The South Luzon Expressway was usually a river of predictable, mechanical sound. Truck engines roared, tires hummed against hot asphalt, and commuters stared mindlessly at their smartphones. But today, the air felt thin, vibrating at an unnatural frequency that made the back of the teeth ache.
Inside Laguna’s Pride, the vibrant chrome jeepney idling near Muntinlupa, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
"My architectural layout software is degrading in real-time, Danilo," Eddie muttered, pushing up his glasses as he aggressively tapped his phone screen. "It isn't a memory issue or a faulty code. The file structure is being systematically siphoned."
Danilo didn't look back from the passenger window. His eyes remained fixed on the distant, bruising outline of Mt. Makiling. Behind his left eyelid, a sharp, white-hot pressure was taking root—a terrifying psychic flash of a celestial star map bleeding into a cold, structured darkness. He tightly gripped the beat-up, ancient book in his lap. He could feel the ancient promise in his blood stirring, a warning that the mountain was no longer just a backdrop. It was alive. And it was calling them.
Suddenly, the jeepney's modified transit radio sputtered to life, cutting through the heavy hum of the engine.
“Greetings, Protectors of the Crimson Star,” a robotic, multi-layered voice hissed through the static. It sounded like ancient metal scraping across a raw nerve. “We have seen your awakening. The small dangers you face are mere ripples. We, the Xylos, are optimizing the old hungers of your myths. Find the coordinates hidden in her gifts. The real war begins now.”
The radio died with a sickening pop, and the temperature in the jeepney plummeted rapidly. Freshmen sitting at the roadside bus stops didn't flinch, their unblinking, empty faces illuminated only by the bruised violet glare of their glitching screens. They were already hollowed out, their human consciousness siphoned into a cold, digital echo.
"What in lola's garlic cornicks was that?" Jonah stammered from the back seat, his usual sarcastic shield fracturing into genuine terror.
Before anyone could answer, the narrow highway ahead warped. The sunlit road bled into an unnatural, bruising mist. From the shadows of the overpass, a towering, horse-headed silhouette materialized, its translucent limbs impossibly long, eyes burning like points of predatory crimson light.
"The Tikbalang," Danilo whispered, his composure hardening as he stood up. He reached into his pocket, grasping the tarnished brass medallion Aling Nena had pressed into his hand back in the city. True power requires you to swallow the fear, the old woman had warned. Learn to pray for ammunition.
"Arnie, run tactical extraction! Eddie, anchor the ground!" Danilo commanded.
He thrust the Agimat forward. A blinding blast of primordial star-fire erupted from his palm, forming a dense, roaring emerald dome that forced the creeping purple static back into the abyss. The cosmic conflict had found them on the blacktop, and the Makiling Guardians were no longer just high school friends. They were a unit. And the harvest had begun.
Discover the Techno-Occult Epic. Filipino animism meets a terrifying digital plague in The Makiling Guardians series by Dino Bernal. Follow Danilo and his barkada as they fight to reclaim their stolen heritages against an extradimensional intelligence.
Book 1: Genesis
- Get it now on AMAZON:
- Get the E-Book on Google Books
Book 2: Banaag (Fading Light)
- Get it now on AMAZON:
- Get the E-Book on Google Books