(Riz's Perspective)

  The morning breeze carried the faint aroma of festival food—roasted meats, sugary pastries, and fresh fruits from street stalls set up all over the bustling city streets below. From my vantage point on the rooftop, I could see banners of vibrant reds, blues, and yellows stretched across carefully erected wooden rafters, adding festive colors without dangerously weighing down the power lines. The hum of tourists' chatter echoed softly up to me, their excitement punctuated occasionally by the distant bells ringing from churches packed full for the Sinulog festival. Even though Santo Ni?o wasn’t a part of my beliefs—my kind predating Spanish colonization—there was always something comforting about these celebrations. Perhaps it was simply nostalgia from the decades I spent growing up here.

  At nearly eighty years old, though appearing barely thirty by human standards, I still felt young compared to the elders of my tribe. The relentless flow of time brought shifts in power I'd witnessed firsthand—the Marcos regime, the rise and fall of the Aquinos, Estrada’s short-lived reign—yet, humans seemed trapped in endless cycles of conflict and corruption. Our kind fared no better, caught in similar webs of envy, prejudice, and existential despair. I shook my head slightly, snapping myself from my introspection. Dwelling never got me anywhere useful.

  Instead, I refocused, squinting down toward the bustling streets below. Two tourists stood out among the crowd—young, distinctly Manile?o by scent, with the acrid tang of factory smoke and the sharp undertones of gas imported from Kasanaan still lingering on their clothes. The woman walked confidently, leading her companion who slouched behind her, his eyes nervously scanning their surroundings as if every shadow hid danger.

  I smirked slightly, amused by the obvious power dynamic between them, deciding to edge closer along the rooftops to better eavesdrop. Despite the noisy traffic and blaring jeepneys, their conversation was audible enough to me.

  “Saan yung daan?” the girl asked impatiently, her voice clear and slightly demanding.

  “Huwag kang magmadali,” her boyfriend replied, anxiously checking his phone’s GPS, visibly tense. "Hindi ko alam. Panandalian lamang mula nang ako’y naparito."

  She pointed confidently toward an alley that stretched off from the main road, empty and shadowed. "Eh, doon kaya?"

  I frowned, already sensing trouble. Alleyways in Cebu were rarely safe, especially during festival season. Tourists never seemed to learn.

  The boyfriend hesitated, his nervousness growing visibly as his shoulders tightened and eyes darted around cautiously. "Hindi ako sigurado. I don’t want to get jumped."

  “We aren’t. There’s no one down there,” she insisted, dismissing his concerns, already moving forward with determination.

  I exhaled slowly, incredulously shaking my head. Humans were stubborn creatures. Setting a mental timer, I wagered it wouldn’t take more than two minutes for trouble to appear. Sure enough, as they ventured deeper into the alley, two figures emerged silently from the shadows, hooded and visibly predatory.

  "Mga turista talaga," I muttered under my breath, leaning forward, muscles instinctively tightening as adrenaline stirred within me.

  One hooded figure approached the couple, voice rough and guttural, holding up a small bag filled with red powder. "Hey kapatid, gaano kadami yung gusto ni’yo nito?"

  Blood cocaine. That explained their boldness. I could already see the woman recoil slightly, her previous confidence fading to cautious fear.

  "No thanks," her boyfriend stammered quickly, pulling her back gently. "Hindi kami mga adik."

  The second figure moved subtly, the metallic click beneath his hoodie unmistakable—a concealed gun. My pulse quickened. Aswang gangs had become brazen, operating openly during daylight hours now. Things were escalating faster than anticipated.

  “Ah, but this alley is our territory,” the first thug growled, voice turning sinister. “You want through? Sabayan n’yo na lang kami."

  The woman’s eyes widened, and I saw panic flash across her face. She stepped back defensively. “Pasensya na. We will go back. Sorry to bother you.”

  But retreat was no longer an option. The thug pulled down his hood, revealing pale, gaunt features twisted into an unsettling grin. The proboscis protruding grotesquely from his mouth marked him unmistakably as a tiktik. His companion’s hood fell back as well, revealing canine-like features, snarling teeth, and dark, hungry eyes—a sigbin.

  “Lumayo kayo samen!” the woman shrieked, terror crackling in her voice.

  The boyfriend bravely lunged forward, but the tiktik swiftly pistol-whipped him, sending him sprawling onto the rough pavement. The woman cried out in horror as the sigbin grabbed her roughly.

  "Time to step in," I whispered, sliding swiftly down a nearby drainage pipe.

  The sigbin’s clawed fingers tightened around her arm when my vinegar-filled glass bottle exploded against his head, splattering across his fur. He howled, thrashing in pain.

