
"The Aspiration and Belief"
As the events unfolded, Erik's devastating attack on Tayog left his friend gravely injured—his arm nearly obliterated, his body wracked with severe wounds.
Erik approached his kneeling friend slowly, surrounded by scattered fragments of wood. "Alfredo…" he whispered, his voice trembling with fear and guilt.
Erik's Point of View
I never imagined things would come to this. My friend's appearance is heart-wrenching, a consequence of my own actions. I never intended to kill Alfredo—my only goal was to save everyone.
"Stay away!" Alfredo shouted, his voice seething with rage.
The anger on his face was unmistakable, and even my apologies seemed meaningless to him. He pushed me away, blaming me for his failure, and I could only shake my head in despair. No matter how I denied it, the truth remained—I was the reason for his defeat.
The sacrifices of the Siklaon were rendered futile because of my ideals. No matter how I twisted my words, I couldn't erase the fact that the lives of my friends in the Siklaon were lost for nothing.
"If you hadn't stopped me, this wouldn't have happened! If you hadn't fought me, I could have fulfilled the Siklaon's dream!" Alfredo accused, his voice raw with pain.
"But this is wrong, Alfredo. Please, listen to me," I pleaded.
He continued to blame me furiously, branding me a traitor to our Filipino people. The sorrow in his voice pierced me as he spoke the names of his fallen comrades in the Siklaon, his grief palpable.
His tone, filled with anguish and resentment, shattered my heart. It felt as though I had done something terribly wrong by standing firm in my beliefs.
I couldn't bear hearing more from him. Each word stabbed at my conscience, reminding me of the people I once knew and fought alongside—people who died because of the uprising.
"They all sacrificed for nothing… They gave their lives for this fight… but here you are, stopping it," he said, his voice breaking.
"What did we ever do to you? Why did you have to destroy our one dream?" Alfredo demanded, his eyes burning with betrayal.
"I didn't mean to…" I started, but he cut me off before I could finish.
"But you did! You! You're the one who killed them!" he shouted, pointing at me.
His words struck me like a thunderbolt. It was true—I had disrupted the Siklaon's rebellion. In a way, I was no different from the Spaniards who oppressed them. That was the painful reality.
I slowly lifted my head, intending to apologize again, but I froze when I saw tears streaming down his face. His eyes, filled with rage and disappointment, glared at me. I couldn't bring myself to speak, and I simply shook my head in shame.
I couldn't face him any longer. What had I done? I knew I had done the right thing and succeeded, but why did it feel so wrong? I understood that my intentions to stop him were noble, but they didn't justify Alfredo's perspective.
What could I do to make things right again, to return to how things used to be? It felt impossible, but I knew I had to be strong to guide my misguided friend back to the right path.
~ End of PoV
"I can't understand why you had to betray us. The Siklaon treated you as one of us, but despite that, you chose to protect the Spaniards who abused us," Alfredo said bitterly.
"Enough, Alfredo!" I shouted, trying to silence him.
In that moment, I waved my arm in frustration, questioning his actions. I pointed out that all the sacrifices of his comrades were in vain because of his choices. "The Spaniards didn't kill your comrades. I'm not the reason the Siklaon fell—it was you, Alfredo. You killed them," I said, my voice steady but heavy.
Alfredo was stunned, reeling from my accusation. He had never considered that his quest for vengeance and his decision to sacrifice his comrades for his rebellion might have led to their downfall.
"Stop! I did those things for the Siklaon's cause!" he shouted in defense.
"No, Alfredo. You didn't do it for the Siklaon. You did it for your own desire for revenge—for your parents," I countered.
Furious, Alfredo slammed his fist into the ground, vehemently denying my accusations, as if I were claiming he had used his comrades' lives for his selfish motives.
Deep down, Alfredo knew he wanted to free the Filipinos from Spanish oppression and reclaim Urdaneta. But his determination to fulfill the dream his parents left him had blinded him, fueling his hope of one day avenging them against the Governor-General.
"You have no right to say that! I did this for the good of the Filipino people!" he added, his voice shaking with anger.
