Alysa felt the air shift.
A cold wind swept through the village, carrying with it the stench of decay and the whisper of something ancient—something dark. She stood frozen on the steps of the villa, her eyes scanning the darkening sky as the clouds thickened like a gathering storm. Her friends—Bev, Hazel, and even the weakened Lyka—huddled behind her, fear creeping into their every glance.
A scream cut through the air, sharp and guttural. The villagers, already panicked from the night’s supernatural terror, turned toward the source of the sound. A figure loomed at the edge of the forest, emerging from the sha dows like a ghost reborn from nightmares. Armando. He was cloaked in darkness, his form more mist than flesh, but his presence was suffocating. Behind him, dozens of creatures began to materialize—tikbalangs, duwendes, and an army of lesser engkantos, their forms twisted with malicious intent.
Alysa’s breath hitched as flashes of her missing memory came flooding back. The truth—buried deep beneath the terror and confusion of the last few days—rushed to the surface, clearer now than ever before.
It was him.
Her pulse quickened. She could see it now—Armando standing before her in the forgotten darkness of those missing three days. He had been there all along, manipulating the village, twisting their fears, feeding on their terror. He had orchestrated every moment of chaos, like a puppeteer pulling invisible strings.
She could hear his voice echoing in her mind: "Fear is the strongest weapon, Alysa. You will all succumb to it. Even your precious kapre cannot protect you from me."
And then she remembered. The kapre.
Her heart pounded as another vision seared itself into her mind—the kapre, towering and fierce, standing guard over Lyka’s fragile body. Not to harm her, but to heal her. Its touch wasn’t one of malice, but of protection. The ritual they had performed wasn’t to expel the kapre—it was to save Lyka from Armando’s curse. The pieces clicked into place with startling clarity: the kapre was never the enemy. It had been trying to shield them from the very being now threatening to tear their world apart.
“Alysa!” Bev’s voice snapped her back to the present.
The villagers were closing in, desperation and fear twisting their faces. Some still clutched makeshift weapons, driven by a misguided need to destroy whatever they believed was causing the horror in their village. Joko stood among them, confusion and hesitation in his eyes, torn between his loyalty to his father and the rising madness in the crowd.
“Listen to me!” Alysa stepped forward, her voice stronger than she expected. “You’re making a mistake.”
Manang Anita, standing among the villagers, narrowed her eyes at Alysa. “A mistake? The engkantos are upon us, girl! We have to act, or we’ll all be taken.”
“No.” Alysa’s voice didn’t waver. “It’s not the kapre. He wasn’t the one causing this.” She looked directly at Joko, knowing he trusted her more than the others. “The kapre was protecting us. All this time, it’s Armando.”
“Armando?” Manang Anita’s face contorted in confusion, but there was something in her eyes—doubt.
Alysa turned, pointing toward the advancing figure at the edge of the village. “That shadow—it’s him. He’s the one who cursed Lyka. He’s the one who’s been controlling everything, pushing this village into chaos, feeding off your fear!”
The villagers hesitated, some glancing between Alysa and the advancing horde of supernatural beings. Armando’s engkantos moved closer, their forms shifting in the half-light, but none of them attacked—yet.
“Do you think the kapre would have allowed this to happen if it meant to harm us?” Alysa continued, her voice rising. “No! He was trying to protect us from this—from Armando and his control. That’s why the kapre came back every night—to warn us, to keep us safe!”
“You expect us to believe that?” one of the villagers spat, but his voice lacked the conviction it once had. The crowd was beginning to waver.
Manang Anita stepped forward. “If what you say is true, then what do we do?”
Alysa looked at her friends—at Bev’s wide eyes, at Hazel’s pale face, at Lyka, barely standing but nodding in silent agreement. They trusted her. They believed her.
“I have to confront him.” Alysa’s voice softened, but it was resolute. “I have to stop Armando.”
The words hung in the air, met with stunned silence.
“Alone?” Joko’s voice broke through, incredulous. “You can’t face him alone.”
Alysa turned to him, her eyes steely. “I’m not alone. I have the kapre. And Leandro.” She took a deep breath. “And I have to do this. If we don’t stop him now, more people will suffer. More people will die.”
The villagers shifted uneasily, their eyes darting between Alysa and the shadowy figures still hovering at the edge of the forest. Armando, standing in the midst of them, smiled darkly, as though he could already taste their defeat.
But Alysa wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.
“I need you to trust me,” she said, looking directly at Joko and Manang Anita. “This has to end tonight.”
Manang Anita’s eyes softened, her shoulders sagging with the weight of years of fear and superstition. She nodded slowly. “We’ll give you the time you need.”
Joko hesitated, but he finally stepped forward. “We’ll hold off the others. But you need to be quick, Alysa.”
She nodded, the gravity of what lay ahead settling in her chest like a stone. The villagers parted, making way for her as she stepped toward the darkened edge of the village, where Armando and his creatures waited.
Alysa cast one final glance back at her friends. “Stay here,” she whispered, though her voice was barely audible over the wind. “I’ll come back. I promise.”
With that, she took a deep breath and stepped into the shadows, where Armando waited, his eyes gleaming with malevolent anticipation.