chapter 21

Chapter 21: The Hero on the Path

Erik's Point of View

It was a sweltering morning in Ifugao, just two days since my last encounter with Hiyas—the enigmatic goddess who had guided me through my mission as a hero. The sun blazed overhead, scorching the dry earth beneath my feet as I trudged along the path, a sack of carrots weighing over ten kilos slung across my back. The two-kilometer trek to the next village was no small feat, especially under the relentless heat that seemed to kiss my skin with fire, but I had to sell. My family needed the money, and even though I was chosen as the sugo of Ada Sid-Alwa, the life of a farmer didn't pause—not even for a hero like me.

The tranquility of the surroundings soothed my fatigue—the trees whispered in the breeze, birds sang their melodies, and the fields stretched out like a verdant carpet at the foot of the mountains. But as I walked, a sudden unease gripped my chest, as if unseen eyes were watching me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Her presence was like a gust of wind—cool, powerful, and inexplicable. Hiyas. The name I gave her, inspired by her beauty, radiant like a gem of nature, though her eyes sometimes betrayed something deeper, more terrifying than any enemy, and far more dangerous.

"Erik, son of Ifugao, you're walking too slowly. How will you finish selling at this pace?" her voice rang out behind me, soft yet laced with teasing. I froze, nearly dropping the sack of carrots. Turning around, I saw her standing there, clad in a flowing white dress that billowed like clouds, barefoot despite the searing path. In her hand, she held a slender staff, and in her mouth, a lollipop that I half-expected to fall to the ground.

"Hiyas, why are you here again?" I asked, trying to mask the tremor in my voice. "It's only been two days since… you know. Didn't you say you'd give me time to rest?"

She smiled, a smile both breathtaking and unnerving. "Rest? Does the hero of the Philippines rest when the nation cries out for help?"

"But I'm still selling, and I need to get these carrots sold quickly," I countered.

"Erik, you're not just an ordinary farmer. You are the Sugo of Ifugao, chosen by Ada Sid-Alwa. You're a hero, and your time is meant not for carrots but for freedom."

I sighed heavily. "From the way you're talking, it sounds like you've got another task for me," I said, my eyes narrowing as I studied her determined expression and the faint smirk on her face. A shiver ran through me, all too familiar.

The memories of her dropping me from the sky, hurling me inside a car like a ragdoll, flooded back. Those moments still haunted me.

"Hiyas, I need to make a living. I can't eat 'freedom' or pay the Spanish taxes with 'missions.' Besides, didn't you say I could manage my own time?"

She stepped closer, her movements graceful, almost like a dance upon the earth, and leaned in until our noses nearly touched. The scent of soil and flowers enveloped me, and her eyes—deep as the ocean—seemed to pierce my soul.

"Erik, you were chosen because you have a heart willing to sacrifice. Would you truly choose these carrots over helping those in need?" Her voice was soft, but each word struck like a hammer against my chest.

"It's not like that," I defended, scrambling for a way to reason with her. "But it's only been two days, Hiyas. Can't I have a week to rest from missions? And honestly, you look… bored. Are you doing this just to have something to do?"

Her smile widened, and a clear, musical laugh escaped her lips. "Bored? Me, a goddess, bored?"

Suddenly, she swatted my head with her staff, her face twisting into a mock pout. "Here I am, helping you become a hero, and you think I'm just ordering you around because I'm bored?"

She huffed, acting offended, and I quickly apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

To appease her, I agreed to her wishes. I listened as she explained what she wanted me to do. "I've met another sugo, like you—a Filipino hero," she said.

I paused. Another sugo? After what happened to Alfredo, the word "sugo" stirred both fear and pain within me. Yet, a part of me was thrilled. There was someone else like me, a hero fighting for the nation. "Who is she? What does she do?" I asked, my curiosity slowly overtaking my exhaustion.

"They call her Hustisya," Hiyas replied, twirling her staff playfully. "A female vigilante, famous in Plaridel for punishing evildoers—Spaniards and Filipinos alike. She targets the abusive, the thieves, and corrupt officials. Not unlike you, Ifugao, she's a savior of the oppressed. But…" Her voice turned grave, and her eyes flashed with a warning. "There's a problem."

"A problem? What is it?" I asked.

"She can't see me," Hiyas answered.

She explained that sugo, chosen by their deities, typically could perceive beings like her, unless they had fallen out of favor with their divine patrons, who granted their powers.

"Does that mean she's doing something wrong?" I pressed.

"I'm not sure, but one thing is certain—she's violating her pact with her deity. I want you to find out why," Hiyas said solemnly.

"I have no idea how, but even so, she's still a Filipino hero who might stray due to desperation or personal motives, like your friend Alfredo," she added.

Alfredo's name hit me like a punch to the gut. The memory of his death, his blood staining my hands, surged back. I couldn't bear to lose another sugo.

