Chapter 38
Granny Amparo's voice softened as her form began to fade, the rocking chair creaking one last time beneath her vanishing presence.
"Whatever you decide to do," she said gently, "it will always be connected to your destiny."
The air around her shimmered faintly, like a memory losing its weight.
"I told you before… I won't be here forever. This is only borrowed time, a small perk granted to me by the heavens above."
Her smile was small, but real.
"So don't overthink it, Apo. Just do what you believe is right."
A brief pause followed.
"And like when you were young… don't doubt yourself. Don't hesitate. Break your limits, and move forward."
The rocking chair stilled.
Then, like mist dissolving in the morning light.
Granny Amparo vanished.
Silence returned to the warehouse.
Nille stood still for a moment, allowing the absence to settle instead of rushing to fill it.
Then he turned.
Lakan remained, but no longer in disguise.
His true fairy form stood revealed, a quiet spiritual aura now clearly defined around him. The subtle concealment of his human appearance had faded, replaced by something older… and far more real.
He watched Nille in silence, as if waiting for the decision that had already begun forming.
Nille didn't hesitate. "I need a gateway," he said calmly. "To your sister's realm." Lakan's expression shifted, not in surprise, but in quiet understanding, he had expected this. But before he could respond, Nille's focus turned inward. No words, no movement, only intent. A silent command directed toward the celestial scarf resting against him. Gather. Information. Everything.
The scarf responded instantly, not physically, but through a familiar expansion of awareness, as if something ancient had begun to unfold across unseen layers of reality. Its perception stretched outward, beyond the warehouse, beyond the land, reaching toward the Maramo River where Maruha's clan resided.
It did what it was meant to do, not just store knowledge, but extract it. Spells embedded in the land, residual enchantments clinging to water and air, fragments of magic woven into memory itself, everything began to surface as patterns within Nille's awareness, faint echoes translating into structure, into meaning, into something usable.
Two days. That was all he had before leaving for Manila. Two days to understand. Two days to prepare. Two days before everything either stabilized, or spiraled beyond control. Nille exhaled slowly, then looked back at Lakan. "Open it," he said. There was no hesitation in his voice now, no uncertainty, only intent.
He had already decided. This wasn't just about resolving a problem anymore. It was about maintaining the connections he chose to protect, the ones he considered part of his fate. And the fact that he had started this meant he would see it through.
He would not be ordered around. He would not be seen as weak. He already understood what would follow and accepted it. Because a Pilandok was never just a creature of mischief, it was a trickster, a master of illusion, a wielder of deception.
Lakan did not move immediately. For a brief moment, he simply studied Nille, as if measuring not his strength, but his resolve. Then, without a word, he lifted one hand. The air shifted, not violently or suddenly, but like something deep beneath reality had been disturbed. "Once it opens," Lakan said quietly, "there's no certainty on the other side. My sister's domain… doesn't follow the same rules." Nille didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Lakan exhaled, then lowered his hand slightly, his fingers angling toward the empty space between them. "Then watch carefully." The first change was sound, a faint, almost imperceptible ringing, like glass touched by distant wind, began to echo through the warehouse. It came from everywhere at once. Then the light bent, not dimmed, but bent.
The space in front of them folded inward, like a reflection being pressed from both sides. Lines that shouldn't move began to curve. Shadows detached from their objects. The floor beneath them seemed to stretch, not physically, but perceptually, as distance itself became uncertain. Lakan's aura sharpened. "Gateway formation," he murmured.
A thin fracture appeared in the air. At first, it was barely visible, like a flaw in glass, pulsing faintly as if reacting to something unseen. Then it began to grow, slowly, deliberately. The crack spread outward, branching like veins across an invisible surface. With each expansion, the ringing deepened, no longer delicate but layered, like multiple tones overlapping in unnatural harmony.
Nille didn't step back. Instead, his eyes sharpened. The scarf responded instantly, feeding him fragments, structural instability, layered illusions, spatial distortion. This wasn't a simple portal. It was a manipulated threshold. "A Pilandok's signature…" Nille muttered under his breath. Lakan heard him. "Yes," he said. "She doesn't open doors."
