Shadows of the Unseen

My breath came in ragged gasps as I sprinted through the dark alley, heart pounding like a drumbeat of survival. The sharp screeches of the manananggals echoed behind me, their grotesque forms silhouetted against the faint moonlight. My focus was razor-sharp, every ounce of my energy poured into escaping, so much so that I didn't notice I'd stumbled into a crowded night market until the press of bodies surrounded me.

The chaos of the crowd shielded me. Neon lights from vendor stalls flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows as I weaved through the maze of faces, my mind racing. My eyes darted to the details of the place I'd just fled: a crumbling old building, vines snaking up its sides, and a macabre sight, the dismembered lower halves of the manananggals lying in wait for their return. Something about their presence, their organized violence, suggested a larger plan at work.

Back in my apartment, the faint hum of the ceiling fan did little to soothe me. I leaned against my cluttered desk, my hand instinctively tracing the strange tattoo etched into my skin. The clues I'd uncovered tonight replayed in my mind.

Vincent Dela Torre. His name kept surfacing in whispers and shadows. If anyone knew what was going on, it had to be him. But he was untouchable and surrounded by bodyguards and perpetually busy.

For days, I trailed him like a shadow. Every move he made, every meeting he attended, I documented. Finally, my patience bore fruit when Vincent checked into an upscale hotel with a woman who was stunning, almost unnaturally so. Her presence set off alarm bells in my mind, but I stayed silent, waiting.

From the adjacent room, I listened intently. Ten minutes passed before a sound shattered the quiet.

A scream.

Vincent's scream.

Gunshots followed, muffled through the walls but unmistakable. I grabbed my phone, calling in backup. "Something's going down at the Regal Star Hotel. Possible hostiles. I'm heading in."

I burst into Vincent's room, my weapon drawn. The scene before me was a tableau of carnage. His bodyguards lay strewn across the floor, their chests torn open, hearts ripped out in savage precision. Blood soaked the plush carpet, the stench of death thick in the air.

And then I saw her or rather, what she had become.

The woman's beauty had melted away, replaced by something horrifying. Her skin had turned pale and cracked, her eyes glowing like embers, and her limbs stretched unnaturally long. Her mouth widened into a grotesque maw lined with jagged teeth. An engkanto, I realized, my blood turning to ice.

She held Vincent by the neck, dangling him like a ragdoll. He gasped for air, his face a mask of terror.

"Put him down!" I shouted, raising my gun.

The first shot hit her squarely, but it might as well have been a toy dart for all the good it did. She didn't even flinch. The second shot was met with the same indifference.

Her attention shifted to me, and she dropped Vincent with a thud. He lay gasping on the floor, but I had bigger problems. The engkanto turned toward me, her elongated claws glinting in the dim light.

Desperate, I grabbed a vase from a side table and hurled it at her. It shattered against her head but had no effect. She shrieked, the sound grating and unnatural, and in the blink of an eye, she was in front of me.

Her claws wrapped around my throat, lifting me off the ground. Her grip was iron, her nails slicing into my skin. As she raised her other hand, claws poised to strike, a sudden warmth spread through my body.

The tattoo on my hand began to glow, its intricate patterns blazing with golden light. The engkanto froze, her eyes narrowing in confusion and fury.

I gasped for air, my mind flashing back to my time with the Mulawin tribe. I could almost hear the elders' voices, chanting incantations meant to repel dark creatures. Summoning every ounce of focus, I rasped out the words they'd taught me:

"Santisima, ilayo ang nilalang ng dilim, sa pangalan ng Inang Kalikasan, ipahayag ang liwanag!"

(Most Holy One, banish this creature of darkness. In the name of Mother Nature, let the light prevail!)

Golden light erupted from the tattoo, forcing the engkanto to release me. She staggered back, shrieking in pain as the glow seared her skin.

I stumbled to the floor, my hand clutching at the salt packets I'd stuffed into my pocket earlier. My fingers trembled as I tore one open, flinging its contents into her glowing red eyes.

