Pulaco turned towards his brother-in-law's direction, face full of concern. "Ming, what happened to your hands? Are you okay?"

  "It's not his blood," Lam said as he over took Mingming. His face was pale white and drenched in sweat.

  Mingming was a bit taken aback to see Lam still standing. He stared at the head hunter from head to toe. Not a scratch.

  He swore he saw the Moor strike Lam. He swore Lam was wounded but here he is. He was about to ask if the head hunter was okay but refrained. Maybe it was just his anger trying to rouse himself to fight as though he was justified in the name of vengeance, he thought. Anger could do that. Anger could twist anything. He turned and stood in front of everyone, eyes cold as the monsoon months. Behind him the blood-red skies of the setting sun gave off an eerie orange glow. It seemed like everything behind him was on fire.

  The other Daragangan followed him, armed to the teeth. But most of them had minor injuries. A bruise here, a welt there, none too lethal for the healers to fix. And all their blades were red with fresh blood. Fresher than usual.

  "What happened? Pulaco spoke, his voice slightly raised, "speak dammit!" Everyone's head turned to him and then to Mingming.

  "Got into a fight," Ming replied, his voice almost a whisper.

  "With who?"

  "You know who," Mingming said, no inflection on his tone. "I did what you can't do. I did what you won't do. I fought them for you."

  "What do you mean?" Pulaco paused for a couple of seconds and finally realized what his brother-in-law meant. "Did you pick a fight against the Magalos?"

  Mingming gave him a nod. Butod and Sandawili's eyes widened as they heard the revelation. Sandawili mouthed something to Butod. The other datu only shook his head in dismay.

  "Did you forget what I told you?" Pulaco said putting steel in his voice. "Avoid them...or avoid giving them a chance to justify their actions against us. Did you forget all that?" Pulaco added, anger welling on the last words. He grabbed him by the shoulder.

  "Forget? Shit Salip!" Mingming said the last word like it was the most insulting word he could throw at Pulaco. "How could I forget them? They murdered my sister. Your wife! Maybe you're the one who has forgotten about her. Need I remind you the people they brought to the mud? The countless innocent that they trampled in their wake."

  Pulaco eyes widened as he heard Mingming's words. "You killed the Magalos for your petty vengeance? Do you even realize what you've done? They will murder more because you didn't stop to think. You've sentenced us all to death." He pointed a finger at Mingming. "They will come here and butcher us all and the cycle of violence begins anew. Just because you were too proud."

  Mingming pushed him away. "Then, let them come and I will show them the fastest way to meet their god." He unclasped the shield on his shoulder, waiting for Pulaco to strike back. He could see it on the man's face. Fury. It was rare to see it up close. Uncomfortably close.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Pulaco sighed. "So, violence against violence is your answer? All is lost because you're a petty man."

  "Salip, I know it'll be just a matter of time. They'll be coming back. Better to hit them first and send them reeling instead of waiting for shit to happen. Let them return home with bloody noses."

  "Then, you're no different from them," Pulaco said.

  Mingming winced as he heard Pulaco's words with so much vile.

  "I guess you're right. Maybe, I've always known that. But I'm not going to continue and deny the truth like you." Mingming held the shield with one hand and dropped it in front of Pulaco's feet. "I'll embrace it because it's the only way to protect our people. Your people."

  Pulaco didn't reply.

  "We either pick the spear and shield and fight. Or die helplessly." Mingming paused, eyeing Pulaco. "Will that be enough, my datu?"

  The chief of Mandawili only remained silent as he shook his head. Everything he did... The years he devoted for peace was all undone within a day. Mingming turned and shouldered Lam as he stormed away from the group followed by his loyal Daragangan warriors. Both men rarely disagreed with each other's choice and now it seemed a rift was forming between Pulaco and Mingming. Between the two brothers.

  Pulaco stood at the midst of what was revealed to him and whispered something that he himself could only hear, "And that is why you're not the chief, brother." He sighed in frustration and disbelief. And just like that he'd have to fight again but this time around he'd have to do it without Mingming's aid. The betrayal itself felt like a cold blade on his gut. But it was more lethal. More painful.

  ***

  The umalohokan of Mandawili paused to catch his breath as he approached the messenger of Magalhaes. The broad-shouldered man stood below the shadow of a lone narra tree in a clearing west of the forest where the Magalos emissary came from a day ago. The messenger's back slightly leaned on the trunk, kalis blade dangling on his belt like the devil's tongue.

  The umalohokan positioned himself where he could see the blade clearly. If his counterpart tried to draw it, he'd want to either be close enough to grapple it away or be at the right place where it would take the other man seconds to orient himself and attack once more. Better safe than sorry, thought the umalohokan. He greeted Magalhaes' messenger and conveyed his master's message as clear as he could. Magalhaes' messenger only nodded. His silence made him all the more intimidating.

  While he was speaking, something peculiar about his counterpart struck the umalohokan. But he couldn't point it out what exactly. There was no visible reaction from the man. But his demeanor was unsettling. He just stayed where he was, casually listening to the umalohokan like everything was inconsequential.

  Finally, the umalohokan finished conveying his master's reply. But to his surprise the man in the shadows did not ask anything else. No clarification.

  An agonizingly long span of silence extended between them before the man in front of him stood straight. Then, with the coldness of an open grave the man bade him farewell. He turned to leave and it was then that the umalohokan realized what was nagging him earlier. It wasn't the shadow of the trees that made the messenger's face odd but the birthmark the size of a man's palm from his ear down his chin. He was a marked man. The old folks in the village used to say that men like him were living bad omens. They were war-bringers. Whether that was true or not about them all, he did not know for sure.

  Seeing his duty fulfilled, the umalohokan hurried back to the village in deep thought. He once heard a story about a marked man long ago- a famed killer, who was exiled by his tribe for killing his whole clan... down to the very last member. Other versions of the tale said he spared a woman but made sure to blind her eyes and cut her tongue. But the messenger he interacted with could never be that man. No... never, the umalohokan thought. After all, that marked man was long dead- tried and executed by Datu Zullah. Or so, the story goes...

  The umalohokan nodded to himself. There was poetry in it--- a kin-slayer killed by the same blade he used to murder his family. It was an ending he earned.