The fracture widened, and then it broke. Not with force, but with silence. The space between them collapsed inward, folding into a hollow tear suspended in midair. Inside it, there was no clear image, only shifting forms, reflections that refused to settle. A forest, no, a river, no, something watching.
The images overlapped, contradicting each other as if reality itself couldn't decide what existed on the other side. "Don't trust what you see," Lakan warned. "Not even me, if it comes to it." The edges of the gateway flickered, unstable, not in power, but in truth.
Nille stepped forward, and the moment he moved closer, the gateway reacted. The reflections sharpened, then changed. For a split second, he saw something else. A familiar place. A memory. Something personal. The illusion wasn't random, it was targeted.
Nille stopped just short of the threshold. His expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened slightly in understanding. "It's already trying," he said quietly. Lakan didn't deny it. "It always does." The ringing grew louder as the tear widened just enough to allow passage. Beyond it, the world twisted again, trees bending into impossible angles, water flowing upward, shadows moving without owners. And somewhere within it, something noticed them.
Nille exhaled once, steady and controlled. Then, without hesitation, he walked through.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the world shifted, not with force, but with inversion. The Maramo River Cliff felt… wrong. Not hostile, not yet, but fundamentally different, as if reality itself had been turned inside out. The air was heavier, pressing faintly against his skin, carrying a damp chill that didn't belong to any natural climate. Sounds behaved strangely—distant yet close, echoes arriving before their source.
This was the reverse side of the human realm.
Here, what was unseen in the real world became visible.
Behind him, the gateway no longer looked like a tear. From this side, it appeared as a distorted opening suspended in midair, like a wound in space, faintly pulsing, its edges rippling as if reacting to his presence. It reflected fragments of the human world, but never clearly, only warped impressions, like memories struggling to hold their shape.
Nille didn't linger.
He turned forward.
The cliffside loomed, darker than it should have been, its surface uneven and almost organic in texture. Moss clung to the rock, but it didn't grow, it seemed to watch, shifting subtly when observed too long. At the base of the cliff, half-hidden by shadow, was the cave entrance.
It breathed.
Not literally, but the air flowing from within came in slow, rhythmic pulses, warm and damp, carrying the scent of earth, decay, and something faintly sweet beneath it all. The ground near the entrance was softer, almost sinking under pressure, as if the land itself had lost its firmness.
Nille stepped inside.
The light from outside didn't follow him properly. It stretched, thinned, and then collapsed behind him, leaving only a dim, ambient glow that seemed to seep from the cave walls themselves. Water dripped somewhere deeper within, but the sound echoed inconsistently, sometimes near, sometimes impossibly far.
Every step forward felt measured, not by distance, but by awareness.
The deeper he went, the heavier the air became.
Then he saw it.
A wooden gate stood embedded within the stone passage, as if it had grown there rather than been placed. Its surface was aged, darkened by time, or something older than time, but it remained intact, untouched by decay.
Carvings covered it.
Not random designs, but deliberate figures.
Mythological creatures intertwined across its surface, their forms twisting into one another in a seamless pattern. Some resembled known beings—serpents, winged figures, horned guardians—but others defied recognition entirely, their shapes shifting subtly the longer they were observed.
Eyes were everywhere.
Carved into the creatures, hidden within the patterns, layered into the design itself.
Watching.
Nille stopped a few steps before the gate.
The scarf reacted instantly, feeding him fragments, not of structure, but of intent. This wasn't just a barrier.
It was a filter.
A test.
Or perhaps…
a trap disguised as something more formal.
The carvings shifted, just slightly.
Not enough to be seen directly.
But enough to be felt.
And from the other side of the gate,
something moved.
The moment the gate fell silent, Nille understood.
The Pilandok had already begun its game.
Not with an attack, not with force, but with design. The entire space felt intentional, as if it had been waiting… not just for anyone, but for a player willing to step in. This wasn't a domain meant to repel intruders.
It was meant to engage them.
Nille's gaze sharpened. "Assess everything," he murmured inwardly.
