"Some storms do not end—they widen."
The World Watches
The live helicopter feed from Archipelago Television News crackled across screens in quiet war rooms and bustling homes around the globe. In Tokyo, the Prime Minister observed from a sterile command center, his face illuminated by a holographic mapf Davao City, depicting the unfolding "myth-tech war" at the Temple of Lakapati—a conflict that transcended conventional warfare.
Civilians across the globe watched the same spectacle unfold on their smartphones. Gregorio's team leader observed in silent awe, fear etched across his features. Renato's girlfriend, also tuned into the broadcast, felt a surge of desperate concern as she attempted to reach him. A street vendor in Bangkok paused, phone raised high, observing a siege tower advance, its frame reinforced with glowing inscription plates. A student in Seoul witnessed fire and relic energy surging violently on his screen. In the bustling markets of Jakarta, a father held his phone aloft for his children, showing them footage of the Temple of Lakapati, its stonework fractured and ancient wards flickering. A young woman in Kuala Lumpur watched as myth-tech munitions arced across the sky, each detonation blending conventional blasts with spiritual shockwaves. For a fleeting moment, the world held its breath, united by the broadcast.
The feed abruptly ended, replaced by an emergency news banner.
The Promise from a Shared Past
In the Oval Office, the President of the United States sat alone, the silence palpable. His secure line buzzed, and he picked it up.
"It's about time you called," the US President said, his voice calm yet underscored with urgency.
The voice on the other end, the President of the Philippine Archipelago, was low and familiar. "You always said you'd call if the old gods started fighting again."
"Well," the US President replied, "it seems they're not content to merely fight. They are coming for us all, my friend. Tell me, how far have you advanced in protecting what is rightfully ours?"
The Philippine President's voice resonated with a shared secret. "Do you remember what we promised each other all those years ago? When we first met? That no matter the cost, we would protect our people from the Reckoning."
"I remember," the US President said, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "I was just ensuring you recalled as well."
The line clicked dead, leaving only the memory of a shared past and the weight of an unwritten future.
Temple of Lakapati – Davao, After the Siege
The wards resonated from the last impact, creating a heartbeat of stone and spirit that sustained the Temple. The obsidian terraces emitted a faint glow under the black-flame light of Sybill Lucero's Kandila ng Dilim. The final serpent rider had vanished into the mist, leaving behind the acrid scent of burnt glyph ink and a shattered faith.
Gregorio Aguilar stood resolutely at the parapet, the Eyes of Bathala now firmly upon his shoulders. The Kamay ni Bathala was complete—its whisper no longer fragmented but united in purpose. Behind him, Marian Dela Fuente's mist enveloped the battlements, Agosto Santos' crimson arcs severed the dying siege ropes, and Renato Ramirez's Kalasag settled into a state of repose.
Below, the Sanggunian ng Dilim attended to the wounded, while above, smoke wound its way into a violet-lit sky that felt unnaturally serene.
Ashes of Faith
Inner Sanctum - Babaylan HQ, Biringan
The chamber was dimly lit, illuminated only by the flicker of relic flame. Hermano knelt before the altar, blood still drying along the edge of his ceremonial robes. The Banal na Parusa hovered above its cradle, pulsing faintly—less a weapon now, more a wound.
He did not speak; he listened.
The glyphs etched into the obsidian walls whispered fragments of scripture, yet none offered absolution. Raja's betrayal had not shattered him—it had clarified him.
"They will all kneel," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Not to me. To truth."
Behind him, the Babaylan Saints gathered in silence. Magdalena's chains rattled once. Mia's tome flipped a page without touch. Crispulo's shadow curled tighter.
Juan Luciano stepped forward, the Habagat ni Silang cradled in his palms like a storm waiting to be named. His voice was low—measured—but carried the weight of centuries etched in wind and war.
"We march at your signal, Hermano. But we do not march blindly."