"That's not true, Alfredo. Look around you—at the building you intended to destroy… Alfredo, some of those people in there are Filipinos," I said sadly, pointing to the lifeless bodies strewn across the ground.
Alfredo froze, his eyes falling on the Filipinos lying dead in the street. Their skin tone and clothing made their identity clear. Memories flooded back—he had used vines to drag people out of the building and hurl them outside.
It dawned on him that he hadn't considered whether he might harm Filipinos in his rampage. Perhaps he was too desperate to eliminate the Spaniards hiding in the building, or maybe he simply didn't care if Filipinos got caught in the crossfire.
He realized he hadn't bothered to distinguish between Filipino and Spaniard during the chaos, too consumed by the victory he thought was within reach.
"If the Siklaon's cause was truly your reason for fighting, these innocent people wouldn't be lying dead around us. If you genuinely cared about their future, they'd still be alive today. Alfredo, it wasn't the Spaniards who killed those Filipinos… It wasn't them—it was you," I said, my voice firm yet sorrowful.
Trembling, Alfredo stared at his hands, slowly coming to terms with what he had done. His actions were contrary to the Siklaon's true aspirations. He couldn't believe what he had wrought, blinded by his anger and malice. He pounded his hands into the ground, screaming, his reaction a mix of frustration and regret for the Filipinos he had killed in the town.
"No! That's not true! You're lying! I know I did this for the Siklaon to succeed!" he shouted, his voice desperate, as if making excuses.
"This was for Urdaneta. Yes, I know I did this for the Filipinos. It was a necessary sacrifice," he added, trying to justify himself.
He repeated that the Filipinos who died were merely a small sacrifice for the greater goal of liberating the town, just as his comrades in the Siklaon had done.
Hearing his delirious reasoning, I stepped closer to him, my resolve firm. "They were all heroes who longed for freedom for their nation. I know they would have wanted to liberate their town from Spanish oppression, even if it meant sacrificing their lives for that cause—like the Siklaon. Like me," Alfredo continued, still rationalizing.
"Alfredo," I interjected, walking toward him.
"I know they endured the unjust treatment of the Spaniards—abused, tormented—so they would have wanted to be…" he went on, but I stopped him before he could finish.
The desperation on his face was evident as he grasped for excuses to justify his sins and defend himself, insisting he hadn't made a mistake.
I stood in front of him and, in a swift motion, slapped him to silence his words. The sharp slap echoed, stunning Alfredo into silence, his eyes wide with shock at my action. "Enough, Alfredo. Please," I said, my voice heavy with sorrow.
"Perhaps those Filipinos did suffer under the Spaniards' abuse, but they weren't like you, resorting to violence for everything. Not everyone is willing to trade their lives to join rebels and fight. These people chose to live in this town, enduring hardships for the sake of their families," I explained.
"Exactly! That's why I wanted to free them! Can you bear to let them suffer and languish at the hands of foreigners?" Alfredo shot back, his voice laced with fury.
"But what's the point of the freedom you're fighting for if the people you're supposed to liberate are already dead? You wanted to free your fellow Filipinos from the Spaniards who stripped them of their rights, but you never considered that by sacrificing their lives for your cause, you were also stripping them of their right to live," I replied, my words cutting deep.
Alfredo fell silent, the weight of my words forcing him to confront his mistakes. He realized he hadn't been honest with his comrades about his plans to use their lives as power sources for the monstrous vines—a decision that was tantamount to dictating their fates, treating them as his possessions. Worse, his disregard for the Filipinos he considered "sacrifices" for his plan's success was even more cruel than treating them as mere tools.
In using them and deciding their fates, he had been just as unjust as the Spaniards who denied Filipinos their rights. "No, that's not how it was… I didn't want that to happen… I didn't want those things to happen to them," Alfredo sobbed, his regret finally surfacing.
He could do nothing but stare blankly, his spirit broken, his body weakening until he began to collapse to the ground. Just before he fell completely, I caught him and pulled him into a tight embrace.