The scarf responded at once.
It moved, not loosely, but with precision. Threads slipped from its resting state and fused seamlessly into his clothing, reinforcing the fabric without altering its form. A portion of it rose, wrapping over his lower face up to the bridge of his nose, filtering the damp, unnatural air. At the same time, it tightened around his hands, forming gloves—dark, fitted, and reinforced. The Taeng-bituin knuckles settled into place, aligned perfectly with his movements, as if they had always belonged there.
The preparation was immediate.
Silent.
Complete.
Then,
the wooden gate opened.
No creak. No resistance.
Just a slow, deliberate parting.
What lay beyond it made him pause, not from fear, but from recognition.
The inside of the mountain cliff… was impossible.
In the human world, this place was nothing more than a modest cliffside, something hikers could walk across, something divers used without a second thought. It wasn't vast. It wasn't deep.
But here,
it was something else entirely.
Nille stepped forward, crossing the threshold.
The space expanded.
No, revealed itself.
A massive underground cavern stretched endlessly before him, its ceiling so high it disappeared into shadow. Light existed, but without a clear source, dim, ambient, and uneven, casting shifting patterns across the terrain.
And Nille…
was standing on the edge of a cliff.
Inside the mountain.
The drop before him was immense, far deeper than the exterior of the cliff could ever allow. It didn't just descend, it vanished, swallowed by darkness that refused to define a bottom.
Across that vast gap, land spread outward in impossible scale.
An entire ecosystem.
Dense vegetation covered the terrain below, twisted trees, thick undergrowth, and winding paths that didn't follow natural logic. The greenery wasn't random. It formed structure.
A maze.
Massive, intricate, and alive in a way that went beyond biology.
Paths shifted subtly.
Walls of vegetation seemed to breathe.
The layout resisted understanding.
Nille's eyes traced the patterns, the inconsistencies, the deliberate distortions.
Then he smiled.
Not out of amusement—
but acknowledgment.
"I see," he said quietly.
The Pilandok wasn't hiding.
It was inviting him to play.
The illusion of scale. The impossible depth. The living maze.
All of it designed to disorient, to mislead, to pull him into a narrative that wasn't real—but felt convincing enough to become dangerous.
Nille stepped closer to the edge, looking down into the abyss.
It looked bottomless.
But he knew better.
"Layered perception," he muttered.
The scarf fed him fragments in response, confirmation, distortion signatures, overlapping constructs. Truth mixed with fabrication so precisely that separating them would require more than simple observation.
This wasn't just illusion.
It was controlled reality distortion.
Behind him, the gate remained open.
Ahead of him, the maze waited.
And somewhere within it,
the Pilandok was watching.
Not attacking.
Not interfering.
Just waiting to see,
how he would play.
High above the shifting maze, far beyond what Nille's eyes could immediately reach, the true architect of the domain watched.
And it laughed.
Not loudly, not wildly, but in a sharp, uneven rhythm, like something amused in a way that didn't quite belong to sanity. The sound echoed across the cavern without direction, slipping through the maze like a whisper that couldn't be traced.
The Pilandok revealed itself without concern.
Its form was humanoid, but only at a glance.
Its body was lean and elongated, proportions slightly distorted, as if stretched by unseen hands. Its limbs were too fluid, bending with a softness that suggested they didn't fully obey bone or joint. Its skin carried a faint, bark-like texture in some places, while in others it seemed smooth, almost reflective, never consistent, always shifting subtly when not directly observed.
Its face was the most unsettling.
Sharp, delicate features, almost beautiful, but ruined by the smile.
A wide, unnatural grin carved across its expression, stretching just a little too far, as if it had learned how humans smiled… but misunderstood where to stop. Its eyes gleamed with restless intelligence, irises flickering between shades that didn't settle, gold, then green, then something darker, like a shadow trying to take shape.
Small antler-like protrusions curved from its head, not grand, not imposing, but elegant and deceptive, like ornaments rather than weapons.
Its clothing flowed like layered illusion.
