The aswang died badly, black ichor spraying across the abandoned warehouse walls as Denmar's blessed silver blade found its heart. The creature's final shriek echoed through the Manila night before dissolving into silence.
"That's the seventh one this month," Marden said, wiping sweat from his forehead as he secured his weapon. "Still no sign of her."
Denmar knelt beside the corpse, searching through the monster's belongings with practiced efficiency. A wallet with false identification. Car keys to a stolen vehicle. And a small notebook filled with addresses potential victims, feeding schedules, territory markers that meant nothing to normal people but everything to those who hunted the hunters.
"Another dead end," he muttered, frustration bleeding through his tactical calm. Three months of hunting, dozens of kills, and they were no closer to finding their sister than the night she'd been taken.
"She's out there somewhere," Marden said quietly, the same words he'd spoken after every failed lead. "We'll find her."
But as they loaded the creature's remains into their cleanup van, Denmar couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out. With each passing month, the trail grew colder. The experimental facilities moved locations. The trafficking networks adapted their security.
And somewhere in the darkness, Althea was still screaming.
******
Three months ago...
The entire barrio pulsed with color and sound that night. Strings of yellow bulbs swung overhead, crisscrossing between coconut trees, their warm glow spilling over makeshift stalls lined with roasted corn, barbecued pork, halo-halo in tall plastic cups, and bottles of cheap gin hidden under tables. The air smelled of charcoal, smoke, sugar, and rain-damp earth, a pungent mix that clung to skin and hair. It was the festival season again, and for one night, the people of San Roque forgot their hardships.
Children darted between adults, some clutching small gifts, others busy licking ice cream cones before the heat melted them into sticky messes. The banderitas triangular flags of red, blue, and green fluttered above, trembling to the rhythm of the kulintang and the thumping bass of borrowed speakers blasting modern pop remixes. Laughter erupted from the small stage where the annual Games was held: sack races, arm-wrestling, improvised karaoke contests where even the drunkest man became a diva with a mic in his hand, swaying and shouting at random lyrics.
In the thick of it all were the twins.
Denmar leaned casually against the edge of a table stacked with grilled chicken, dark hair falling over sharp eyes that always seemed two steps ahead of everyone else. He was just an average kid, but there was a presence about him the kind that made people listen when he finally spoke. His grin was sly, his voice clever, his words sharper than most realized until the sting came later.
Beside him was his brother, Marden, nothing like Denmar yet inseparable. Where Denmar carried calm, Marden carried fire. He was restless, broad-shouldered for his age, always moving his hands, bouncing his legs, looking for something or someone to fight with even if it was just for fun. His laugh was louder, his temper quicker, but his loyalty ran deep, like river stone.
"Hey, Denmar," Marden nudged him with his elbow, pointing toward the pabitin (hanging)a bamboo grid hung with prizes, lowered and raised teasingly for children to grab. "Bet I can grab more than Jun this year."
"You said the same thing last year," Denmar replied dryly, eyes narrowing with a smirk. "He still beat you. And you tore your shirt."
"That's because he cheated. Taller reach." Marden crossed his arms, already flexing as though warming up for the contest.
Behind them, Tomas their round-faced, easygoing friend who laughed at everything was busy stuffing his mouth with banana cue. Liza, sharp-tongued and fearless, stood beside him, rolling her eyes at the brothers. And Jun, the tallest of the group, polished his glasses with exaggerated care, pretending not to hear Marden's trash talk.
"You'll see," Marden muttered. "This time, I'll win."
The drums picked up, a chant began, and soon the pabitin was lowered. Children screamed with joy as they leapt for the dangling toys and packs of biscuits. When it was the teenagers' turn, Marden shot forward like a bull, clawing at anything he could grab. Denmar followed slower, calculating, waiting until the bamboo frame jerked lower again before snatching the choicest prize a rolled-up bill of money taped inside a plastic bag.
The crowd howled with laughter. Marden tumbled down, empty-handed, while Denmar raised the prize with mock solemnity.
"Unfair!" Marden barked, though his grin betrayed him. He pulled Denmar into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles against his scalp until both were laughing too hard to fight back.