  “FUCK! It burns!” he roared, stumbling blindly against a trash bin, momentarily disoriented.

  The tiktik immediately released the woman, who grabbed her fallen companion and fled, throwing terrified glances back at me. As I descended into their view, I felt my bones ripple, muscles expanding as fur sprouted along my body. Within moments, my form transformed fully into my true self—a towering, muscular tikbalang with cloven hooves and the proud, powerful head of a horse. Seeing me clearly accelerated the tourists' desperate escape.

  The two aswang turned sharply, rage and fear mixing in their expressions as they recognized what they now faced.

  “Nothing personal, mga buang,” I growled, my voice deep and resonant.

  Reality warped around me as I teleported beside the sigbin, my rattan batons already drawn. With rapid precision, I struck repeatedly, each powerful blow resonating sharply, sending him crashing to the ground in agony. The tiktik lunged, claws extended, teeth bared in rage. A swift sidestep and I countered fiercely, striking him hard across his chest and jaw, feeling bone crack satisfyingly beneath my blows.

  Bruised and bloodied, both monsters collapsed defeated, their groans of pain echoing softly in the deserted alley. I glared down, pulling salt from my pouch and flinging it onto the tiktik's open wounds.

  “ARRGH!” he shrieked, writhing desperately.

  “You both should leave,” I warned darkly, my eyes narrowed. “Gawas kung di mo ganahan og daghang samok.”

  Without another word, they fled into the darkness, leaving the alley quiet once more.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Adjusting my stance, I surveyed the alley briefly, calm returning as adrenaline faded. Another day, another fight—typical Cebu. With a sigh, I teleported away, ready for the next, undoubtedly less pleasant challenge: dealing with family.

  [Fei's Perspective]

  The jeepney jolted gently as it navigated through the bustling Cebu streets, packed with festival-goers eager for the Sinulog celebrations. Colors danced around me from banners and flags that adorned the roadsides, vibrant enough to momentarily distract me from the constant humidity clinging to my skin. At least January spared me from the worst of the tropical heat.

  The slight ache in my left arm reminded me of last night's close call. My black hoodie was ruined, forcing me into a less comfortable red one that did little to make me blend in. I adjusted my sunglasses, obscuring my glowing red eyes, though nothing hid my unnatural pallor. The residents gave me brief, unsettled glances before quickly turning away. It suited me just fine.

  As the jeepney pulled to a stop, I stepped off, slipping quietly into the crowded street. My phone buzzed, a brief message from Finn: “They move after sundown,” accompanied by a map indicating several potential leads—one being an electronics store rumored to serve as an aswang hideout.

  I took a seat on a nearby bench, checking the message details carefully. The trafficking in this region had unsettled me deeply; memories of my own past imprisonment still vivid. Lost in thought, I almost didn't notice the small girl who sat beside me, sneakily stealing glances. She wore a crisp white school uniform, backpack still slung over her small shoulders, her demeanor curious yet wary.

  “You are very white,” she finally blurted out, her voice lively but hesitant.

  I offered a faint smile, choosing silence initially.

  “You also have funny eyes,” she pressed, shifting closer, her eyes wide with innocent intrigue. "I haven’t seen them red on black before."

  Suppressing a sigh, I turned slightly toward her. “Do you often speak to strangers like this?”

  “It's always fun,” she replied matter-of-factly, swinging her legs beneath the bench. "I learn a lotta stuff."

  I glanced around, uneasy but intrigued. “Do your parents approve?”

  She shrugged, her cheerfulness dimming slightly. “I hardly see my mama and tatay.”

  “Tatay?” I asked, curious about the unfamiliar term.

  "Father," she explained, tilting her head curiously at me. "You must not be from around here. You look Chinese."

  “What gave it away?” I replied, smirking softly at her bluntness.

  She brightened, mimicking a martial arts pose. “You look like those kung fu guys from the movies I watch. My favorite actor is Bruce Lee.”

  I chuckled quietly at her enthusiastic ignorance, nodding gently. "Do you like martial arts movies?"

  “Yep!” she exclaimed, her excitement growing. "If I learn kung fu, I can fight bullies and protect my friends!"

  A faint pang of empathy stirred in my chest. “Is bullying a big problem at your school?”

  She hesitated, her cheerful demeanor faltering. "A bit. They think my family's weird."

  “Weird?” I prompted gently, sensing there was more beneath her cheerful exterior.

  She avoided my gaze. "I shouldn’t say. I don’t wanna get in trouble."

  A small silence stretched between us. My instincts told me there was something important here. Carefully, I chose a lighter approach. “How about movies starring women who fight, like Michelle Yeoh or Zhang Ziyi? Have you seen Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon?"