"I understand, but let me ask, Hiyas—why me? Why not investigate her yourself? You're a goddess, far stronger than I am, aren't you?" I asked, nearly stamping my foot in frustration.

"Because you are Ifugao, and I am merely an observer," she replied, her staff tapping the ground with a soft thud.

"I don't get your point," I said.

She swatted my head with her staff again, admitting that helping others wasn't her role. "You're the hero, so it's your job, not mine."

"Your mission isn't just to fight the Spaniards but to save those who've lost their way, as you did with Alfredo. And because, Erik, I believe you can save her." Her words pierced through me, even though I didn't want to admit it.

I sighed deeply, setting the sack of carrots on the ground. "Fine, Hiyas. I'll go to Plaridel. But after this, you're giving me a month off to sell carrots, okay?" I joked, knowing she wouldn't agree.

"A month? That's far too long a break—I might die of boredom waiting!" she teased.

"I knew it! You're doing this because you're bored with your life. Don't you have any hobbies besides ordering me around to entertain you?" I grumbled.

She swatted me with her staff again, scolding me not to complain and to be grateful for being guided by a nature goddess like her. I grabbed the sack of carrots, determined to sell them quickly so I could embark on my mission. Plaridel was my next destination, and though I was bone-tired, my heart was ready to fight again. "Hustisya," I whispered to myself. "I hope you're a true hero, not another Alfredo."

End of Point of View

The night in Plaridel pulsed with life, though its streets were cloaked in darkness. Near the town center, by the church, shops were shuttering, and people hurried home before the Spanish guardia civil began their patrols.

But behind a grand trading house, an unusual scene unfolded. A group of criminals—three Filipinos and two Spanish soldiers—gathered in a shadowy alley, awaiting their haul of stolen tax money from the town.

"Are you sure no one will see us, Juan?" asked one Spaniard, his hand on his sword, scanning the surroundings. His Filipino accomplice, Juan, nodded, though his eyes betrayed unease.

"Don't worry, señor. The people here are too terrified of your guns. No one would dare speak if they saw anything."

But before the Spaniard could reply, a cold gust of wind swept through, and their lamp's flame snuffed out. "What's happening?" whispered another criminal, gripping his gun. Darkness enveloped them, and a soft laugh—gentle, like a woman's—echoed around them.

"Wait, do you hear that? Who's laughing?"

"Who's there?" shouted the Spaniard, but the response was a sudden rustle in the air. A rope, as if alive, tightened around his wrists, forcing him to his knees. "Ay, Dios mio! What's going on?" he cried, his sword clattering to the ground.

"Thieves, you're ruining this beautiful night with your greed for money that isn't yours," a woman's voice reverberated, vibrant and laced with mockery. In the darkness, a silhouette emerged—its form indistinct, but its eyes gleamed like stars. Hustisya, Plaridel's vigilante, stood before them, her red mask etched into the ground as a mark of her presence.

"The ghost of Bulacan!" screamed another criminal, attempting to flee, but before he could escape, the earth seemed to clutch his feet, and a rope coiled around his body, hurling him against a street post. "Please, have mercy, I beg you!" he pleaded.

Objects around them—crates, barrels, even stones—suddenly stirred, as if guided by an unseen hand, pushing the criminals toward one another.

"Forgive us, señora, whoever you are!" cried Juan, his hands raised. "I didn't mean to! The Spaniards forced us—you know we had no choice but to obey!"

But Hustisya merely laughed, her form vanishing like smoke in the air. In an instant, she reappeared behind the Spaniard, her hand seizing his throat with a grip stronger than expected, nearly lifting him off the ground.

"You didn't mean to? But you stole the town's money, didn't you?" she asked, her voice laced with anger, though her smile suggested she was merely playing. "People like you are why Plaridel suffers." She released the Spaniard, who collapsed, gasping, as his companions tried to flee.

"Do you really think you can escape Hustisya?"

But Hustisya didn't let them slip away. Her form vanished again, and in a flash, one criminal froze, his eyes turning white, as if possessed by a spirit.

"Please, spare us!" he cried, but his body moved against his will, his own hand punching his face. Hustisya had possessed him, using her power to control his body.

"This is so much fun, isn't it?" she asked, still within the criminal's body, kicking and punching his companions. Ropes continued to writhe, binding the criminals to the post, while Hustisya floated in the air, her laughter like music in the night.

"This is what thieves like you deserve." Her movements were a dance—a blend of karate, acrobatics, and supernatural prowess. Each kick was powerful, each punch precise, and her grip strong enough to crush the bones of an ordinary man.

The criminals stood no chance in a fight where Hustisya seemed to toy with them. Despite their pleas, she continued her punishment.

"Mercy! I'll return the money!" cried the last criminal, dropping the sack of stolen cash before him. But Hustisya, now in her own form, shook her head. They saw a young woman with pink hair, draped in a red cape, her face concealed by a white mask with an engraved "H" on its forehead.

