The sky became chaos.
Wings clashed. Magic flared. Young Manananggals, inexperienced but powerful, fought with desperate intensity.
Glad dodged an attack from a teenager who couldn't have been more than sixteen. "I don't want to hurt you!"
"You already hurt me! You and your perfect life, your perfect community, your perfect love!" The girl swung again. "Marikit said you'd reject us! Said you only care about yourself!"
"That's not true!"
"Prove it!"
Glad caught her fists, held her steady. "Look at me. Really look. Do I seem like someone who rejects her own kind?"
The girl hesitated.
Behind them, the battle raged—but something was changing. The young Manananggals, faced with enemies who wouldn't fight back fully, who kept trying to talk, to reason, were faltering.
"Marikit lied to you," Glad continued. "She's using you. Just like she used Maya. Just like she used everyone."
"Maya? She's alive?"
"She's safe. At the community center. Waiting for you."
The girl's eyes filled with tears. "She said Maya was dead. Said you killed her."
"Another lie."
The girl's wings drooped. "I don't—I don't know what's real anymore."
"Come with me. See for yourself. Then decide."
One by one, the young Manananggals stopped fighting.
One by one, they chose to listen.
Marikit watched in fury as her army crumbled.
"NO! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
But it was too late.
The battle was over.
And Marikit stood alone.