The scroll lay in my hands, its surface pulsing faintly with a soft golden glow. The air around it felt charged, almost electric, as though the scroll itself was alive. My fingers traced the intricate symbols etched onto the parchment. I tried to open it, tugging gently at its edges, but the scroll remained sealed, like it was resisting my touch.
It was locked.
I racked my brain, searching for some clue or method to unlock it. Then, a memory stirred something I had read in the countless Chinese cultivation novels I consumed in my spare time. In those stories, items of great power often required a drop of blood to recognize their owner.
The thought sent a chill down my spine. Blood? That felt so… final, like it would bind me to something I couldn't back out of. But I couldn't shake the growing sense that this scroll was important and maybe even my only shot at making sense of what had just happened.
I decided against experimenting with it right there. The events at Pacific Mall had left me shaken, and the weight of what I'd witnessed was starting to settle in.
The fight. The young cultivator. The Aswang.
I had been lucky or maybe unlucky to survive. The Aswang might not have seen my face, but that didn't mean I was safe. If Filipino folklore was anything to go by, Aswangs were cunning, predatory creatures with a sharp sense of smell. My clothes, soaked with fear and adrenaline, might as well have been a beacon.
I had to burn them.
But first, I needed to get home.
I flagged down a passing tricycle driver, giving him my address in Barangay Kapitan Pepe. It wasn't far, near the old palengke (wet market) and the bustling night market. Cabanatuan City might be called a city, but it's nothing like Manila's towering skyscrapers and sprawling highways. It's more quiet here, a mix of old charm and urban sprawl, with endless markets and streets buzzing with tricycles.
The ride home felt like an eternity. My mind raced with everything that had happened, replaying the fight in vivid detail. The cultivator's desperate struggle, his glowing blade, and the words he spoke before shoving the scroll into my hands. Why me?
The next morning, life was anything but normal.
At school, I sat at my usual spot by the window, the gentle buzz of the fan overhead doing little to calm my nerves. Our college, a humble building with pale blue walls and rows of wooden desks, felt miles away from the chaos I had experienced the day before.
I couldn't focus.
The professor droned on about accounting principles, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying the fight at the mall. The young cultivator's glowing blade. The Aswang's snarls and its sheer, otherworldly ferocity. And then, there was the scroll, still safely tucked away in my bag.
It felt heavier than it should, like it was dragging my thoughts toward it. I found myself staring out the window, wondering why me. Why had the cultivator given it to me? What was so important about this artifact that it had to be protected, even at the cost of his life?
My classmate, Ana, nudged me. "Boy, are you okay? You look like you haven't slept."
"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine," I lied, shaking my head as if to clear it.
She frowned but didn't press further. "If you say so," she said, turning back to her notes.
The truth was, I didn't feel fine at all. My palms were clammy, and my heart raced every time I thought about the Aswang's screech.
Could it be out there right now? Searching for me?
When I got home later that day, the scroll was the first thing I reached for.
Our modest two-story house felt quieter than usual. My grandparents were still out, probably at the barangay hall catching up with neighbors. I sat on the edge of my bed, pulling the scroll from my bag. It glowed faintly, its golden light filling the room with an otherworldly warmth.
I stared at it, the memory of my novels urging me forward. A single drop of blood. That was all it might take.
My hands trembled as I reached for a small utility knife on my desk. The blade caught the dim light, gleaming faintly. "Here goes nothing," I muttered under my breath.
I pricked my fingertip, watching as a single drop of blood formed and fell onto the scroll's surface.
The effect was immediate.
The scroll lit up, bathing my room in radiant golden light. The seals that had once held it shut unraveled, their intricate patterns dissolving into the air like mist. Slowly, the parchment unrolled, revealing rows of intricate Chinese characters that shimmered as though alive.
I couldn't read Chinese not even a single word. But as I stared at the glowing text, something incredible happened.
The words resonated with me.
It wasn't understanding in the traditional sense; rather, the essence and meaning of the text seeped directly into my mind. The scroll seemed to bypass language altogether, communicating its knowledge straight to my soul.
At the top of the parchment, bold and unyielding, were three characters. Their presence alone radiated authority and power. The scroll's title formed in my mind as clear as if it had been written in Filipino: "Divine Vessel Ascension Method."
"Oh, sh*t! Is this real?" I gasped.
The manual's instructions flooded my mind, urging me to try it.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, mimicking the meditation postures from my novels and manhua. My knees protested, and my back ached immediately, but I pressed on.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
At first, it felt silly, like I was pretending to be something I wasn't. But then, something shifted.
The air around me grew still, and a faint warmth blossomed in my chest, spreading outward. It was subtle at first, like sunlight on a cold morning. But as I continued, the warmth deepened, transforming into a steady current that pulsed through my body.
Energy.
My eyes snapped open. Everything around me seemed sharper. The dim corners of my room were suddenly vivid, every speck of dust and shadow in stark detail. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the distant chirp of crickets outside.
My senses had heightened. My mind felt sharper, more attuned.
"F*ck, it works!" I whispered, my voice trembling with excitement.
The scroll had changed me, transformed me.
But as the glow of the parchment dimmed, leaving my room bathed in moonlight, a sobering thought crept in. This power, this new world I'd stumbled into, wasn't something I could escape.
For better or worse, my life would never be the same again.