Her shriek pierced the air, deafening and furious. The salt worked it blinded her, buying me precious seconds. I grabbed Vincent, slinging his arm over my shoulder, and bolted for the door.

As we reached the hallway, her voice echoed behind us, guttural and ancient. "Hindi mo ako matatakasan, anak ng liwanag!"

(You cannot escape me, child of light!)

Her words chilled me, but I didn't look back. I pushed forward, dragging Vincent with me until we burst into the night.

Safe for now.

As I dragged the man Vincent, the hotel lobby, his weight pressed heavily against my shoulder. I scanned the dimly lit surroundings, my senses on high alert for any sign of the engkanto. Her chilling words still echoed in my mind, a sinister promise lingering in the air.

Outside, the cold night slapped me awake as we stumbled onto the sidewalk. I eased him down onto a bench beneath a flickering streetlamp, its unsteady light casting long shadows around us. His breathing was ragged, his face pale, and sweat dripped from his brow.

"You're going to be okay," I said, crouching in front of him. "Just breathe. Can you hear me?"

He nodded weakly, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Okay? After what just happened? I don't think so."

I ignored his sarcasm and glanced back toward the hotel, half expecting to see the engkanto emerge from the shadows. "Look, you're alive, and that's what matters right now. What the hell happened back there? Why was she after you?"

His eyes darted around like a cornered animal's. "I don't know! She seemed normal at first beautiful even but then…" His voice trailed off, and he shuddered.

"Then she turned into something out of a nightmare," I finished for him. My tone was sharp, but my mind was spinning. "She wasn't human. You saw her claws, her face—if you can call it that."

The man nodded, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're telling me you've seen something like that before?"

I hesitated, then sighed. "Not exactly, but I've… dealt with things most people wouldn't believe. That's not important right now. What's your name?"

He blinked at me, as if the question had come from nowhere. "Vincent. Vincent Dela Torre. And you?"

"Damien. Damien Tenebris," I replied. "Now that we've got that out of the way, why don't you start explaining why a creature out of folklore is trying to kill you?"

"I don't know!" Vincent said, his voice rising. "She showed up at the bar. We talked for a bit, and I thought—" He stopped, his face reddening. "I thought it was just a normal night. But as soon as we got upstairs, she changed. Her face, her voice—it was like she was someone else entirely."

"Not someone else," I corrected him. "Something else."

Vincent let out a shaky breath. "You're saying that thing was real? That it wasn't just some kind of...hallucination?"

I gave him a hard look. "Does it feel like a hallucination? Your guards are dead, Vincent. Torn apart. I doubt your imagination did that."

Before he could respond, the sound of sirens cut through the night air. I stood, my shoulders tensing as squad cars pulled up, their flashing lights painting the street in bursts of red and blue.

"Police?" Vincent muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," I said, stepping away from him and raising my hands as the officers approached. "And I'll bet they're not going to believe a word of this."

One of the officers recognized me and lowered his weapon. "Detective Tenebris? What's going on here?"

"There's been an incident," I said, keeping my voice steady. "The scene's upstairs. This man is a victim and a witness. You're going to want to see for yourself."

The officer hesitated, then gestured for his colleagues to follow him inside. I turned back to Vincent. "Stick to the facts—at least the ones that won't get you laughed out of the room."

Vincent gave a bitter laugh. "Facts? What facts? That a monster ripped my guards apart and tried to kill me?"

I ignored him and followed the officers back into the hotel. The elevator ride was silent, the tension so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing down on us. When we reached the crime scene, the smell of blood and death hit me like a blow.

The bodies were exactly as I'd left them, sprawled on the floor with their hearts torn out. The officers exchanged horrified glances, and one muttered a curse under his breath.

"We'll check the security footage," another officer said, his voice shaky.

Back in the lobby, we watched the footage on a small monitor. The grainy video showed Vincent entering the room with the woman, her beauty almost unnerving in its perfection. Moments later, the guards entered. Then, chaos.

But there was no sign of the engkanto.