I held him close, comforting him as he wept. I had no words, only gently rubbing his back to ease his pain. I understood that his desperate actions stemmed from the anger and trauma of the hardships he had endured in life. I pitied his miserable state—after years of struggle and perseverance, it had all ended in tragedy and nothingness.
In my mind, Alfredo wasn't entirely to blame for ending up in such a wretched situation. To me, he was a good person who had been dealt a cruel fate, now culminating in this tragedy. "Forgive me, my comrades… Forgive me… I was wrong," he cried, his voice breaking with remorse.
"They'll forgive you, Alfredo. They will—if you can find it in your heart to forgive those who wronged you and make amends for your mistakes," I reassured him.
The dark aura emanating from Alfredo's body finally dissipated as he surrendered in that moment. He accepted his defeat, entrusting everything to me.
Amid their shared grief and regret, they didn't notice someone slowly approaching them.
Unbeknownst to them, General Slasher had risen from where he lay, quietly advancing toward them with a sword in hand. "Hahaha! How delightful to watch rats tear each other apart. But what's the value of their lives, anyway? Using others for your own gain may be deemed evil, but there's nothing wrong with that—what matters is that you succeed," Slasher sneered.
The general's appearance was battered, his uniform torn to shreds from the beating Tayog had given him earlier. At that moment, he unleashed a powerful aura, gradually restoring the metal armor to his body.
Erik and Tayog were startled by his sudden resurgence—they had thought he was dead—and by the intense aura he now exuded despite his weakened state. "You need to be cunning in this world. In the end, only those willing to do whatever it takes to achieve their desires will triumph, even if it means sacrificing other lives," Slasher declared.
His armor glowed as the surrounding energy crept up his arms, coalescing into his hands. There, it formed two massive spears, crafted from hundreds of converging sword blades.
Erik quickly stood, gripping his red sword and positioning himself in front of Tayog to protect him. "This fight is over. We don't need to battle anymore," Erik stated firmly.
"Silence, you filthy native!" Slasher bellowed.
Furious, Slasher ranted about his status as a superior being, unable to accept his defeat. He insisted that the rebels defying the government, including Erik, must be punished.
The general knew what Erik was capable of, and realizing he was nearly out of energy, he feared he might lose if he didn't devise a strategy. His eyes then fell on the people in the building—the ones Erik was protecting. A sinister idea formed: he could use them as bait against the chosen one. "You said you wanted to be a hero and save those people, even if they're Spaniards? Let's test that," Slasher taunted.
He aimed one of his massive spears at the people in the building, revealing his plan to attack them. He challenged Erik to stop him from killing them while simultaneously protecting his friend. "No, you can't do that to your own countrymen!" Erik protested.
"Hahaha! Those people are nothing but cheese in a trap to lure out rats like you. And the purpose of bait is to die—so we can catch rebels like you who defy Spain's rule!" Slasher laughed maniacally.
"I can't believe you'd kill innocent people just to win. You're blatantly violating the very laws you claim to serve," Erik said, his voice filled with disgust.
"What are you talking about? I can easily make it look like those people were killed by rebels. Yes, that's what the public will believe—because I am the law," Slasher replied, plotting to frame the rebels for the crime.
Erik wanted to stop Slasher's planned attack on the people in the building, but he hesitated to move. Slasher had another massive spear aimed at him and Tayog, ready to strike. "Let's see what weighs more to you, noble hero—the life of that rebel demon, or your duty to save those people? Hahaha!" Slasher taunted, his laughter sinister.
Erik struggled with the general's ultimatum. He knew he couldn't save both at the same time, even if he used the Mighty Faith against Slasher. "Now, little hero, tell me—whose life will you sacrifice to succeed in your quest to be recognized as the people's hero? Hahahaha! Who should die, and who should live?"
Erik gripped his sword tightly, shaking his head in frustration, his eyes closing in anger at the impossible situation. He couldn't decide what to do in that moment. To him, he had no right to choose who to save or abandon one to save another. But deep down, he knew he had to make a decision—if he didn't act, he wouldn't save anyone.
"What should I do? What should I choose?" he whispered to himself.
~End of Chapter.