Battle Continues
Marko's lungs burned with every ragged breath as he staggered through the debris-strewn lane, clutching a splintered wooden plank that barely served as a shield. His clothes hung in tatters—torn and soaked with grime, sweat, and blood. A deep ache throbbed beneath his ribs, relentless as a storm tearing through a fragile canopy.
All around him, the villagers—the elders, the uncles, the young men, and even some of the brave youth—fought tooth and nail against the ceaseless tide of monsters. Their faces were streaked with dirt and sweat, expressions etched with terror, fury, and the desperate will to survive.
Cries of pain and commands pierced the air, shouted over the cacophony of clashing weapons and bestial roars.
"Hold the line!" Uncle Tomas bellowed, his voice raw but unwavering. The old man's bolo sliced through the air with practiced fury, cleaving the sinewy flesh of snarling beasts that lunged recklessly at the defenders.
Tomas's face was smeared with grime, sweat glistening on his brow, eyes blazing with stubborn defiance. Though exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, he refused to falter, knowing the fragile hope of their people depended on his newfound strength.
Marko swallowed thickly, heart pounding so fiercely he feared it might burst from his chest. The weight of fear pressed down like a lead cloak, dragging his feet and twisting his thoughts toward panic.
A savage creature lunged from the shadows—its jagged claws ripping a gash in the dirt mere inches from Marko's head. The ground where he'd just been moments before was torn apart, a stark reminder of the narrow margin between life and death.
His breath hitched. The primal urge to flee screamed in his mind.
"I can't do this," Marko whispered, voice trembling, as if confessing to the night itself.
The chaos around him seemed to swell, pressing closer like a rising tide of doom.
Then, a firm hand gripped his shoulder—strong and steady.
"Marko! Stay close to me!" Lolo Dario's voice cut through the tumult like a beacon of hope.
Marko turned, eyes locking with the village elder's. Despite the blood soaking his shirt and the weariness etched into every line on his face, Lolo Dario stood tall—an unyielding pillar amidst the storm. His staff, carved from ancient narra wood and etched with glowing runes, pulsed with a warm ember-like light, flickering like the last flame in a dying hearth.
In Lolo's eyes burned a fierce resolve, tempered by decades of wisdom and sacrifice. It was the look of a man who had seen the world's darkness and was determined to fight it to his dying breath.
Lolo Dario's Sacrifice
Together, they wove through the melee. Lolo's spear erupted in arcs of fiery energy, each strike singeing monstrous hides, pushing back the snarling beasts. Marko swung his plank with trembling hands, fighting to keep pace with the elder, desperate to prove he was more than a scared boy.
But the creatures showed no sign of faltering. Their snarls and growls filled the night air, a chorus of merciless hunger.
A massive claw lunged from the shadows, catching Lolo's side in a brutal swipe that sent the elder crashing hard against a cracked stone wall. The impact echoed through the street like a thunderclap.
Lolo gasped, clutching his wound as blood blossomed across his white robe, staining it deep crimson.
"Lolo!" Marko cried, rushing to his side, the plank slipping from his grasp.
The elder struggled to his knees, sweat and blood mingling on his furrowed brow.
Lolo shoved Marko behind him, raising his spear in a final stand.
"Run!" Lolo commanded, voice cracking.
"No!" Marko shouted fiercely, panic and determination warring inside him. "I'm not leaving you!"
"Marko, please!" The elder's voice broke with anguish.
But the beast was upon them in a heartbeat, claws rending flesh and bone.
Lolo screamed, plunging his spear into the throat of the beast, but its claw had already reached him, making him collapse to the ground in a heap of shattered resolve.
Marko dropped beside him, tears blurring his vision.
Awakening of the Prime Flame
While Lolo Dario was lying flat on the ground, "Marko... take this," he wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper. From beneath his robe, he pulled a small amulet, its surface shimmering with a soft golden light that seemed alive—breathing warmth into the cold, cruel night.
