"Tough luck for Virgil and his 7 consecutive winning streak that officially comes to an end. With the new challenger came his first ever loss since the beginning of his Clashing career. We now congratulate the new winner and Champion of the 8th annual Clash Match, Father Thomas Domingo. Ooh, curious. A man of God as a Clash Match title holder. That's definitely a first here, folks!" Ty K. Balang announces at the camera. The sun slowly rises behind him. A cosmic signal that they should return where they belong.
"This has been your host Ty K. Balang, and this is BCC Clash Match!"
Telling you Ty's first grave mistake would be stating the obvious, but I'll tell you anyway. Unlike Mino, he didn't leave when everyone's anger hadn't yet settled. Ty's second grave mistake is that he just had to broadcast his ending spiel in front of a scorned War God offspring.
Virgil begins to move. Labored and weak at first. His burnt tattoo still emitting steam, actively searing. But he manages to get up. Ty's face darkens in dread. Not only is he about to face the wrath of Makanduk's son, but three other princes of equally powerful clans are just as enraged.
"I suggest you run faster than the speed of light, Ty!" Andrea's fading voice warns him. The winged medic had already taken flight. She had to escape both the sun and a future crime scene.
Ty jumps to his feet and zooms as fast as he could before the princes even got the chance to strike. Meanwhile, the less fortunate Aswang, Kapre and Duwendes had to scram in different directions.
Xun screams out of frustration, carelessly doffing his helmet and grabbing a fistful of the bundle of leaves on his head. (That's his hair.)
"This is all your fault!" Helmar aggressively grips Virgil by the shoulder and attempts to punch him.
Keres is already at Helmar's side, blocking his fist with an open palm. "Show's over, hotshot. We lost."
"We got sandbagged," Virgil objects.
"How are you even upright?" Xun muses in a mixture of bitterness and confused awe.
"You said you can trace this burn?" Virgil asks Helmar.
"Yeah," Helmar says resentfully.
"Then trace it."
"Say please, bitch."
"Please, bitch."
"You son of a—"
"Enough!" Keres chides.
"Shut up! All of you, just shut up!" Xun retorts.
A new panel emerges and splits your vision in two. Father Thomas comes into view, riding his silver carriage on one half, transitioning into the other as a close up shot of his profile. At first merely a man in mystery, shrouded by a huge helmet.
Color consumes his berobed figure as daylight finally arrives. Luckily for the priest, he is a topground dweller. Basking in the sun is normal and necessary. He reaches his dwellings in about a hour. It's an old motel called Canary Motel. He had checked in two nights ago on account of some business he had to deal with. Some business that is, of course, Virgil and last night's Match.
Morning at 6:55.
Father Thomas enters Room 305. Small. Cramped. The red flowers on the mattress cover may as well be red stains of bodily fluids. He isn't picky. He isn't finicky. If those were blood then he is just as tainted.
He removes his helmet and places it on the nightstand. He goes to the bathroom and runs the water on the sink. When he looks in the mirror, he sees his tired eyes staring back at him. His mouth, chafed, cracked and peeling, as if he's gone weeks if not months dehydrated. The insides of his lips bleed.
Though in pain, he inspects it. The curse coats his entire tongue, inner cheeks, all the way to the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, written in a forgotten ancient language.
Sa siklab ng apoy na ubos magliliyab nang lubos ang silab ng alimuos na apoy na magniningas sa alab upang igupo ang demonyo
The curse burns the tongue that invokes its words.
It's done now. That's all that matters.
Father Thomas closes his eyes. His mind travels back to his past. To the day he finally learns the truth.
...Sa siklab ng apoy na ubos (By the spark of a dying flame)...
Thomas practically raised himself, he might as well be an orphan.
He never knew his mother. All his father told him was that she left before he learned how to walk. She never loved him, his father said. He knew better than to believe him. He was a liar and a cheat. And he gambled a lot. He was always away that he couldn't look after his own son. Thomas was only twelve when he found out the truth about where his father spent his last day on Earth.
...Magliliyab nang lubos (It shall burn wholly)...
When he didn't come home again one night, an important night, Thomas finally decided to let go of the idea he'd ever be a father to him. He sat by the dinner table with a lit candle, just that, as he sang himself Happy Birthday.
He blew the candle. The room went dark. Tomorrow he might or might not have to live alone for the rest of his life. Not that it'd be any different from all the yesterdays he spent for the past 12 years.
...Ang silab ng alimuos na apoy (Igniting an invisible fire)...
Death followed.
His father died.
No, he was killed.
It was a tragic accident.
He lost control of the motorcycle.
There was nothing they could do.
All those years his father had been gambling away his life in a stupid motorcycle drag race. It finally did him in.
Years more would past before he encountered the game again.
But why did his father drive himself to his own death palying BCC's "no kill" death sports anyway?
What did he wager? What price did he win?
Again, it was the truth.
Because only the mythfolk could offer him what he truly wanted.
A piece of information.
...Na magniningas sa alab (To set the cresset alight)...
And so, year after year, his father gambled away his own safety to stay alive for as long as he did, just to entertain the monsters that used to hunt people like him for food.
As he died on the pavement, brains spilling out of his open skull and choking on his own blood, Crisanto the game master merely looked down at him, keeping the very thing he squandered his life for still beyond his reach.
Finally, he took his last breath. And just like that, he lost everything.
Thomas had to know what his father so desparately wanted to find out. Like a disease, his father's curiosity afflicted him. And like a curse, it followed him to no end.
Father Thomas doesn't expect a call, but he receives one anyway. He weighs whether to pick up the unknown number, deciding which would be better for breakfast, death threats or pancakes.
Father Thomas Domingo remembers he doesn't like sweets very much. He picks up his phone.
He stays quiet. He lets the other person fill the silence.
Silence persists...
Even more silence...
And then...
"Father Thomas?"
The voice is familiar. An oasis in the dessert. A safe haven amidst the impending chaos. He sighs in relief.
"It's me. Mateo," Father Thomas confirms. On the other line is sacristan Brother Mateo, a young Church of Divine Order acolyte and Father Thomas' loyal attendant. Regardless of loyalty, Father Thomas still doesn't disclose a lot of things to anyone, especially not this trip, including Brother Mateo, due to deeply personal reasons.
That is exactly why he had kept all the information about his mission a secret to everyone. He didn't know how Brother Mateo got his burner phone number.
"How'd...you know this number, Mateo?"
Brother mateo sounds regretful. "Sorry, Father. I had to ask everyone at church where you are. Peter told me how to contact you. He informed me of your vacation. How come you didn't tell me?"
Like I've said, no one was meant to know. Let alone the church gardener. Peter was never meant to know of his absence. Certainly not about any purpose for it. In their Church, there are at least three priests in charge of one community. Having someone lead the mass besides himself is not a problem. Although he did in fact go AWOL on them for this two days and three nights trip, none of them are supposed to notice him missing.
For now, Father Thomas is thankful for the cover-up. If he is being reliable or suspicious, though, Father Thomas is yet to find out.
"What else did Peter say?"
"That you'd be back around noon."
But no such thing had been arranged. The priest grows apprehensive. Peter must be up to something.