Shadows of the Unseen

The morning sun had barely risen when Lola pulled up in her car, her expression grim as usual. Another victim had made the news, this one more gruesome than the rest. The details were horrifying: the body mutilated almost beyond recognition, with a head conspicuously missing. As I climbed into the car with Vincent in tow, Lola shot me a questioning look.

"Who's this?" she asked, her sharp eyes darting between me and my reluctant companion.

"He's a key witness," I said matter-of-factly, ignoring Vincent's glare.

The crime scene was a nightmare. Blood painted the walls in haphazard streaks, as though the victim had fought tooth and nail against whatever horror had claimed them. Deep claw marks gouged into the furniture hinted at something inhuman. The body or what was left of it lay sprawled on the ground, missing its head. Flies buzzed lazily in the heavy, metallic air.

Vincent took one look and doubled over, vomiting noisily onto the curb. I couldn't blame him; the scene was enough to churn even my seasoned stomach.

"That's... not normal," he stammered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"No kidding," I muttered, stepping over a pool of blood to get a closer look.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of statements and speculation, but the real action didn't start until dinner.

We ended up at a local karinderya that evening, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and a menu written in chalk on a weathered board. Lola dug into a steaming plate of adobo, blissfully ignoring Vincent's scowl.

"You seriously eat here?" he muttered, poking at the sinigang I'd insisted he try.

"It's good, and it's cheap," I shot back, taking a generous bite of lumpia. "Not all of us eat at The Gilded Veil every night."

"Clearly," Vincent replied, pushing his plate away with a grimace.

Before I could retort, my attention was snagged by a figure at the edge of the street. A woman, her silhouette eerily familiar, walked with deliberate purpose. Something about her sent a shiver down my spine.

"I know her," I whispered, standing abruptly.

"Who?" Lola asked, mouth full of rice.

"I don't know, but I know her," I said, already pulling Vincent to his feet. "We're going."

"What? Where?" Vincent protested, stumbling as I dragged him along.

The woman led us to a dark alley, one of those shadowy stretches of the city that no sane person would willingly enter. Vincent grumbled the entire way.

"First, you drag me to a crime scene, then to a karinderya, and now here? What's next? A sewage plant?"

"Shut up," I hissed, peeking around the corner.

In the dim light, the woman stopped walking. Her body twisted unnaturally, bones cracking audibly as her torso separated from her legs. Large, bat-like wings sprouted from her back, and her skin darkened, taking on a leathery texture.

"She's a manananggal," I whispered, horror dawning on me.

Vincent screamed more of a high-pitched yelp, really and the creature's head snapped toward us.

"Run!" I shouted, grabbing Vincent's arm as the manananggal lunged in our direction.

What followed was less a chase and more a chaotic sprint through the labyrinthine streets. Vincent panted beside me, swearing with every step.

"Why am I here? Why is this my life?!" he shouted, nearly tripping over a stray cat.

"Keep running!" I yelled, throwing a trash can behind us to slow the creature down.

"I'm a bar owner, for God's sake!" Vincent continued. "Not a monster hunter!"

We turned a corner and found ourselves at a dead end. The manananggal landed with a heavy thud, her wings folding behind her as she approached, claws gleaming in the faint light.

"I hate you," Vincent muttered, backing up against the wall.

"Noted," I said, reaching into my pocket.

Luckily, I'd prepared for something like this. I pulled out a pouch of salt and a clove of garlic, holding them like makeshift weapons.

"What are you going to do, season her to death?" Vincent asked, incredulous.

"Watch and learn," I shot back, tossing the salt at the creature's eyes.

The manananggal screeched, clutching her face as the salt burned her. I took the opportunity to chant an incantation I'd learned from the Mulawin tribe.

"Tabi-tabi po, mga bantay ng dilim. Lumayo sa amin ang masamang hangin!"

The air around us seemed to shift, a faint glow emanating from my mark as the creature hissed in frustration.

"Now what?" Vincent asked, still plastered to the wall.

"We fight," I said, brandishing the garlic like a dagger.

"What am I supposed to do? Yelp at her again?"

"Here," I said, tossing him a handful of garlic. "Just aim for her face."

The next few minutes were a blur of chaos and comedy. Vincent flung garlic cloves like a bartender tossing cocktail shakers, his aim wildly inconsistent.

"Take that, you flying freak!" he shouted, narrowly missing her head.

"Stop wasting ammo!" I yelled, slapping a clove against her wing.

Finally, the creature snarled and retreated, flapping her wings to gain altitude. She hovered for a moment, glaring at us with eyes full of malice, before disappearing into the night.

Vincent slumped against the wall, breathing heavily.

"If I survive this, I'm never speaking to you again," he said.

"Deal," I replied, equally exhausted.