  Her eyes widened instantly. “Girls can fight in movies too?”

  “Of course,” I answered warmly, matching her renewed excitement. "Maybe you could watch it sometime."

  "You're alright!" She beamed, eyes shining brightly. "What's your name?"

  I hesitated. "I don’t really share my name often, but you can call me—"

  She waved dismissively. "That's fine. I know faces better anyway."

  She paused, glancing around carefully before leaning closer. "My tatay owes some bad people money. I heard him tell my mama he has to work for them. These bad people... they're not just mean. Mama used to tell me scary stories about them."

  “Stories?” I urged gently.

  “They can change shapes,” she whispered, clearly frightened. "Their real faces aren't like ours. My mama worries they'll hurt him—or us."

  “Why tell me this?” I asked softly, genuinely curious.

  She shrugged shyly. "Most people ignore me. But you're kind. I think you can help."

  I nodded slowly. "Maybe I can. Do you know where he works?"

  “A TV workshop,” she replied eagerly. My heart skipped slightly as I realized it could be connected to the electronics store Finn had mentioned—the one rumored to serve as an aswang hideout for trafficking. “He has a tattoo—a rose on his arm. Oh! You have a tattoo too.”

  I touched the mark near my eye lightly. “It's... complicated. Just something cool.”

  She nodded, satisfied. Standing abruptly, she handed me a simple watch. “Please give him this. He missed his birthday. Tell him mama and I miss him."

  Holding the watch carefully, I nodded solemnly. "I promise.” If her father was truly entangled with the aswang ring at that electronics store, my task had just become considerably more delicate.

  With a relieved smile, she turned and hurried away, leaving me alone on the bench, contemplating her words. The watch felt heavy in my hand, its simplicity grounding amidst the uncertainties swirling around my mission. Perhaps not every encounter was sinister; maybe kindness still held power in this fractured world.

  [Finn's Perspective]

  The bustling bar filled quickly, patrons eagerly pushing inside for a respite from the day's Sinulog festivities. I nursed a Guinness, savoring its bitter familiarity as the techno beats pulsed through the speakers—an acquired taste I'd recently begun to appreciate. My attention shifted briefly to the television, where the local news broadcast cut through the music.

  “We are expecting this year’s Sinulog to have the highest yield of visitors compared to the last 30 years," the anchor announced solemnly. "As concerns of disappearances become an issue to the authorities during this important time, Mayor Alfonso Ramos had this to say for comment.”

  The screen transitioned to the mayor, his composed political demeanor evident as he spoke confidently. “We are making quick strides to accommodate the influx of tourists from the Philippines and beyond for this year’s celebration. And thanks to our benefactors, such accommodations are possible. As for the disappearances, the authorities are well underway into busting numerous gangs in what seems to be a large human trafficking operation. These people will be brought to justice, and the victims brought home to their loved ones.”

  I scoffed quietly at the rehearsed optimism, the bitter tang of my Guinness matching my mood. Yazmin’s voice crackled through my earpiece, sharply breaking my thoughts.

  "You know, Finn, that’s your third pint. Aren’t you supposed to be focused?" Her dry humor carried clearly, despite the distortion.

  I smirked slightly, setting the glass down. "Relax, Yaz. Keeping an eye out doesn't mean I can’t enjoy myself a little. Besides, Fei’s out there doing most of the heavy lifting."

  She sighed audibly. "Exactly why you need to stay sharp. Especially with all these disappearances. The authorities seem hopelessly lost."

  My eyes lingered on the anxious faces of grieving families that reappeared on the screen. "They’re always 'busting gangs', aren’t they? Yet the trafficking continues. Typical political reassurances—empty as always."

  Yazmin agreed, her voice tinged with exasperation. "They either don’t know or don’t care enough. It makes our job harder."

  "The usual story," I muttered, narrowing my gaze slightly. "I’ve already contacted our division on the paranormal in Manila. If aswang are active here, the authorities won't stand a chance."

  She hesitated, concern evident in her tone. "And Fei?"

  I leaned back slightly, suppressing a weary sigh. "She can handle herself. She always does. Still, I worry. Fei has a habit of complicating things. Her empathy is admirable but dangerous."

  "You're one to talk about complicated things," Yazmin quipped, humor briefly returning to her voice.

  I chuckled softly, tapping my glass lightly. "Fair. But someone has to keep her grounded."

  Yazmin’s tone softened, sincerity clear. "Just keep an eye on her, Finn. We can't afford to lose another one."

  "I won't," I promised, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing heavier with each sip. "Not this time."