A loose, draping garment hung from its frame, resembling traditional woven fabric at first glance, but the threads constantly shifted in pattern and color, forming and dissolving symbols that never stayed long enough to be understood. Parts of it looked like leaves, others like smoke, and some like finely embroidered cloth from no known culture. The entire attire moved as if it were alive, responding to its mood rather than any physical law.
It leaned forward slightly, resting its chin against one hand, its smile widening as it observed.
"A new player…" it murmured, voice soft, playful, yet carrying something ancient beneath the tone.
Beside it, seated upon a natural formation shaped like a throne of roots and stone, were the daughters of Maruha Dalisay, Lualhati and Tala.
They did not laugh.
Lualhati sat still, her posture composed but tense, her eyes fixed on the maze below. There was awareness in her gaze, she understood what this place was, what the Pilandok was doing. Tala, beside her, was quieter, her expression more restrained, but her unease was clear in the way her fingers curled slightly against her lap.
They were not guests.
They were witnesses.
Or perhaps,
pieces on the board.
Around them, the Malignos gathered.
Shadows given form, figures twisted in varying degrees of distortion—some thin and stretched like silhouettes pulled too far, others hunched and uneven, their limbs disproportionate, their faces partially formed or entirely absent. Their laughter filled the cavern in overlapping tones—mocking, eager, hungry for entertainment.
They had been waiting.
Waiting for someone to enter.
Waiting to watch someone break.
"Look at him…" one of them hissed, voice scraping like dry leaves. "He doesn't know."
"He will," another whispered, followed by a chorus of quiet, crooked laughter.
All eyes turned back to Nille.
They expected hesitation.
Fear.
Confusion.
Panic.
But what they saw,
was different.
Nille stood at the edge of the maze, not frozen… but calm.
Then—
he smiled.
Not a forced expression.
Not defiance.
But genuine interest.
The Pilandok's grin paused for the briefest moment, just enough to notice.
Below, Nille raised one hand slightly, the air around him reacting almost immediately.
Heat gathered.
Not explosive.
Not uncontrolled.
Measured.
Refined.
Controlled fire began to form, small at first, dancing lightly across his fingers like a living thing responding to his will.
He wasn't reacting to the maze.
He was preparing.
Testing.
"…Oh?" the Pilandok tilted its head, curiosity slipping into its expression.
The Malignos fell quieter, not silent, but uncertain.
This wasn't the reaction they had anticipated.
Nille stepped forward slightly, eyes scanning the maze—not as prey, but as someone studying a system.
"A perfect environment…" he murmured to himself.
Then the flame in his hand intensified, just slightly.
"…to test limits."
High above, the Pilandok's smile returned,
wider than before.
But this time,
it wasn't just amused.
It was interested.
Nille's gaze narrowed as he adjusted his perception through the maze's layered distortion. At the farthest end of the vast expanse, partially obscured by shifting vegetation and illusionary depth, a structure stood apart from the rest.
A castle.
Even from this distance, its presence was unmistakable—not because of grandeur alone, but because of how deliberately it resisted the surrounding chaos. The architecture was compact yet reinforced, built to accommodate roughly fifty beings at most. Its design suggested function over luxury: defensive walls, narrow openings, and a layout optimized for containment and control rather than comfort.
Based on what he could observe, Nille inferred possible inhabitants—likely diwata or goblin-class entities, or something comparable under Pilandok influence. The perimeter walls surrounding the castle looked sturdy, layered with reinforcement that hinted at both physical and magical fortification. Nothing about it appeared fragile or neglected.
More importantly, the structure and the maze itself shared the same intent.
There were no signs of civilian presence.
No weak or unprotected life signatures scattered across the terrain.
No indication of innocents caught within the construct.
Everything within the space felt curated, purposeful, contained, and designed for interaction rather than collateral existence.
Nille's expression remained calm as he processed this.
"So there are no stragglers…" he murmured.
His attention shifted back across the maze, recalculating risk parameters. The absence of non-combatants changed the nature of engagement entirely. Collateral concern, restraint on environmental damage, hesitation due to unintended harm, all of it could be reduced or dismissed.
His stance subtly adjusted.