But as we stood there in the dark alley, the faint glow of my mark still lingering, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.

The manananggal hovered in the air, her grotesque wings beating rhythmically, sending a gust of foul-smelling wind toward us. Her face, once alluring, was now a twisted mask of hunger and rage, with sharp fangs glinting in the dim light. Vincent and I stood side by side, clutching our pitiful arsenal of garlic and salt like kids trying to fend off a schoolyard bully with water balloons.

"Is she... hissing at us?" Vincent asked, wide-eyed.

"Focus!" I barked.

The creature dove suddenly, her claws outstretched like talons, aiming for my throat. I sidestepped just in time, throwing a handful of salt directly at her face. The grains sparkled in the faint light before hitting their target.

The manananggal screeched in pain, her wings flapping wildly as she stumbled mid-air. "Nice shot!" Vincent yelled, momentarily impressed.

Encouraged, I tossed another handful of salt, but this time she twisted mid-flight, dodging it with inhuman agility. Before I could react, she shot back down, landing with a thud right in front of us. Her claws raked across the ground as she let out an ear-piercing scream.

"Time to shine, Vincent!" I shouted.

Vincent froze. "What do you want me to do? Bartend her a cocktail?!"

"Throw the garlic! Aim for her eyes!"

He fumbled with the cloves in his pocket, finally managing to lob one awkwardly. It hit her wing, bouncing off harmlessly.

"Eyes, Vincent! Eyes!" I yelled, backing away as she lunged for me again.

She swooped back into the air, her wings propelling her upward as she surveyed us like prey. The alley became eerily quiet except for the sound of her wings cutting through the still night air. Vincent crouched next to me, visibly trembling.

"She's playing with us," he whispered.

"I know," I muttered, my mind racing for a plan.

Suddenly, the creature swooped again, this time targeting Vincent. He screamed, flailing wildly with his arms, garlic flying in all directions. One clove struck her cheek, causing a sizzling sound and a furious hiss.

"Yes!" I cheered, grabbing a fistful of garlic from the ground. "That's it!"

We both started throwing everything we had. Garlic cloves rained through the air like bizarre confetti, some hitting their mark while others clattered uselessly onto the cobblestones. The manananggal recoiled, her skin sizzling wherever the garlic made contact.

But she wasn't done yet. Enraged, she lashed out with a clawed hand, slashing through the air. I barely dodged, feeling the whoosh of her claws as they missed my face by inches.

"Is she bulletproof?" Vincent shouted.

"Yes!" I snapped. "Focus!"

I grabbed another pouch of salt and flung it at her chest, hoping to weaken her further. The salt landed with a satisfying splatter, making her shriek and falter in mid-air.

Seizing the moment, I grabbed a large piece of discarded wood lying nearby and brandished it like a baseball bat.

"What are you doing with that?" Vincent asked, horrified.

"Improvising!" I yelled, swinging it at her as she dove again.

The wood made contact with her wing, sending her spiraling awkwardly to the ground. She landed on all fours, her claws digging into the pavement as she snarled at us.

Vincent stood frozen, his mouth agape. "Okay, that was cool. Now what?"

"She's grounded. Keep throwing!"

Garlic and salt rained down on the creature as she struggled to regain her footing. Her wings flapped erratically, sending up clouds of dust that stung our eyes.

"I've had enough of this!" Vincent suddenly shouted, grabbing a metal trash can lid.

"What are you doing?" I asked, alarmed.

"Channeling my inner Captain America!" he yelled, hurling the lid with surprising precision.

The lid hit her square in the face, making her stumble backward with a startled growl. I couldn't help but laugh, even as adrenaline coursed through me.

Realizing we had the upper hand, I stepped forward, holding up the pouch of salt and another clove of garlic.

"Lumayo ka sa amin, halimaw! Sa ngalan ng liwanag at proteksyon, layuan mo kami!" I chanted, my voice steady despite my racing heart.

The air seemed to shimmer as my words took effect. The manananggal hissed again, this time with a note of fear, her movements slowing.

Vincent, emboldened, grabbed the remaining garlic and hurled it with all his might. "And stay down!" he yelled, his voice cracking slightly.

The garlic struck her chest, and she let out one final, agonized scream. With a furious flap of her wings, she launched herself into the air and disappeared into the night, her wail echoing down the alley.

We stood there, panting, the silence almost deafening after the chaos.

"That... was insane," Vincent said, leaning against the wall. "And I hated every second of it."

"Could've fooled me," I said, smirking.

He glared at me but didn't argue.

"You okay?" I asked, patting him on the shoulder.

"Define okay," he muttered, looking at the ground littered with garlic and salt.

As we stumbled out of the alley, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. For all his complaining, Vincent had held his own. Maybe, just maybe, he'd survive this after all.