The moon rose blood-red—an omen, or just atmosphere. Either way, it set the mood.
Glad stood at the community center's highest point, wings spread, watching the horizon.
"Anything?" Ariel asked via their communication system—enchanted earrings crafted by duwende.
"Not yet. But soon."
Below, Dumaguete slept. Humans unaware of the battle about to unfold above them. That was the plan—keep the fight away from the city, draw Marikit's forces into the trap.
"She's coming," Luningning's voice warned. "From the north. Twelve signatures, plus Marikit."
"Showtime."
Glad launched into the air, Ariel beside her, a dozen of their strongest fighters following.
They met Marikit's forces over the sea—twelve young Manananggals, faces hard with determination, and Marikit herself, grinning with triumph.
"Gladys. So nice of you to come."
"This ends tonight, Marikit."
"Oh, it ends. Just not the way you think." She raised her hand. "Attack!"
The young Manananggals surged forward—and Glad's forces met them mid-air.
Battle erupted over the dark water.