Marko's fingers closed around the charm instinctively. Heat radiated through his palm, a pulse of ancient power stirring in his veins.
"The Prime's bloodline... it's in you," Lolo said, voice thick with pain yet resolute. "You... are the last heir of the Prime Flame."
Marko blinked, confusion and fear swirling in his mind.
"I don't understand," he stammered, voice barely steady.
Lolo's gaze locked with his, unwavering. "Our ancestors wielded the Prime Flame, a sacred power forged to seal away the darkness. It sleeps within your veins, waiting for the time it must awaken."
Marko shook his head, desperation tightening his throat. "I'm not ready."
"The flame chooses its bearer," the elder said softly, pain flickering in his eyes. "You are that bearer."
Before Marko could respond, the ground trembled violently beneath them. Another monstrous beast—its eyes molten red, muscles rippling beneath scaly hides—charged from the shadows like a living nightmare.
The amulet in his hand blazed suddenly, searing with a heat so intense it was as if a furnace had ignited inside his palm.
Flames erupted from Marko's hands—wild, fierce, and uncontrollable—roaring into life like a beast unleashed. Intricate, glowing symbols spiraled along his arms like living tattoos, pulsing with ancient energy that filled the night with a shimmering light. As the beast about to gnaw them, the flame respond to marko's cry and pushing and igniting the charging monster
The creature recoiled, snarling and roaring its last breath.
Final Words and Farewell
Marko stood trembling but resolute, eyes shining with a power he had never known, his very breath burning with newfound fire.
"Lolo..." he whispered, voice choked with emotion.
The elder's breath was shallow, his gaze locked on Marko's, steady despite the pain.
"Go... south... Visayas... Find your roots... find your power," he gasped.
Marko swallowed hard, nodding.
"The flame is yours... protect it," Lolo whispered, hand falling limp.
Marko's tears blurred his vision as he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I won't fail you, Lolo," he promised, voice trembling.
The village fell into a heavy silence as the monstrous horde retreated, as if they were pulled back into the swirling vortex of the Gate—a portal that pulsed with eerie light before sealing with a final, resounding snap.
Aunt Mayang approached, her eyes red-rimmed and face etched with grief. She knelt beside Marko, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Lolo gave his life for you, anak," she said softly. "And now it's your turn to carry his courage."
Uncle Tomas stood nearby, wiping blood and sweat from his brow. His voice was steady but heavy. "We may be broken tonight, but we still stand because of you, Marko. The flame burns in you now."
Aftermath at Dawn
Dawn broke, painting the sky in pale orange and soft pink hues.
The once-vibrant village of Solsona lay in ruins.
Homes were blackened husks, splintered and collapsed, their smoky skeletons reaching toward the sky like the bones of forgotten giants.
Bodies, both human and monster, lay strewn across the streets in silent testament to the night's horrors.
From the shadows emerged the survivors—faces pale and drawn, eyes hollow but burning with the fierce light of endurance.
Aunt Mayang cradled trembling children, whispering promises of safety and hope despite the devastation.
Marko wandered through the wreckage, the amulet glowing softly against his chest, a steady heartbeat of warmth amidst the cold devastation.
He passed faces familiar and dear—friends lost, loved ones broken, strangers fierce with determination.
His heart ached, raw and heavy, but beneath the pain a fire burned brighter than any wound.
He was no longer the scared boy clutching a plank.
He was a bearer of an ancient legacy, a flame awakened in the darkest night.
That morning, Marko stood at the edge of the village, the sun's rays cutting through the morning mist.
With a small bag slung over his shoulder, his lolo's bloodied spear tucked in his back, and the glowing amulet resting against his chest, he stepped onto the dusty road leading south.
The path ahead was uncertain and fraught with peril, winding through unfamiliar lands and unspoken dangers.
But Marko's gaze was steady, filled with fierce resolve.
His journey to awaken the Prime Flame, to unlock his true power, and to protect the archipelago had begun.