The flame earlier forming in his hand stabilized, no longer just a test of output—but a controlled baseline for escalation.
"Then I don't need to hold back," he said quietly.
Nille asked his scarf if it had gathered any new information from the area—especially anything regarding the Pilandok's personality or any residual memory traces embedded in the environment.
The scarf responded immediately.
Information had been extracted.
This particular Pilandok was classified as sinister by nature. as residual memories were scattered all ove the place It did not merely enjoy deception, it thrived on manipulation. Its behavior patterns indicated a preference for psychological destabilization: fear, panic, confusion. It derived satisfaction from watching enemies break down emotionally before physically. Pain and suffering were not consequences to it, they were entertainment.
More importantly, the scarf warned that the Pilandok reacted poorly to disruptions in its "game." Any interference with its planned scenarios would likely trigger escalation or retaliatory distortion of the environment itself.
Nille listened without interrupting.
Then a faint smile formed on his face.
"Then let's give it what it wants," he said quietly. "If it likes playing with fire… I'll use that against it."
Without hesitation, he raised his hand.
A marble-sized flame condensed in his palm, small, controlled, almost unassuming. The surrounding Malignos and goblins watching from the maze's edges burst into laughter at the sight, mocking the apparent weakness of the attack, their voices echoing with ridicule and anticipation.
They expected nothing.
Nille flicked his wrist.
The fire vanished.
For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.
Then reality cracked with impact.
A massive explosion erupted from the point of release, silent at first, then unfolding into overwhelming force. The blast expanded outward in a violent wave of compressed heat and pressure, tearing through the illusion-laced vegetation, collapsing structures, and erasing formations within moments.
The one-mile-wide, mile-long maze disintegrated almost instantly, as if the entire space had been overwritten by sheer destructive force. The shockwave rolled through the cavern like a judgment, distorting air, light, and perception itself. For a brief instant, it felt less like an explosion and more like reality itself had been forcibly reset within the blast radius.
The Malignos' laughter cut off mid-sound.
Their expressions froze.
Then broke.
Confusion.
Shock.
Disbelief.
What they had perceived as a harmless spark had become an annihilation-level detonation—far beyond expectation, far beyond comprehension.
Even from their position, the sensation of being watched by something far greater than themselves shifted into something heavier.
Something silent.
Something final.
Above it all, somewhere beyond the collapsing illusion layers, the Pilandok stopped smiling.
Nille moved the moment the aftermath settled.
He jumped across the gap in a single, controlled motion, landing firmly on what remained of the maze's entrance. The ground beneath him was still scorched, blackened vines curling inward as if trying to reclaim form from destruction. Yet even now, the environment resisted him.
The vegetation was regenerating.
Slowly at first, then faster, burnt structures knitting themselves back together, plant matter twisting and rising as if time itself was reversing the damage. The maze was already reasserting its existence, rebuilding pathways, walls, and barriers with unsettling persistence.
Nille's eyes narrowed.
"So it repairs itself…"
That changed nothing.
His approach had already been decided.
There was no need to navigate deception carefully, no need to decode every layer of illusion or wait for the Pilandok's next move. If the environment would regenerate endlessly, then efficiency mattered more than preservation.
A straight path.
Continuous pressure.
Constant disruption.
He reached for his jungle bolo.
The blade came free with a clean motion, catching the dim cavern light. Without hesitation, Nille stepped forward and brought it down through the nearest mass of regenerating vegetation.
The impact was immediate.
Plant structures split apart, stems, roots, and illusion-laced bark collapsing under force. But even as they fell, new growth attempted to replace them, only to be cut down again in the same motion. Each step forward became a cycle: advance, cut, clear.
No hesitation.
No deviation.
Just forward movement.
Behind him, the maze continued to heal itself, but Nille didn't slow to acknowledge it. His focus remained locked ahead, on the straight route he had chosen, the most direct line toward the distant castle.
Every swing of his bolo carved temporary clarity into the chaos, forcing the illusionary ecosystem to respond faster, harder, more aggressively. The environment wasn't just resisting him anymore, it was reacting to him.