Hermano rose slowly, eyes burning with divine intent.
"Call forth the Babaylan Army. We march in prophecy's name. We march toward reckoning."
Juan Luciano nodded once. The glyphs obeyed.
The Blade That Betrays
Ahas ng mga Lakan War Chamber, Binondo
Raja stood before the relic vault, the air thick with venomous intent. Haring Sawa slithered across his shoulders, its spectral coils pulsing with ancestral rage. The blade had tasted Hermano's blood—but it craved more.
He opened the vault.
Inside, sealed in a cradle of obsidian and salt-glyph, lay the Pamana ni Lakan—Sulayman's sovereign relic. Its edge shimmered with fractured gold, and the hilt bore the seal of a kingdom that never bowed.
Raja reached for it.
The glyphs resisted. The chamber trembled. Yet the blade did not reject him—it recognized him.
He drew it slowly, the air warping around its edge. Pamana ni Lakan sang in a voice that blended lullaby and war hymn. Haring Sawa hissed once, then coiled tighter, as if in deference.
Kalawit entered, silent. "The Saints have regrouped. Juan Luciano leads them."
Raja didn't flinch. "Then we strike before they sanctify."
Natalia emerged from the shadows, her karambit whispering across the stone. "And Gregorio?"
Raja's gaze sharpened. "He's no longer merely a wielder. He's a myth. We must unmake him publicly."
He turned, now wielding both Sandata relics—Haring Sawa in his left hand, Pamana ni Lakan in his right. The chamber darkened, and the glyphs on the walls flickered in submission.
"Let the world witness what occurs when sovereignty is reclaimed by force."
Quiet Before the Widening War
Sybill approached, her expression inscrutable. "The Temple will endure," she declared, though her tone lacked triumph. Gregorio recognized the unsettling truth—the enemy had not been vanquished; they were merely biding their time.
"The Babaylan and the Ahas ng Mga Lakan will return," Gregorio responded. "And next time, they will not come alone."
Neither spoke of the peculiar crow that had circled the ridge during the final assault.
Unbeknownst to them, its eyes had already transmitted the siege, rune for rune, to a chamber in Manila where five shadows—the Anino ng mga Anitos—observed in silence, concealing their intentions.
Threads Beyond the Archipelago
In the aftermath of Davao's smoky haze, initial tremors began to radiate outward.
Bangkok, Thailand
Surveillance has detected the active fabrication of void-poison weapons along the Chao Phraya River in central Bangkok. The Royal Guardian Corps has deployed relic war units to secure the affected areas. Intercepted samples have confirmed that the forging techniques are consistent with previous incidents near Ayutthaya.
Osaka, Japan
Echo manifestations have been reported in the Blue Line subway system beneath Osaka. Movement patterns suggest coordinated summoning activities. Civilian evacuation was not fully completed, resulting in significant disruption before containment was achieved.
Shanghai, China
Sky Sentinel Towers throughout Shanghai autonomously engaged lantern arrays for three hours. Sweeps extended beyond the altitude of mortal airships, with no confirmed intrusions recorded. Analysts have noted glyph residue indicative of external relic interference.
Busan, South Korea
Naval patrols successfully engaged and boarded an unmarked vessel operating near Busan Harbor. The cargo included relic fragments identical to those reported stolen from Manila's registry. These fragments have been secured under the Haechi Protocol, and a public communiqué has asserted sovereign jurisdiction.
Jakarta, Indonesia
Authorities have disrupted smuggling operations across the Seribu Pulau archipelago, northwest of Jakarta.
Confiscated shipments contained sealed canisters of void poison traced back to inland forging sites. Evidence suggests coordinated activities between maritime routes and temple-based suppliers.
Port Klang, Malaysia
Naval observers have reported sightings of multiple unidentified warships transiting the Malacca Strait near Port Klang. These vessels lack national markings and did not respond to hails. The patterns of formation and residual glyph signatures indicate potential relic integration.
