Jose found himself standing in the middle of a dense, moonlit jungle. The air was thick with the sound of cicadas and the distant rustling of leaves. His heart raced, his young body trembling under the weight of the bolo in his hands.
"Focus, Jose," his father's voice came from behind him, firm yet encouraging. A towering man with a commanding presence, his father had always been a symbol of strength and discipline. "You are not just fighting for yourself. You are fighting for your people. The KKK has always protected the Filipinos from the shadows, from the creatures that would see us harmed. It's your duty to carry on this legacy."
Jose nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The words were heavy, almost suffocating. He was still a child, barely able to wield the weapon in his hand, yet here he was, being trained to hunt and protect.
The jungle shifted, and suddenly, a tiyanak burst forth from the underbrush, a grotesque creature, its sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight. It let out a piercing cry that froze Jose in place.
"Strike!" his father commanded.
Jose hesitated, his hands trembling as the tiyanak lunged at him. In a desperate move, he swung the bolo, severing the creature's head. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was almost unbearable, but the pride in his father's eyes was unmistakable.
"Good," his father said, patting his shoulder. "You'll become a great protector one day."
But the scene changed. The jungle faded into a small village where screams echoed through the night. Fires lit up the sky as an aswang soared above, its bat-like wings casting monstrous shadows. Jose, now a few years older, stood alongside his father and other members of the KKK.
"You know what to do," his father said, handing him a wooden stake.
Jose's movements were more confident now, his training taking over as he darted into the chaos. The aswang screeched, diving toward him. He rolled to the side and thrust the stake into its chest, the creature shrieking as it disintegrated into ash.
The villagers cheered, but the joy was short-lived as the scene shifted again. This time, Jose was hunting alone, his father's voice echoing in his head.
"Never let your guard down. Always remember who you're protecting."
A shadow moved in the distance, and Jose followed it cautiously. He came upon a figure, a man with bloodied hands dragging a sack. The man turned, his face pale with fear, and pleaded, "Please, don't hurt me! I'm not one of them!"
But Jose's instincts screamed danger. The stories of human traffickers working alongside supernatural creatures were all too common. Without thinking, he struck, his bolo cutting through the air.
The man fell, lifeless.
For a moment, Jose felt relief, until he saw the contents of the sack: stolen goods, not bodies. The man had been a trafficker, but human nonetheless.
The weight of his actions crushed him. His father's voice echoed again, but this time it was cold, judgmental. "You must know who your enemies are, Jose. Protectors do not kill the innocent."
The village around him faded, replaced by a sea of accusing faces, men, women, and children, all staring at him. "Murderer," they whispered. "You're no protector."
Jose fell to his knees, clutching his head. "I didn't mean to… I was trying to protect…"
But the faces didn't relent, their whispers growing louder, drowning him in guilt.
In a realm far removed from the physical world, a man sat cross-legged in meditation. His long white hair cascaded down his back, his presence serene yet powerful. The chamber around him was sparse, illuminated by the soft glow of floating orbs.
Suddenly, one of the orbs pulsed with a golden light. The man opened his eyes, revealing an ancient wisdom within them. He looked toward a scroll resting on a pedestal idenrical to Jiro's, its surface glowing faintly.
"It has begun," he murmured, a faint smile touching his lips. "The scroll has chosen its successor."
He closed his eyes again, returning to his meditation. "The scroll will guide him. For now, I must prepare."
I stood at the entrance of the room, my sword blazing as I held off wave after wave of undead. My body ached, my breaths shallow as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me.
Jose and Emilia were still unconscious, their faces twisted in discomfort as they endured their own nightmares.
"Come on," I muttered, slashing through another zombie. "You've got to wake up."
The stench of decay was overpowering, but I couldn't let it distract me. Each swing of my blade felt heavier than the last, but I refused to let the undead reach my friends.
A particularly large zombie lunged at me, its rotted hands reaching for my throat. I sidestepped, driving my blade into its chest, flames erupting and reducing it to ash.
"Jose… Emilia…" I whispered, glancing back at them. "Please… wake up."
The zombies showed no signs of thinning, their groans filling the air. My strength was fading fast, but I couldn't give up. I had to protect them, no matter what.
Emilia stood at the tomb of King Arthur, the weight of her ancestors' expectations pressing down on her. The cold stone radiated an eerie energy, and her reflection in the polished surface of the tomb seemed to mock her.
"Unworthy," the reflection hissed, its voice dripping with disdain. "A mere girl pretending to carry the blood of legends."
Emilia clenched her fists, her knuckles white. "I've spent my life proving people wrong. You're just another voice in the crowd."
The reflection smirked, stepping out of the tomb's surface as a physical manifestation. It towered over her, a monstrous amalgamation of doubt and fear. "Then prove it again," it challenged, brandishing a sword made of shadows.
Emilia drew her blade, her heart pounding. The clash echoed in the tomb, each strike resonating with the echoes of her struggles. She fought with every ounce of strength, but the monster seemed to anticipate her every move.
"You'll never be enough!" it taunted, knocking her to the ground.
Emilia's breathing was ragged, her vision blurred. For a moment, she wanted to give up, to let the weight of expectations crush her. But then she remembered Jiro and Jose, her friends who believed in her. She remembered the battles they had fought together, the sacrifices they had made.
"I am enough," she whispered, her voice gaining strength. She rose to her feet, her grip on her blade firm. "I am Emilia, a descendant of King Arthur. And I don't need your approval to prove my worth."
With a final surge of determination, she struck, her blade glowing with a golden light. The monster let out a piercing scream as it disintegrated into nothingness.
The tomb's oppressive energy faded, replaced by a warm, comforting glow. Emilia opened her eyes, her nightmare dissolving into reality.
Jose stood in the jungle, the accusing faces of the villagers surrounding him. Their whispers of "murderer" grew louder, drilling into his mind.
"You failed," his father's voice boomed. "You have dishonored the KKK."
Jose fell to his knees, his head in his hands. "I didn't mean to… I thought I was doing the right thing."
The faces loomed closer, their eyes glowing with malice. "You can't protect anyone," they sneered.
But amidst the chaos, a single memory surfaced in Jose's mind, a memory of his father, not as the stern trainer, but as a man who once told him, "Being a protector isn't about being perfect. It's about learning from your mistakes and never giving up on those you care about."
Jose took a deep breath, steadying himself. He stood, facing the accusing faces with a newfound resolve. "I made a mistake, but it doesn't define me. I am more than my failures."
The faces faltered, their whispers fading. The jungle began to shift, the darkness lifting. His father's voice softened, pride evident in his tone. "You are ready, my son."
Jose opened his eyes, his nightmare dissolving into the real world.
I turned as Emilia gasped awake, her eyes wide with clarity. A moment later, Jose stirred, his body tense before relaxing as he regained consciousness.
"You're back," I said, relief washing over me.
"What happened?" Emilia asked, looking at the smoldering remains of zombies around us.
"Nightmares," Jose muttered, his voice hoarse. "But we're awake now."
The three of us stood, battered but resolute. The door to the next trial loomed ahead, its surface glowing faintly as if urging us forward.
"We've come this far," I said, gripping my sword tightly. "There's no turning back now."
Jose and Emilia nodded, determination etched on their faces. Together, we stepped through the door, ready to face whatever awaited us next.