On the screen, Vincent convulsed, clutching his throat as if being choked by invisible hands. The guards fired their weapons, but their bullets seemed to hit thin air. Finally, I appeared, dragging Vincent out of the room.

"That's it?" an officer said, his voice incredulous. "There's no one else in the footage. No woman. Nothing."

"That's impossible," Vincent whispered, his face pale.

"Hallucinations," another officer suggested. "Mass hysteria. Or maybe you two have some explaining to do."

I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. "You saw the bodies. Whatever happened in that room wasn't hysteria."

Vincent slumped forward, holding his head in his hands. "They don't believe us."

"No," I admitted, my voice grim. "And they're not going to."

As the officers continued their investigation, I turned to Vincent. "This isn't over. Whatever that thing was, it's not going to stop until it gets what it wants."

"And what does it want?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"That's what we're going to find out," I said, the mark on my hand pulsing faintly as if in agreement.

"Did you know that there are serial killings happening in the city?" I asked Vincent.

Vincent stared at me, his face pale and drawn. "Serial killings?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you talking about?"

I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall of the alley where we'd retreated to avoid the swarm of police. "You didn't think tonight was the first time something like this happened, did you? There have been multiple murders across the city over the last few months—gruesome ones. Victims ripped apart, their hearts missing. The police are baffled, and the only connection between all of them is a bar."

Vincent's eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of recognition. "The Gilded Veil?"

I nodded. "Your bar."

"That doesn't make any sense," he said, shaking his head. "I run a high-end establishment. The people who come there are wealthy, influential. Sure, we've got some secrets and some shady business deals, but nothing… supernatural."

"Secrets have a way of catching up to you," I said sharply. "Do you have any idea who—or what—might be using your place as a hunting ground?"

Vincent slumped against the wall, his hands trembling. "I don't… I mean, we have regulars. VIPs. Some of them have unusual tastes, but I've never seen anything like what happened tonight. That woman no, that thing—she wasn't human. How does this connect to the murders?"

I studied him for a moment, trying to gauge whether he was hiding something or just overwhelmed. His confusion seemed genuine, but I'd learned not to take anything at face value.

"All the victims were last seen at The Gilded Veil," I said. "Every single one of them. The police didn't piece it together at first because they didn't want to upset your clientele. But I've been following the trail for weeks, and it always leads back to your bar."

Vincent ran a hand through his hair, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "If what you're saying is true, then that means…" He paused, his eyes widening. "Oh God. It means I've been unknowingly running a slaughterhouse."

"Maybe," I said, my tone cold. "Or maybe you knew more than you're letting on."

His head snapped up, and for the first time, there was a spark of anger in his voice. "I had no idea! Do you think I'd willingly let something like that happen in my place? I have a reputation to protect—my clients' trust to maintain."

"Reputation isn't going to mean much if you end up like your guards tonight," I shot back.

Vincent flinched, his bravado crumbling. "What do we do?"

"We start by figuring out why your bar is the common thread," I said. "Think. Have there been any new patrons, strange incidents, anything out of the ordinary in the last few months?"

He frowned, his brows knitting together in concentration. "There was a man… well-dressed, always in black. He started coming around a few months ago. Never drinks much, just sits in the corner and watches. My staff calls him the Watcher. I thought he was just some eccentric."

"And this Watcher—did he ever interact with the victims?"

"I don't know," Vincent admitted. "But I can check the records. The Gilded Veil has security cameras and a guest log for VIPs. Maybe there's something there."

"Good," I said. "You're going to pull those records and show me everything. We don't have much time before this thing strikes again."

Vincent nodded reluctantly, then hesitated. "What about you? You seem to know more about this… supernatural stuff than any normal person should. How do you fit into all of this?"

I glanced down at the faint glow of the mark on my hand, feeling its power simmer beneath my skin. "Let's just say I've had my own encounters with things that go bump in the night."

"Fair enough," Vincent said, his voice wary. "But if we're going to survive this, I need to know one thing: can we stop it?"

I met his gaze, my expression grim. "We can try. But if we fail, you'd better be ready to face a reality much darker than you ever imagined."