Their friends joined in: Tomas joking that Marden was cursed with short arms, Liza calling both idiots, Jun shaking his head while hiding his smile. The night carried on with roasted skewers, more contests, more laughter.
For a moment, it was as if nothing in the world could break them.
---
Hours later, the music softened. One by one, families drifted back to their homes, carrying leftover food in plastic bags, guiding sleepy children by the hand. The air cooled, the scent of wet grass rising after the day's heat.
The twins and their friends walked together along the narrow dirt road that wound back toward their cluster of houses. The fiesta lights faded behind them until only the moon guided their steps.
Jun carried a flashlight, its beam jittering across the path. Cicadas screamed in the trees. Somewhere far off, a dog barked, sharp and frantic.
"Still can't believe you got that money," Marden grumbled, kicking at a stone.
"Because you don't think," Denmar replied. "You just grab. Life isn't always about rushing."
"Life isn't always about overthinking either."
Their bickering carried easily into the night, lighthearted but edged with something deeper, a rhythm they'd fallen into since they were children. Denmar, the planner. Marden, the fighter. Two halves of a coin neither could escape.
Behind them, Tomas belched loudly, earning a slap on the arm from Liza. Jun muttered something about ghosts in the trees, only half-joking, because everyone in the village knew the old stories: shadows that moved when the wind stilled, voices whispering from the rice fields at night, children disappearing near the creek.
"Stop scaring yourself," Liza said, though her voice tightened just a little.
The group laughed it off, but silence slowly stretched between them as the road darkened, and the fiesta seemed like another world entirely.
Denmar felt it first the shift. A pressure in the air, subtle but heavy, like the moment before a storm when the clouds haven't yet broken but the earth already knows rain is coming.
He glanced toward the treeline. Nothing moved, yet the hairs on his arms rose.
Marden noticed too, fists clenching instinctively.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
"What?" Tomas whispered, suddenly sober.
A rustle. Soft, almost human.
Jun raised the flashlight, but the beam caught only trees, endless trees.
Denmar forced a laugh, though his throat tightened. "Probably just a dog."
But even he didn't believe it.
They walked faster, conversation dying, footsteps crunching on gravel. The moon slipped behind a cloud, and the world dimmed. The fiesta music was gone, replaced by cicadas, replaced by silence.
The silence was the worst part.
When they reached the fork where their friends turned off toward their homes, Denmar and Marden waved goodbye. Tomas gave a lazy salute, Liza muttered for them not to get killed by some ghost, and Jun raised the flashlight like a charm before heading off.
The twins were alone now.
The night deepened. The road stretched long and empty.
Marden shoved his hands into his pockets. "Creepy, huh?"
Denmar didn't answer. His eyes kept straying to the treeline. His mind worked, fast and sharp, but for once he had no clever words. Only the weight of something wrong pressing closer.
Somewhere in the dark, something watched them.
---
The path home was quiet, too quiet. Denmar kept glancing at the treeline, every gust of wind sounding sharper than it should. Marden walked ahead, pretending not to notice, though his fists had been clenched since they left the plaza.
The twins stopped when the frogs fell silent.
From the shadows, something clicked. A sound like fingernails tapping wood. Click. Click. Click.
Then the figure stepped intit was wrong. Too tall, its spine arched like it had been broken and forced upright. Its arms dangled too long, claws grazing the dirt. Its mouth hung open, rows of teeth jagged as if carved by a knife. Its eyes reflected the moon, inhuman, animal.
"What the fuck is that?" Denmar whispered, his voice cracking with terror.
The creature tilted its head. The tongue flicked. Then it lunged.
2$ shoved his brother aside. He barely had time to raise his arms before the claws slashed down. Sparks of pain raked across his forearm. He screamed, stumbling back.
Denmar moved without thinking. He grabbed a rock, swung wild. The jagged edge smashed against the creature's shoulder. It shrieked, black saliva spraying, but it didn't fall.
"Marden, run!" Denmar shouted.
But Marden froze. His eyes weren't on the creature. They were staring past it.
Denmar turned—
And his heart stopped.
Their house. Just meters ahead.
The front door was wide open. Light spilled across the yard, flickering against red streaks on the walls.
