Chapter 36: The Cross of Punishment and the Dawn of Battle
The morning in Plaridel was cloaked in a chilling silence, the stillness that precedes a storm, leaving the plaza a bitter tableau of yesterday's brutality. Following the savage humiliation and public flogging of the Filipinos, General Vicente Salazar imposed an even more draconian punishment.
In the center of the plaza, wooden crosses—a common Spanish tool for punishing criminals—had been erected. One by one, the Spanish soldiers tied the captives—young and old, women and men, without regard for age or status. The ropes bit tightly into their wrists and ankles, and the piercing sunlight beat down, scorching their skin like a furious fire.
The plaza was quickly surrounded by spectators; many Filipinos were forcibly brought to witness the executions, with the soldiers' rifles trained on them. Salazar stood tall upon a platform, his uniform immaculate, his face a mask of rage and arrogance.
"What you see before you are rebels!" he roared, his voice thundering across the plaza like a storm. "They are the cause of your mayor's death, the source of Plaridel's chaos! As punishment, they will be tied to these crosses until they perish from hunger, thirst, and disease! This is the fate of all who dare defy the law of Spain!"
The air was filled with the agonized screams of the captives—pleas for their lives, the cries of distraught children calling for their parents, and the groans of the elderly barely enduring their wounds. Yet, the police remained merciless, openly jeering at some of them, their rifles trained, a sickening amusement visible in their smiles as they watched the suffering of the imprisoned Filipinos.
A young boy, no older than ten, cried out, "Have mercy! We are innocent!" An officer simply struck him with a baton to silence him.
"Silence, Indio!" the officer snarled furiously.
The news of this cruelty spread quickly across Bulacan, fueling both terror and hatred. Filipinos in neighboring towns trembled, their hearts heavy with impotent rage. Some dared to speak out against Salazar's decree, but his heart was stone—his decision unchangeable. In a statement sent to local newspapers, he declared, "There is no place for criminals in my jurisdiction, and I will ensure that death awaits the rebels who bring fear and danger to Bulacan!"
🏚️ Meanwhile, at the Warehouse Outside Plaridel
Hours later, the news of the captives tied to the crosses reached Señor Apyong via his spies. Inside the old warehouse, a shadow of sadness and worry crossed his face as he listened to the report. He gripped the wheels of his wheelchair tightly, his eyes carrying the weight of responsibility. Despite his rank as general, he knew his authority in Bulacan was limited, and the events in Plaridel were spiraling beyond his control. "It is happening—what we most feared," he whispered.
He watched Ifugao, who was training under Jana's guidance. Erik stood with his eyes closed, enveloped in his own blue energy, which crackled around him like a raging fire. But the energy was chaotic, burning out of control, and the sweat pouring from Erik's brow showed his struggle to contain it. Apyong knew the young envoy was not yet ready for the imminent battle, but time was slipping away, and he feared they would be too late to save the Filipinos.
"We are running out of time," he muttered to himself, his voice edged with dread.
Amidst his worry, the deity Hiyas sat on a wooden crate beside him, speaking while holding an old book. Her voice was calm, almost casual, yet 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 brow furrowed. "Things in Plaridel are escalating faster than anticipated," he replied, his voice heavy with concern. "The captives may die, and we cannot ignore what is happening."
Hiyas smiled, a mysterious glint in her expression. "The next phase will not be easy, General," she said, closing the book and looking at Apyong. "The captives may perish, but there is a greater concern you must address."
"What do you mean?" Apyong asked, his voice laced with curiosity and tension.
Hiyas stared into the distance, as if seeing something far away. "I sense the presence of an envoy approaching Plaridel," she said, her voice a mere whisper of the wind. "Based on their aura, they are leading hundreds of people, and I believe they are rebels heading to Plaridel now to start the revolt."
Apyong's eyes widened in alarm. "Rebels?" he repeated, his voice heavy with dread. "No, that cannot happen! If the rebels interfere, it will only cause more chaos! They will only die in the fight."
He pressed Hiyas for their location, desperate to know their plan. She answered, "Those people intend to save the Filipinos in Plaridel. Are you certain you want to stop them, General?"
Apyong insisted, "I do not want anyone else to die, but we cannot allow blood to be spilled in Plaridel because of them. We must maintain balance!"
But Hiyas shook her head, her expression solemn. "The shedding of blood cannot be prevented, General," she said. "Even if you confront the rebels, nothing will change—you cannot stop them without fighting them." She shut the book firmly and looked directly at Apyong. "I sense that many will die in the coming battle. The Spanish will be unable to prevent the rebels from killing people in town—especially the envoy of Plaridel known as Hustisya."
Apyong was stunned. "Why do you say they cannot stop Hustisya?" he asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.
Hiyas explained, "One of the powers of the deity of Plaridel is the ability to draw energy from the bodies of the deceased and use it as a weapon. If Hustisya manages to harness the true potential of that power, it will be a major problem—not just for the Spanish, but for everyone."
Apyong, his voice nearly desperate, asked, "Is there anything we can do to prevent this? Even just to lessen the damage?"
Hiyas glanced at Erik, who continued his training below. "Nothing can stop the tragedy that is coming," she said calmly. "Only the envoy of Ifugao has the power to break this cycle."
Meanwhile, below, Jana continued to guide Erik in his training. Ifugao stood in the center of the warehouse, eyes closed, struggling to control the blue energy that blazed around him. The energy raged like a wild fire, flickering and chaotic, as sweat drenched his body from the strain.
"Ifugao, remember that your energy is not merely a weapon to be used against enemies," Jana explained, her voice firm but accented. "It is a part of yourself. You must learn how to be one with it. When you master its flow, you can unleash stronger attacks and sturdier defenses. When you use it freely, you will unlock your true power as an envoy."
