CLEANERS

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 monsters. From them, the curse spread like blood in water. Village after village. Until the archipelago trembled in fear.

For centuries, humanity cowered in their homes. They emerged only when necessary. They lived in constant terror of neighbors who might not be human when darkness fell.

Children disappeared from their beds. Entire families vanished without trace.

The aswang multiplied. Evolved. Organized into something far more dangerous than scattered predators.

Until some chose to fight back.

They had no name at first. Just those who had lost too much to fear anything anymore. Armed with blessed silver blades and burning faith, they discovered through desperate trial and bloody error what could wound the immortal.

Salt could burn supernatural flesh. Holy water could wound immortal souls. Prayers spoken over metal could cut through ancient curses.

And Miracle. A power that could be wielded only by the strongest warriors. Those capable of channeling divine essence through their mortal bodies to match the supernatural strength of their enemies.

These hunters learned to move in shadows. To identify shapeshifters among human populations. To coordinate strikes against creatures that had terrorized the islands for generations.

They developed weapons that combined traditional faith with modern efficiency. They established safe houses and communication networks. They recruited from among the survivors. Teaching traumatized families to transform their grief into deadly purpose.

By the modern age, they had evolved into something more organized.

More deadly.

The Cleaners.

Seven facilities across the archipelago. Agents armed with weapons that carried both faith and science. A secret war funded by a government that officially didn't believe in monsters. Protected by bureaucracy that classified supernatural incidents as unexplained phenomena or terrorist activities.

For decades, they maintained the balance between the living and the damned. They kept the aswang population manageable. They prevented mass supernatural events that would expose the truth to an unprepared world. They rescued victims from trafficking networks that spanned international borders.

But they could never kill the source.

Deep beneath Siquijor Island, in caves that predate human memory, Corazon sleeps. The Dark Mother dreams of her lost children. Both those she gave birth to in life. And the monsters she spawned through her bargain.

Her heartbeat echoes through the supernatural underground. Growing stronger with each passing year.

Into this escalating darkness will step two brothers from a quiet village. Denmar and Marden Santos. Twins whose lives are about to shatter in ways they cannot imagine.

What they will become depends entirely on a single night. A night of celebration that will transform into unspeakable horror. Of family bonds that will be severed by claws and teeth. Of innocence that will burn away in the face of truth too terrible for the human mind to accept.

The hunt is about to begin.