On the ground lay their mother. Her body was ripped and torn, deep wounds across her chest. Black ichor and blood coated her. The aswang had eaten her partially, leaving her limbs mangled. Her hand stretched toward the doorway.
"Mom!" Marden screamed.
Inside, another figure moved taller, broader. Its jaw dripped with blood. Denmar's father. His torso had been torn open, meat bitten away. Eyes glassy, lifeless, mouth open in a scream that ended in nothing.
Denmar's stomach turned. "Dad…"
Then a smaller, horrific sound: their little sister screaming from somewhere beyond the house. They could see her their little sister Althea, eight years old, being dragged away by two more creatures. One arm hung limp and bleeding where something had torn chunks from it, but she was alive, conscious, screaming in terror as the things pulled her toward the treeline.
"ALTHEA!" Both twins screamed her name, their voices breaking with panic and disbelief.
"What are those things?!" Marden shouted, his voice raw with horror. "What the hell are they?!"
The first aswang screeched and leapt at them. Denmar tackled it instinctively. Both tumbled across the dirt. His rock skittered away. Claws slashed inches from his face.
Marden barreled into the monster, not thinking, just reacting to his sister's screams. They collapsed in a heap, limbs tangled. Claws raked across Marden's ribs, and he cried out, but he kept fighting, driven by pure panic and desperation.
Denmar's hand scrambled, searching desperately, finding a jagged piece of splintered wood from the broken fence. Without aiming, he swung it upward with every ounce of strength. By a stroke of luck, it caught the aswang in the throat at the exact angle, piercing deep. The creature convulsed violently, black eyes rolling, its wet shriek cut short. Ichor burned across the twins' arms like acid.
And then it stopped moving.
The boys lay beneath it, gasping, shaking uncontrollably. Neither of them could process what had just happened.
Marden pushed the corpse aside with trembling hands, staring at the black blood on his fingers like it was poison. "What... what was that thing?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "That wasn't human. That wasn't..."
He looked toward their ruined home, then at the darkness where their sister's screams were growing fainter. "They took her," he said, his voice breaking completely. "Those... those things took Althea."
Denmar couldn't speak. His mind kept trying to make sense of what he'd seen, but it was like trying to solve an equation with impossible numbers. Monsters weren't real. Things like that didn't exist. But his parents were dead, his sister was gone, and there was black ichor burning on his arms.
Denmar's mind felt like it was breaking. Everything he thought he knew about the world had just been shattered. But through the shock and horror, one thought cut through clearly: "We have to—" Marden started to rise, ready to stumble blindly into the darkness after whatever had taken their sister.
"Wait!" Denmar grabbed his brother's arm, his whole body shaking. "We... we don't know what those things are! We don't know how many there are!"
"I don't care!" Marden snarled, tears streaming down his face. "They have Althea! They're going to hurt her!"
"They'll kill us too!" Denmar shot back, his voice cracking. "We barely killed one of them! What if there are more?"
From the distance, Althea's screams had stopped. The silence was somehow worse than the sound had been.
"I don't know!" Denmar shouted back, his composure finally breaking completely. "I don't know what they are! I don't know why this happened! I don't know anything!"
They stared at each other in the moonlight, both crying now, both covered in blood and black ichor, both trying to process the impossible. Their family was gone. Their world had ended. And somewhere in the darkness, things that shouldn't exist were carrying away the only person they had left to save.
In silence, the twins barely moved, listening to every rustle, every whisper of wind. The rice fields became their refuge, the reeds their hiding place. Hunger, fear, and grief clawed at them, but exhaustion finally edged in.
The night stretched endlessly. Every sound was a threat. Every shadow, a potential enemy. The twins clung to each other, the warmth of their bond the only thing standing against the cold, merciless darkness.
And then dawn came.
"HELP!" Marden's voice cracked across the rice fields as he heard voices calling their names. "HELP US! SOMEBODY HELP!"
"Our parents!" Denmar sobbed, stumbling through the reeds. "Something killed our parents!"
But who would believe them? Who could understand that monsters were real, that their family was gone, that their sister had been dragged into a nightmare?
The aswang corpse had already turned to ash, scattered by the morning wind. All that remained were two traumatized teenagers and a truth no one would believe.