But even as she spoke, Ifugao's body weakened. He knelt, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. His hands were shaking, and his face showed the agony he was enduring. "My own energy feels like it is burning me!" he cried, his voice broken. "I cannot command or control it; it feels like it is fighting back!"
Jana approached, her expression calm. "It is normal to struggle, especially as you begin," she said. "You cannot instantly tame your energy once it leaves your body. It requires discipline and understanding. But do not give up, Ifugao. I know you can do this." She explained that it was like a human using fire. It flares up and can be used for many things, but humans do not control fire. Unlike ordinary beings, envoys can control it, becoming one with the deities' power.
Ifugao took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand and try again, despite his trembling knees. He knew he had to grow stronger—for the people of Plaridel, for Hustisya, and for his own purpose. He continued his training, following Jana's every command, even as the power felt like it was consuming his own body.
🌙 That Night, in the Forest Outside Plaridel
As the sun set, the rebels gathered in the dense forest. At the center of the crowd stood their leader—Gilo, the envoy of the deity of Marilao. His presence was like a warrior from legend—tall, scarred from past battles, with eyes ablaze with fury and resolve. Known as one of the most feared rebels by the Spanish in Bulacan, he led a group of Filipinos fighting the government. They called their movement the Sons of Bulacan, better known as Bagwis (Wing).
Under the trees, which stood like silent sentinels, Gilo gathered his companions—five hundred warriors armed with bolos and stolen Spanish guns. He spoke before them with fierce courage, his voice an impassioned call that ignited the heart of every fighter.
"Tonight, we will end the Spanish oppression in the town of Plaridel!" he roared, his words echoing through the forest like a giant's cry. "We can no longer remain silent while our people are being punished, tied to crosses, and left to die in Plaridel! Tonight, we will save them!"
The rebels cheered in response, their fists raised, courage etched on their faces. They prepared their weapons as Gilo laid out the plan. "We will split into four groups," he said, drawing a map on the ground 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 the city hall. Our mission is to destroy the police vehicles to delay their response to the city hall. If we succeed, we will free the sons of Bulacan!"
The rebels yelled, their voices resounding in the forest, full of determination and hope. Gilo swore to his companions, "We will triumph in this battle! We will take Plaridel back from the Spanish demons!" His words were a spark that set every fighter's heart aflame, and under the darkening sky, they began their march toward Plaridel.
Under the quiet night, the members of Bagwis moved quickly, 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 single, brave command, the bombs exploded simultaneously, engulfing the vehicles in fire, scattering their parts as the police inside the stations erupted in chaos.
"Let's move out!" the group leaders shouted as the rebels swiftly retreated, heading toward the city hall for the greater battle. The explosions sowed confusion throughout Plaridel, and the townsfolk hid in their homes, panicked and with pounding hearts.
The police, now on high alert, flooded the streets, their guns ready for a fight. "Hurry and stop the rebels!" they commanded.
Outside the city hall, the confrontation began. Rebels armed with guns and machetes charged the police guarding the gates. The Spanish were caught off guard by the speed of the Bagwis's attack, and the rebels quickly breached the gates. "Don't let them enter the building!" a police officer yelled.
The rebels surged through the gates, sprinting toward the center of the city hall, their battle cries echoing around them. "For Bulacan!" one shouted, slashing a charging officer with a machete. Others fired their guns, the sound of the shots mingling with cries of pain and anger.
But in the midst of the chaos, a deafening rumble echoed from the sky, halting the rebel advance.
"What was that sound?"
When they looked up, their eyes widened as they saw five massive red crystals hurtling down from the heavens, blazing with crimson energy. "What are those things?!" a rebel questioned.
The crystals struck the ground like meteors, the impact knocking the rebels and police nearby to the ground. The earth shook, and dust filled the air, signaling a greater danger. "What is happening?!" a police officer screamed.
The rebels paused, apprehension on their faces, clutching their weapons as they stared at the crystals. Each crystal was ten feet tall, with electricity spreading around it like a living entity. "What are these things?" one whispered, his voice trembling with fear.
A moment later, the five crystals began to shift shape. Their forms transformed. Arms, legs, and heads grew, turning them into demonic figures made of red crystal. Their eyes blazed crimson, and their movements were quick and terrifying. The rebels backed away in terror at what they witnessed, enveloped in fear as the red creatures charged toward them. "What in the world are they?!" one cried.
In the midst of the confusion, a figure emerged from the entrance of the city hall. General Vicente Salazar, his uniform dignified as he smiled in disdain, stood before the rebels. "You Indian trash!" he insulted, his voice overflowing with contempt. "You fools who dared show up and invade my territory! I will make you understand tonight that Plaridel belongs only to the Spanish and that scum like you must vanish for Bulacan to be truly peaceful!"
Moments later, Gilo, the leader of Bagwis, landed from the sky, his fists clenched in fury. "We are the sons of Bulacan!" he yelled, his voice a defiant answer to Salazar's insults. "The Spanish are the true trash who must be driven out of our land!"
Suddenly, his body erupted in white flame, and the form of his energy changed—it created dragon wings and a tail that blazed around him. His presence was terrifying, as if the very ground trembled with his wrath. The police recoiled, their hands shaking as they held their guns while Gilo threatened them from above.
"This night will not end until every Spanish person is gone from Plaridel!"
Salazar only laughed, his tone cold and arrogant. "The foolish leader of Bagwis, if you think you can defeat me, why don't you try!" he taunted, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "Prove it, envoy of Marilao, what can vermin like you do in a lion's den!"
The night was thick with tension, the rebels and the Spanish poised for a battle that would decide the fate of Plaridel. Under the full moon, the war that would stain the soil of Bulacan with blood had begun.
End of Chapter.