Chapter 36: The Cross of Punishment and the Dawn of Battle
The morning in Plaridel was cloaked in an eerie silence, like the calm before a storm, but the plaza was a stark tableau of cruelty. Following the brutal humiliation and whipping of the Filipinos, General Vicente Salazar imposed an even darker punishment.
In the center of the plaza, wooden crosses were erected, sturdy and unyielding. One by one, the captives—children, elders, women, and men, regardless of age or condition—were bound to them. The ropes tightened around their wrists and ankles, while the blistering sun scorched their skin like a raging flame.
Before a crowd of onlookers—Filipinos forced to attend under the threat of guns—Salazar stood tall on a raised platform, his uniform pristine but his face contorted with anger and arrogance. "What you see here are rebels!" he bellowed, his voice thundering across the plaza like a storm. "They are the ones who caused the death of your mayor, the source of chaos in Plaridel! As punishment, they will be bound to these crosses until they die of hunger, thirst, and pain! This is the fate of those who defy Spanish law!"
The air was filled with the captives' cries—pleas for mercy, the anguished sobs of children calling for their parents, and the labored breaths of elders barely enduring their wounds. But the Spanish police remained merciless, their rifles trained, their smiles reveling in the Filipinos' suffering.
A young boy, no older than ten, cried out, "Have mercy! We're innocent!" But a policeman's baton struck him hard, silencing him with pain. "Shut up, Indio!" the officer snarled.
News of this brutality spread like wildfire across Bulacan, igniting fear and rage. Filipinos in neighboring towns trembled, their hearts heavy with anger but gripped by dread. A few dared to speak out against Salazar's decree, but his heart was stone—nothing could sway his resolve. In a statement sent to local newspapers, he declared, "Criminals have no place in my domain, and I will ensure death awaits the rebels who bring fear and danger to Bulacan!"
**Meanwhile, at the warehouse outside Plaridel**
Hours later, word of the captives bound to crosses reached Señor Apyong through his spies. Inside the old warehouse, his face was shadowed with sorrow and worry as he listened to the report. His hands gripped the wheels of his wheelchair tightly, and his eyes carried the weight of responsibility. Despite his rank as a general, he knew his authority in Bulacan was limited, and the events in Plaridel were beyond his control. "It's happening—the thing I feared most," he murmured.
He watched Ifugao, who was training under Jana's guidance. Erik stood with his eyes closed, enveloped in his own blue energy, flickering like an unsteady flame around him. But the energy was erratic, flaring uncontrollably, and the sweat dripping from Erik's brow betrayed his struggle to harness it. Apyong knew that Erik, as Ifugao, was not yet ready for the battle looming ahead, but time was their enemy.
"We're running out of time," he whispered to himself, his voice laced with dread.
Amid his worry, Hiyas, seated on a wooden crate beside him, spoke up, holding an old book. Her voice was calm, almost casual, but carried a weight that hinted at deeper knowledge. "Are you troubled by the people in the plaza, General?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on the book.
Apyong glanced at Hiyas, his brows furrowing. "Things in Plaridel are escalating faster than expected," he replied, his voice heavy with concern. "The captives could die. We can't just ignore what's happening."
Hiyas smiled, a mysterious glint in her expression. "The next phase won't be easy, General," she said, closing the book and meeting Apyong's gaze. "The captives may die, but there's something bigger we need to worry about."
"What do you mean?" Apyong asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and tension.
Hiyas stared into the distance, as if seeing the future. "I sense the presence of a sugo approaching Plaridel," she said, her voice like a whisper of the wind. "They're accompanied by hundreds of people, and I believe they're rebels."
Apyong's eyes widened in shock. "Rebels?" he repeated, his voice thick with alarm. "No, that can't happen! If rebels interfere, it'll only cause more chaos! We don't need more blood in Plaridel!"
He pressed Hiyas for their location, desperate to know their plan. She answered, "Those people intend to save the Filipinos in Plaridel. Are you sure you want to stop them, General?"
Apyong insisted, "I don't want anyone else to die, but we can't let blood spill in Plaridel because of them. We must maintain balance!"
But Hiyas shook her head, her expression grave. "The bloodshed can't be stopped, General," she said. "Even if you confront the rebels, nothing will change—you can't stop them without fighting them." She closed the book firmly and looked at Apyong directly. "I sense many will die in the coming battle. The Spanish won't be able to stop the rebels—especially the sugo of Plaridel known as Hustisya."
Apyong was stunned. "Why do you say they can't stop Hustisya?" he asked, his voice laced with doubt.
Hiyas explained, "One of the powers of Plaridel's diwata is the ability to draw energy from souls and wield it as a weapon. If that sugo unlocks the true potential of that power, it will be a grave problem—not just for the Spanish, but for everyone."
Apyong, his voice almost desperate, asked, "Is there anything we can do to prevent this? Even just to lessen the damage?"
Hiyas glanced down at Erik, still training below. "Nothing can stop the tragedy that's coming," she said, her voice calm but heavy with an inexplicable weight. "But the sugo of Ifugao has the power to end it."
Meanwhile, below, Jana continued guiding Erik through his training. Ifugao stood in the center of the warehouse, eyes closed, struggling to control the blue energy blazing around him. The energy surged like wild waves, flickering and chaotic, and sweat poured from him as his body endured the strain.
"Ifugao, your energy isn't just a weapon to use against enemies," Jana explained, her voice firm yet emphatic. "It's part of you. You must understand how to become one with it. Once you master its flow, you can unleash stronger attacks and sturdier defenses. When you wield it freely, you'll unlock your true power as a sugo."