"You grew greedy and exploited others. You must be punished, and I, Hustisya, will deliver your judgment," she declared. In an instant, she subdued the criminals, retrieving their stolen money. She placed it on the ground, and a red mask appeared etched on the crate—a symbol of her triumph in dispensing justice.

At that moment, the sound of hooves and shouts of the guardia civil echoed from afar. "Find Hustisya!" yelled a Spanish soldier, clutching his rifle. But Hustisya only laughed, her form dissolving into the air, leaving behind the bound criminals, the stolen money, and the red mask etched as her victory mark.

Hustisya's fight didn't end with merely tying up the criminals. As the guardia civil closed in, a larger group of Spanish soldiers—ten of them, armed with rifles and swords—arrived in the alley, their lamps casting light into the darkness. At their center was Captain Lorenzo, a Spanish officer notorious for his brutality toward Filipinos.

"Where are you, Hustisya? Show yourself, and I'll make you a real ghost!" he bellowed, his sword raised.

"My, how brave you are to challenge justice," her voice echoed around them.

The response was a sudden flurry of objects stirring in the air, and the soldiers' lamps extinguished in unison. "Captain, our lamps went out!"

Darkness reclaimed the alley, and Hustisya's laughter rang out, louder now, more defiant. "Abusive Spaniards, you fat crocodile preying on Filipinos—tonight, you'll taste your punishment!" she declared. In a flash, the rifles of two soldiers floated from their hands, flung far away like toys.

"Shoot her!" roared Captain Lorenzo, but before his men could act, one soldier froze, his eyes turning white.

"What's happening? I can't move my body!" he cried, as his arm moved uncontrollably, striking his comrade.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Hustisya had possessed him again, using his body to fight the others, hopping between soldiers to pummel the guardia civil.

The battle descended into chaos. Hustisya floated in the air, her form vanishing and reappearing across the alley, as if playing a game. "How does it feel to be toyed with? Are you starting to feel the suffering you inflict on Filipinos?"

Her kicks struck like crashing vehicles, sending soldiers flying, their bones shattering under her immense strength. Her punches were precise, and a single kick could bring even the sturdiest soldier to their knees.

"The people you hurt begged for mercy too, but you never stopped," she shouted, as a barrel floated and crashed into three soldiers.

"Do you know the old man you beat couldn't work for three days because of you? I won't kill you, but I'll cripple you as you did to your Filipino victims." The soldiers writhed, some with broken limbs from Hustisya's relentless assault.

Captain Lorenzo, though terrified, refused to yield. "Use the anito!" he shouted, pulling a small statuette from his pocket that gleamed with a dark aura. The Gaia sword, a Spanish weapon in Plaridel, held a crystal that empowered his blade, each swing unleashing electric shocks strong enough to paralyze a person. "You won't escape now, ghost!" he roared, brandishing his sword toward Hustisya.

"Hahaha, you think you can catch me with that?"

Hustisya laughed, her form vanishing before the blade could strike. In an instant, she appeared behind Lorenzo, her arm locking around his throat.

"You're too arrogant, Captain. I want you to understand that no one can defeat me," she whispered, tightening her chokehold until the Spaniard collapsed, gasping for air and losing consciousness.

She didn't kill him—that wasn't her goal tonight. Her form faded like a ghost as the captain fell, his men panicking, aiming their rifles and swords in all directions.

"Don't worry, señores," Hustisya said, floating in the alley's center. "The town's money will return to the town. And you… you'll pay for your sins." In a flash, ropes stirred again, hoisting the soldiers atop the posts, while the stolen money and jewelry were left in the street, marked by the red mask as a testament to her victory.

As the guardia civil tried to pursue Hustisya, her laughter faded into the wind, and her form vanished completely. The people of Plaridel, watching secretly from their windows, whispered among themselves.

"That was Hustisya again!" said an elder, his eyes brimming with hope.

"She brings us justice."

"Thanks to her, we're fighting back against the abusive Spanish police,"

"Only Hustisya can deliver justice against those demonic Spaniards. She understands us, listens to our cries."

Hustisya's name resounded louder across Bulacan. From villages to town centers, her deeds became legend—the ghost-like vigilante, the woman who played while dispensing justice. Her red mask became a symbol of hope for the oppressed, but for the Spaniards and corrupt officials, it was a sign of threat and fear.

News of her spread, despite Spanish efforts to suppress it, amplified through modern means like the internet.

Meanwhile, Erik prepared for his journey to Plaridel, now in another house, speaking with someone as he handed over his sack of carrots to a friend in the village.

"I need to hurry to start my mission," he said. Hiyas's words echoed in his mind: "Find out who Hustisya is." In his heart, Erik was filled with hope that he'd meet a true hero, but Hiyas's warning about her possible defiance of her deity stirred unease in the young man.

"What kind of hero is Hustisya?" he whispered to himself, as the path to Bulacan gradually came into view before him.