As Nille slashed forward, he moved like a force that refused to be slowed.
The straight path he had chosen became a corridor of destruction. Each swing of his jungle bolo carved through the regenerating vegetation before it could fully stabilize, while bursts of fire spells erupted from his free hand in rapid intervals. Flames spread across roots and vines, forcing the maze to repeatedly collapse and reattempt its reconstruction.
The environment reacted violently.
Walls of monstrous plants surged upward to block his advance, only to be cut down and burned moments later. Tendrils tried to coil around his limbs, but were incinerated mid-motion. The maze, once carefully structured and deceptive, began to lose its rhythm under his relentless push.
Nille didn't slow.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't divert.
He was no longer navigating the maze, he was breaking through it.
To any observer, he looked like a rampaging bull driven forward by pure intent, unstoppable in a straight charge. Every step reinforced that momentum: forward, cut, burn, advance.
The regenerative nature of the maze struggled to keep up. What once was a controlled illusion ecosystem was now being forced into constant repair under pressure, each reconstruction failing faster than the last.
Above and beyond the battlefield, the Pilandok's gaze remained fixed.
Its smile had not disappeared, but it had changed.
Slightly thinner.
Slightly more focused.
Not amusement anymore.
Evaluation.
Because the pattern it had designed to entertain, to mislead, to provoke fear…
was being treated as nothing more than a path to be broken.
The clan members of Maruha Dalisay could hardly believe what they were seeing.
Their numbers had recently increased—from fewer than five individuals to eighteen—but despite the growth, they remained inexperienced in combat. They were ability users, each with their own minor gifts and spiritual sensitivity, yet when it came to real fighting, they were still weak, untrained, and vulnerable.
That weakness had already been exploited once.
When Urto Dimas arrived, he had not come with brute force, but with illusion.
He deceived them completely.
What they saw, what they believed, and what they reacted to were never truly real. Every movement he made had been layered with misdirection, every presence carefully constructed to mislead their perception. The clan had responded as one would to a threat, but they were always a step behind, always reacting to shadows instead of truth.
By the time they realized they had been fooled, the damage was already done.
Now, even as they watched events unfold from a distance, doubt lingered in their expressions. What they were witnessing in the maze below, the destruction, the fire, the relentless advance of the intruder—felt almost unreal in its intensity.
And yet, after what they had experienced before…
they could no longer trust what they saw so easily.
Until one fairy finally spoke, their voice trembling as realization set in.
"Isn't that… the rumored servant of Death?"
The words hung in the air like a fracture.
Urto Dimas, who had been watching with his usual wide, unsettling smile, suddenly stopped. The expression that had been fixed on his face vanished in an instant. Silence replaced his amusement.
Slowly, he stood.
His long arms extended unnaturally as he moved, fingers curling with sudden tension. In one swift motion, he reached out and grabbed the fairy who had spoken, lifting them slightly off balance.
"What did you say?" Urto demanded sharply. "Servant of Death?"
His grip tightened just enough to force attention, not enough to immediately injure—but enough to make fear clear. His gaze darkened as the implication settled in.
"Do you mean…" he continued, voice lowering, "the Encanto Slayer?"
The term struck harder than expected.
Or,
"Linkod Kamatayan?"
The name they had all heard whispered weeks ago, when rumors spread across the outer limits of Maruha Dalisay's domain. A being said to move alone, appearing wherever spiritual imbalance gathered. A presence tied not to allegiance, but to consequence.
Urto's mind flashed back to that time, when he had traveled beyond the clan's reach to gather medicinal herbs near the outer regions. Even then, he had heard fragments of stories. Half-fearful warnings. Half-superstitious tales.
A force that did not belong to any clan.
A hunter of enchanted beings.
A concept rather than a person.
The fairy struggled slightly in his grasp, but Urto did not release them immediately. His expression had completely changed now, no longer amused, no longer playful.
Now calculating.
Uncertain.
Because if what they were watching in the maze below truly matched those rumors…
then this was no ordinary intruder walking through Pilandok's domain.
This was something far worse.
Something that didn't just break illusions—
but erased the meaning behind them.
.