But in the midst of her words, Ifugao faltered. He collapsed to his knees, gasping and drenched in sweat. His hands trembled, and his face showed the agony he endured. "It feels like my own energy is burning me!" he cried, his voice breaking. "I can't control it! It's fighting against me!"
Jana approached, her expression calm. "It's normal to struggle, especially since you're just starting," she said. "You can't immediately tame your energy once it leaves your body. It takes discipline and understanding. But don't give up, Ifugao. I know you can do this."
Taking a deep breath, Ifugao forced himself to stand, despite his trembling knees. He knew he had to grow stronger—for the people of Plaridel, for Hustisya, and for his own purpose. He resumed his training, following Jana's every command, even as each step felt like a battle against his own body.
**That night, in the forest outside Plaridel**
As the sun set, the forest beyond Plaridel bore witness to a gathering of rebels. Amid the trees, a man stood as their leader—Gilo, the sugo of Marilao's diwata. His presence was that of a warrior from legend—tall, scarred from past battles, with eyes blazing with fury and resolve. Known as one of the most feared figures by the Spanish in Bulacan, he led a group of Filipinos resisting the government. They called their movement *Anak ng Bulakan*, more commonly known as *Bagwis*.
Beneath the trees, which stood like silent sentinels, Gilo rallied his comrades—five hundred warriors armed with bolos, machetes, and stolen Spanish rifles. Before them, he spoke, his voice a fiery call that ignited the heart of every fighter. "Enough of the Spanish tyranny!" he roared, his words carrying through the forest like a battle cry. "We can no longer stand silent while our people are punished, bound to crosses, and left to die in Plaridel! Tonight, we will save them!"
The rebels roared in response, their fists raised, their faces alight with courage. They readied their weapons as Gilo outlined the plan. "We'll split into four groups," he said, sketching a map in the dirt with a stick. "The first will attack the police station in the north, the second in the south, the third in the east, and the fourth will wait near city hall. Our mission is to destroy the police vehicles to delay their response to city hall. If we succeed, we can free the children of Bulacan!"
The rebels cheered, their voices echoing through the forest, filled with determination and hope. Gilo vowed to his comrades, "We will triumph in this battle! We will reclaim Plaridel from the Spanish!" His words were like a spark that set every warrior ablaze, and under the darkened sky, they began their march toward Plaridel.
In the cover of night, the Bagwis moved silently, their footsteps like shadows beneath the trees. At each police station, the groups carefully planted bombs on the Spanish vehicles—trucks and motorcycles lined up outside the buildings. With a synchronized command, the bombs detonated, engulfing the vehicles in flames, their parts scattering as the Spanish police scrambled in panic inside the stations.
"Move out!" the group leaders shouted, and the rebels swiftly retreated, heading toward city hall for the greater battle. The explosions sowed chaos across Plaridel, and the townsfolk hid in their homes, their hearts pounding with fear.
The Spanish police, now on high alert, flooded the streets, rifles at the ready. "Hurry and stop the rebels!" they barked.
Outside city hall, the clash began. The rebels, armed with guns and machetes, charged the police guarding the gate. The Spanish were caught off guard, and with the swiftness of the Bagwis' assault, the gate was quickly breached. "Don't let them enter the building!" a policeman shouted.
The rebels stormed through the gate, racing into the heart of city hall, their battle cries ringing through the night. "For Bulacan!" one shouted, slashing a charging policeman with a machete. Others fired their rifles, the sound of gunfire mingling with cries of pain and fury.
But amid the chaos, a deafening roar echoed from the sky, halting the rebels' advance. Their eyes turned upward as five massive red crystals plummeted from the heavens, glowing ominously. "What are those?!" a rebel gasped.
The crystals struck the ground like meteors, their impact sending rebels and police sprawling. The earth quaked, and dust clouded the air, as if heralding a greater threat. "What just happened?!" another cried.
The rebels stood frozen, clutching their weapons as they stared at the crystals. Each was ten feet tall, crackling with electricity that pulsed like living beings. "What are these things?" one whispered, his voice trembling with fear.
Moments later, the five crystals began to transform. They morphed, sprouting arms, legs, and heads, becoming monstrous figures of red crystal. Their eyes glowed crimson, and their movements were swift and terrifying. The rebels backed away, their hearts gripped by dread as the creatures advanced toward them. "What in the world are these?!" one shouted.
In the midst of the turmoil, a figure emerged from city hall's entrance. General Vicente Salazar, his uniform immaculate and his face twisted with scorn, stood before the rebels. "Filthy Indios!" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "How foolish of you to show yourselves and invade my territory! Plaridel belongs to the Spanish, and scum like you must be eradicated to make Bulacan truly great!"
Gilo, the leader of the Bagwis, stepped forward, his fists clenched with rage. "We are the children of Bulacan!" he thundered, his voice a defiant answer to Salazar's insults. "The Spanish are the true filth that must be driven from our land!"
Suddenly, his body erupted in white flames, and his energy took form—dragon wings and a tail blazing around him. His presence was overwhelming, as if the ground itself trembled with his fury. The police recoiled, their rifles shaking in their hands as Gilo swore, "This night won't end until every Spaniard is gone from Plaridel!"
Salazar laughed, his laughter cold and haughty. "If you think you can, try!" he taunted, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Prove it, sugo of Marilao, that you can defeat someone like me!"
The night was thick with tension, rebels and Spanish poised for a battle that would decide Plaridel's fate. Amid the crosses, crystal monsters, and sugos ablaze with energy, the war had begun, and blood would surely stain the soil of Bulacan.
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