The Imminent Threat
Within the war room of the Temple, members of the Sandata Unit and Sybill's Sanggunian gathered around a map spanning not only the Philippines but also Southeast and East Asia.
Joaquin Santillan's voice crackled through the line from Puerto Princesa: "Multiple nations are mobilizing their relic assets. They inquire whether you will coordinate with them or if they should prepare for independent action."
Ricardo Magno scrutinized the map intently. "The moment the Kamay was restored, a signal was dispatched—not only to our allies but also to potential adversaries."
The Gamble Beneath the Bone Sky
The obsidian sky above Kasanaan pulsed like a sealed wound resisting rupture. Maximo Imperial knelt at the edge of the bone dais, his tactical suit scorched, his flute silent. The glyphs on his wrist flickered with residual curse-light—echoes of a melody that had rewritten a battlefield.
Before him stood Sitan, God of Death, his voidsteel axe resting against the throne's base, and Dian Alintana, Goddess of Fate, her blade-thread weaving constellations into the air with each breath.
Maximo bowed low, offering silence first—a currency the gods respected. Then, he spoke.
"The Kamay is whole. Both Eyes have chosen Gregorio."
Sitan did not flinch. The Palakol ng Kasanaan remained steady in his grasp, its runes humming with quiet affirmation.
"As planned," he said. "He now holds every piece."
Dian's threads paused mid-weave, then tightened into a lattice of warning.
"The Other Gregorio is searching the void," she stated. "It is only a matter of time before he breaches this reality."
Her gaze sharpened, threads now forming a protective seal around the dais.
"Only one who bears Bathala's power can withstand one born of it in another realm."
Sitan stepped forward, his shadow enveloping the glyphs beneath Maximo's feet.
"Gregorio must be given the chance. The Grand Obsidian threshold must hold."
Maximo raised his eyes, the violet flare behind them dim but steady.
"Then I will continue to play. Until the world decides what song it wants to end with."
The gods did not reply.
They simply turned, and the bone dais darkened.
Above, the crow familiar wheeled once more—its eye catching the final flicker of Maximo's aura before vanishing into the fracture between realms.
The Anino Watches
In Manila, the Anino ng mga Anitos conversed in hushed tones. Senator Datu Alon, with a silhouette of the legendary Dahong Palay sheathed at his waist, traced a finger along the edge of the map. "The board is set. Let others believe this is their game."
Governor Lakambini Reyes, fanning the Abaniko ni Urduha, offered a faint smile. "They will remain oblivious to the fact that we were the first to make a move."
"Let the children of the forge prove their mettle," said Ambassador Tala Martinez, the Panulat ng mga Makata dipped in a void ink bottle beside her.
"Our army is ready," murmured General Ramon Dimagiba, the Agimat shimmering on his chest.
"I will continue to watch the chess pieces every step of the way," whispered Congresswoman Aura Medina as she removed her hands from the Bolang Kristal.
The crow closed its eyes, enveloping those words in shadow.
The Seal of Reckoning
Location: Senate Hall, Bulakan Capital City
Time: 03:00 A.M. — Post-Crisis Emergency Session
Rain lashed against the stained-glass dome. The chamber was dim, lit only by the glow of active glyph projectors and the flicker of ancestral flame.
The final vote had been cast.
Senate President Esteban Villareal stood at the center podium, his bifocals removed, his voice stripped of ceremony. Behind him, the holographic map of the archipelago pulsed with red sigils—Palawan, Davao, Coron, Namayan—all marked with breach activity and relic warfare.
"By unanimous vote," he declared,
"the Republic hereby authorizes the full reactivation of Project Sandata, the MID-Zeta Elite, and the God's Locker Initiative."
A low hum resonated through the chamber as the glyph-seal of the Republic—once dormant—ignited above the dome. The seal rotated slowly, revealing three concentric rings:
Innermost: 🜂 Kamay ni Bathala
The ancestral mandate granting divine sanction to mobilize myth-tech forces—including the elite Sandata Unit—for specialized international warfare and relic diplomacy.
