Long before Spanish crosses cast shadows across these islands, the darkness already had a name.Aswang.They were the whispers that made mothers bar their doors with salt. The reason children were never allowed to play alone after sunset. Shapeshifters who wore human faces by day. Who shed them when night fell. Creatures that split their bodies to hunt the unborn. That mimicked crying infants to lure the compassion into their claws.But every monster has a mother.She was once a babaylan a priestess who could heal the dying and speak with spirits. When plague consumed her village, disease claimed her husband and children. Her prayers met only silence.It was not the benevolent diwata who answered her desperate bargain. Something had waited beneath the earth since the world's first wound.In exchange for her family's return, she offered her very soul.What emerged was not resurrection. It was corruption.Her children returned. But were not as themselves anymore. They had become monster

The police arrived at the morning, their white patrol car cutting through humid air as it pulled into what remained of the Santos family compound. Officer Martinez stepped out first, his weathered face already grim from the preliminary report. The scene was worse than expected not just the violence, but the strangeness of it all. Denmar and Marden sat on plastic chairs someone had brought, still wearing blood stained clothes from the night before. Dark stains had dried into stiff patches that cracked when they moved. Neither boy seemed fully present, eyes staring at nothing while bodies trembled with exhaustion. "Tell me what happened," Martinez said gently, crouching in front of them. "Monsters," Denmar whispered, voice barely audible. "They weren't human." Martinez nodded patiently, making notes. Rural trauma often manifested in supernatural explanations drugs, shock could make people see impossible things. "Can you describe them?" "Too tall," Marden said, voice cracking. "Arm

The rain did not stop. It drowned the forest in its endless curtain, washing mud over the corpses that littered the clearing. The twins, breathless and battered, leaned against each other in the trembling silence that followed the carnage. Their hearts pounded as if their ribs would shatter. And then he came. A man stepped from between the trees, untouched by the storm. His shirt, pressed and immaculate, looked impossibly clean in this nightmare. He did not belong here, not in the filth, not among the broken bodies of monsters. Yet the moment his polished shoes touched the mud, the air itself shifted. The Aswang pack froze. They sniffed the air, claws twitching, eyes burning red through the sheets of rain. And then one of them hissed in raw fear, the guttural words tearing from its throat: “A sweeper is here!?” Panic rippled through the group. The monsters that only minutes ago had chased and butchered with animalistic hunger now looked unsettled, even afraid. The twins

The black SUV arrived at Lito's house exactly at dawn, just as Mang Jose had promised. Denmar watched from the window as a woman in dark clothing stepped out, her movements precise and professional. She looked like she could be a government worker or a bank manager completely ordinary, except for the way her eyes swept the street with the systematic attention of someone trained to spot threats. "That's your ride," Lito said, trying to keep his voice steady. He'd been quiet all morning, making extra coffee and frying more eggs than anyone could eat. Classic Filipino farewell behavior, Denmar realized. When you didn't know what to say, you fed people. Marden shouldered the small bag they'd packed extra clothes, their makeshift weapons, and a few photos from before that night. Everything else they owned was either destroyed or contaminated with memories they couldn't bear to carry. "You sure about this?" Lito asked for the third time. "These people... you don't really know them."

The alarm that shattered the pre dawn silence could have woken the dead which, considering their recent urban operation, might not have been entirely metaphorical. At exactly 0500 hours, red emergency lights flooded the dormitory while speakers crackled with military authority. "All recruits to the gymnasium. Fifteen minutes to shower, dress, and report for Hell Week orientation. Anyone arriving late will explain their time management skills to Agent Reyes while doing push-ups until their arms fall off." Denmar jolted awake on his narrow bunk, body still aching from the Taguig operation. The adrenaline crash had left both twins feeling like they'd been hit by a jeepney, but CLEANERS apparently didn't acknowledge recovery time. Around them, the dormitory erupted into organized chaos. Twenty trainees scrambled in various stages of panic and preparation. Carmen was already half-dressed, moving with veteran efficiency. Miguel brushed his teeth while hopping into his pants. Someone c