cold. Glowing yellow, like two marbles sunk in the abyss, full of hunger.
The creature stepped forward, its claws dragging along the tree bark. The light of the moon slit through the branches, bathing the aswang in silver for just a moment. It revealed long, skeletal limbs. Tattered human clothes. A face almost human... but twisted, sunken, wrong.
Ulanon snarled and shifted. His bones cracked, spine bent forward, hands curled as claws erupted from his fingers, black and curved. His eyes turned golden-yellow, irises stretching unnaturally as his teeth reshaped themselves into gleaming razors. His skin paled into that same grayish pallor, veins like rivers under ash. His tongue unfurled with a hiss. Ulanon became the same.
Ulanon charged the aswang. The forest exploded into chaos. Claws scraping, fangs snapping, two shadows dancing in the mist. The aswang lunged first, but Ulanon ducked low and slashed across its thigh. It howled, whirling around, slicing at Ulanon's side, opening another wound just above the hip. Ulanon gasped but didn't stop.
He leapt onto the beast, driving his claws toward its throat. The creature twisted, catching his wrist. They rolled down a small slope, crashing through dead leaves and broken branches. A low growl echoed in Ulanon's chest. He swung again. Missed. The aswang caught him by the hair, slammed him into the dirt. Once. Twice.
Stars exploded in Ulanon's eyes. But he grabbed a rock from the mud and slammed it into the creature's jaw. It reeled. He drove his claws up through its sternum, right into the heart. It stilled. Then the body collapsed to the ground. Ulanon stumbled back. His transformation peeled away like smoke. Flesh returned. Bones reset. The pain rushed in. He gasped, holding his stomach, barely able to stand.
The forest was silent again. He looked up. There, behind the fog and trees, he saw it. The city gate. Massive and ancient, carved into the side of Mount Banahaw itself, the Gate of Kaluwalhatian was made of black stone etched with old Baybayin, written in gold. Twin anito statues stood guard. Between them, the gate glowed faintly. Blue light pulsed from its seams, like a heartbeat.
"I'm close..." he whispered.
Click.
The unmistakable sound of a step on dead leaves. He turned. A man stood there, holding a pistol to his face. Ulanon froze. The moonlight caught his face. Human, mostly. Gaunt. Pale. The kind of pale that didn't come from blood loss, but from something deeper. His eyes shimmered strangely when the light hit them. Like a cat. Then Ulanon saw the face clearly. He knew him.
"You... Why are you doing this?" Ulanon spat. "You're messing with the gods!"
The man grinned. And Ulanon's breath caught. A cold, sharp pain tore through his stomach. Not from the front. From behind. He looked down and saw claws, piercing through his abdomen, slick with his blood. Dark blood. Dark as... oil, as obsidian, as shadow itself.
His knees gave out. He looked up again, saw the man's grin, now faded to something more... disappointed. Ulanon fell. His back hit the earth with a quiet thud. The leaves around him trembled, then stilled. He stared up at the ancient trees of Banahaw, their branches twisting like knotted fingers reaching toward the sky. His breath shuddered. Something warm and thick filled his mouth. He coughed, and blood, black and glistening, bubbled up like ink poured from a broken well.
Finally, his fingers moved once. Then didn't. And that was when the wind stopped.
The forest listened. Even the crickets held their breath. The dao trees stood still, tall and watching, their bark stained with something that had seeped too deep to wash away. The fog thickened, curling low along the ground like old spirits waiting for a name. In the air hung the scent of rust and rot, as though the mountain itself had exhaled the memory of blood. The silence stretched, heavy and unmoving. Somewhere far above, the moon passed behind a cloud, and the last light vanished from the forest floor.