Middle: 🜄 MID-Zeta Elite
Reactivation of the God-Tier Relic Wielder Spec Ops Unit, led by Joaquin Santillan with Ricardo Magno as vice captain—assigned to national defense and internal myth-tech stabilization.
Outermost: 🜁 God's Locker Protocol
Authorization to deploy relic weapons from B to S class tiers stored in God's Locker under Republic oversight.
Each ring locked into place with a thunderous click, sending a pulse of violet light across the chamber.
Senator Marasigan, once the fiercest critic of relic militarization, stood and placed her hand over her heart.
"Let history record that we did not awaken gods for conquest—but for survival."
Across the chamber, General Emilio Valdez stepped forward, flanked by Joaquin Santillan and Ricardo Magno. Their presence was no longer symbolic—it was operational.
Joaquin nodded to the chamber.
"The Mandirigma is repaired. The Kabalyero is armed. The Sandata Unit is ready."
Ricardo added, "The Eyes of Bathala are secured. But the world is leaning. We must move before it tips."
Villareal raised the ceremonial gavel—now etched with the glyph of Bathala—and struck it once.
"Then let the Republic move."
The chamber darkened. The seal above rotated once more, and the final glyph appeared:
🜃 Convergence Protocol: Active
Outside, the national flag—still red-over-blue—flapped violently in the storm. But within, the Republic had chosen its path.
Not toward secrecy.
Not toward silence.
But toward reckoning.
The Last Words of Act 1
On the highest balcony of the Temple, Gregorio gazed eastward—beyond the hills, beyond the archipelago—toward seas that now linked battlefronts he had never traversed.
"This was merely one siege," Marian remarked beside him. "The next will span oceans."
Gregorio tightened the plates of the Kamay over his shoulders.
The One Who Surged
The sky did not shatter; it recoiled.
In a reality detached from the mortal realm, interwoven between divine memory and emotional recursion, the other Gregorio hovered at the heart of the Obsidian Basin. No longer a man, nor merely a martyr, he had transformed into an echo-state anomaly, radiating with omnipotent power. Glyphs spiraled from his skin, rewriting the very air with each breath.
The Kamay ni Bathala had not merely armored him; it had become his essence. He was no longer confined by prophecy; he had become its author.
Surrounding him lay the remnants of divine beings, disintegrated and diminished. Some pulsed faintly, while most did not. Their names remained withheld, their legacies suspended—not erased.
In this realm, memory was wielded as a weapon, and forgotten gods faded faster than wounds could heal.
Only two remained. Mandayog, the War God, stood battered—his spear fractured, his stance unsteady.
Laon, the Harvest Goddess, knelt beside him, her crown shattered, her breath shallow.
Their forms bore the weight of a battle already lost. Stripped of divine immunity, they were vulnerable—exposed to glyph corruption and emotional collapse.
Laon's voice, hoarse and trembling, ascended: "You were meant to restore balance… not erase it."
Gregorio offered no reply. His eyes were voids. He lifted his hand.
The glyphs surged—initiating a reckoning loop, a metaphysical echo that sought balance even in annihilation.
The Exit from Kasanaan
In Namayan, where river meets mangrove, a woman stepped barefoot onto the soil of the living.
She had traversed Kasanaan—the land of the dead—not as a reclaimed soul, but as a memory too stubborn to fade. Her passage had been silent; her return, unannounced.
She was an anchor—an emotional rupture seeping into the Rift.
Behind her, the exit shimmered: a gate woven from ancestral light and forgotten lullabies. She did not look back.
She advanced forward.
And somewhere, amidst the storm above, the Other Gregorio paused—not in mercy, but in memory.
The Rift pulsed.
And the glyphs awaited.
End of Act 1