The following night, I arrived at the address Manalo had given me. The area was desolate, shrouded in an unnatural stillness. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally long, and the air carried an oppressive weight, as though the place itself warned me to turn back. Every instinct screamed at me to leave, but my determination outweighed my fear.

I approached the dilapidated building, its door barely hanging on rusted hinges. My hand hesitated for a moment before I pushed it open, the creak echoing through the hollow structure. The metallic scent of blood hit me instantly, sharp and nauseating.

Inside, the sight that greeted me turned my stomach and sent a bolt of fury through my veins. The scene was macabre, almost theatrical in its cruelty. Severed arms dangled from chains like grotesque ornaments, while legs jutted out of a broken crate like discarded firewood. Other body parts were strewn across the floor, half-hidden in pools of congealed blood.

But the centerpiece of this horrific tableau was what broke me. In the middle of the room, mounted on a crude pedestal, were two severed heads, it was Manalo’s and his mother’s. Their lifeless eyes stared into nothingness, frozen in an expression of terror that mirrored the pit of rage and regret boiling inside me.

My knees buckled for a moment, but I steadied myself. This wasn’t just a warning, it was a declaration. Someone wanted me to know the cost of poking around where I didn’t belong. But they had made a grave miscalculation.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms until they drew blood. "Manalo," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of sorrow and fury. "You deserved better. Both of you did."

The overwhelming grief ignited something inside me, something primal. This wasn’t just about the supernatural anymore, it was about the cruelty of people who thought they could get away with playing gods.

"I’ll find them," I vowed aloud, my voice echoing through the hollow building. "Whether they’re monsters or men, I’ll find them. And they’ll regret ever crossing me."

The air seemed to grow colder as I left the building, my resolve steeling with every step. Manalo had been a good man, caught in a web far darker than I could have anticipated. Now, it was up to me to untangle it. No matter what it took.

I stepped outside the building, the cold night air doing little to quell the storm raging inside me. My hands trembled, not from fear, but from barely contained fury. The flickering streetlights outside only added to the oppressive atmosphere, casting dancing shadows that felt almost alive, mocking me. I couldn’t get the image of Manalo and his mother out of my head. This wasn’t just murder, it was a message.

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I scanned my surroundings, expecting something or someone to emerge from the shadows. My instincts were sharper than ever, honed by years of street brawls and survival. Every sound, every shift in the darkness, felt amplified. The city, always alive with noise, seemed eerily quiet here. It was as if this part of town had been abandoned by even the most desperate souls.

I walked back to my motorcycle parked a block away, the rhythmic sound of my boots against the pavement grounding me. But my mind churned, replaying the gruesome scene and Manalo’s last words. He had trusted me, given me a lead, and in return, he and his mother paid the ultimate price.

As I mounted the bike, I glanced back at the building one last time. Something caught my eye, a faint glimmer from one of the windows. Someone was watching. Without hesitation, I revved the engine, pretending not to notice. My heart pounded in my chest as I drove off into the night.

I didn’t head straight home. Instead, I took a convoluted route, weaving through alleyways and backstreets. Whoever was watching me might decide to follow, and I wasn’t about to lead them to my doorstep. I stopped under a bridge, killed the engine, and waited in the shadows. My senses were on high alert, my breathing steady.

Minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Finally, I saw movement, a sleek black car idling a block away, its headlights off. My gut twisted. Someone had followed me.

They were careful, patient, but so was I. I waited, letting the silence stretch, testing their resolve. When the car started creeping forward, I swung back onto the bike, kicked the engine to life, and roared into the night.

The chase was on.

I led them through the city’s maze-like streets, pushing my bike to its limits. The wind whipped against my face, the roar of the engine drowning out my pounding heartbeat. The car behind me wasn’t backing off. Whoever they were, they were determined.

I veered into a narrow alley, tires screeching as I slid into the turn. The car hesitated and it was too big to follow me here. I heard its engine rev as it sped past the alley entrance, searching for another route.

I cut the engine and waited in the shadows, my chest heaving. The sound of the car faded into the distance. After a few minutes, I exhaled, the adrenaline still coursing through me.

When I was sure the coast was clear, I started the bike again and headed home, taking an even more roundabout route this time.

Back at my apartment, I locked the door, bolted the windows, and sat in the dark, my mind racing. Whoever was behind this, they weren’t just ruthless, they were organized. They had resources, connections, and a network that operated in the shadows.

I glanced at the Sacramentum book sitting on my desk. The glowing symbol I’d seen earlier flashed in my mind. Maybe the answers I needed were hidden in its pages.

Manalo’s death wasn’t going to be in vain. If these monsters, supernatural or not, wanted a fight, they’d get one. I wasn’t just hunting them anymore and they were hunting me. But unlike Manalo, I wouldn’t be caught unprepared.

Let them come. This time, I’d be ready.