Shock, anger and sorrow fell like a wave towards Pulaco as he saw Mingming's face slowly turn pale. Pulaco felt like he was drowning. He wanted to help him. He wanted to save Mingming from the agony he was in. But the datu of Mandawili was physically spent, every inch of his joints hurt and every muscle felt bruised. Pulaco struggled to move, trying to come to Mingming's side by pushing Balat's bulk away from him.

  The Mandawilian chief drew deeper within his core as memories came flooding back to him after the initial rush of emotions subsided. He roared in anger and frustration. After all, it was Ming who introduce him to Angga. It was Ming who gave Pulaco the utmost loyalty he needed when he became chief of their tribe. It was him who supported Pulaco in every battle he faced.

  He was his blood-brother. He was family.

  "So stupid." Zullah turned towards his fellow datu, still holding his blade as though it was a mere plaything. He then gave Pulaco a satisfied smile.

  "I'll send you to the mud!" Pulaco gritted his teeth, eyeing Zullah and all his men with hate.

  "Really?" Zullah sniggered as he walked closer to Pulaco. "And how are you going to do that when you're the next one in line?" As Zullah moved in for the kill, he suddenly paused, seeing a peculiar transformation happen before his very eyes.

  A part of Zullah felt an uncanny doubt when the man known to other datus as Kalipulako didn't answer back. It was as though he was beyond anger. In Pulaco's silence, Zullah felt a great dread. It was in there in the Mandawilian's eyes. It was in there in his breathing. It was in there in the way he held himself. To Zullah's superstitious side, it was as though the gods of war and strife suddenly whispered their secrets to the man. It was as though they favored the Mandawilian more, letting him weaponized his own pure will and continue on. And for the Lord of the Longbow, it was most unnerving.

  With his new-found strength, Pulaco stood and struck the bleeding Balat on the groin. The serf stooped over in pain, giving the Mandawilian chief a chance to snatch the man's dagger. Then, Pulaco took a step and another shot of pain made him curse. But it was nothing he could not manage. He tightened his grip on the blade handle, the call of vengeance running through his mind. The single thought kept him focus as he limped towards his brother-in-arms, spirit strengthened tenfold, ready to help him and make the nightmare stop. But Mingming was bleeding too fast as he lay on the rocky surface of the Narrows.

  Zullah instinctively backed away as Pulaco came closer to him. He had no choice. The man's eyes had a predatory glint in them. He felt his muscle freeze as the seed of fear flourished in his heart. But in his inaction, one of his serf tried to bar Pulaco’s way. Perhaps, he thought he could gain his master's favor by eliminating Kalipulako. But it only took one back-hand slash from Pulaco to end the foolish man's plan. He gurgled as he bled, reaching out to the heavens before expiring.

  Others tried to halt the chief of Mandawili but as they drew closer, he would brandish his blade, slashing like a maddened beast. But one of Pulaco's awkward strike made the chief stumble and stagger away, taking him farther from the Daragangan leader. For a moment, Pulaco paused, eyes empty and cold. It was a split second, but he saw it. He saw Mingming smile– the kind reserved only for farewells.

  "No. Don't. Not yet," Pulaco said, voice hoarse. "Ming... hold on." Something inside Pulaco fractured and shattered as he picked himself up. But before he could come to his dying friend, a misplaced laughter made him snap his head.

  "Good... gods," Zullah said. "Were you this pathetic before, Pulaco? And what now?"

  Pulaco growled, eyes narrowed.

  "Ah... a staring contest?" Zullah laughed. "Do you want me to wait any longer? Or shall I meet you half way?"

  Zullah's men sniggered at that. But Halang, who was still nursing his wounded foot and damaged pride screamed obscenities in between his commands at one of his father's archers. "Shoof! Shoof him!" He pointed at his father's arch enemy. But only one man heard him. The serf who did, raised his bow at Pulaco.

  But Balat, who was still aimlessly staggering around to staunch his bleeding neck, hindered the archer's line of sight. Fearing the princeling's ire, the archer quickly adjusted his position, taking a deep breathe as he dug one shaft out his quiver with his trembling fingers. He nocked it in, hands cold at the thought of killing the famed Mandawilian datu.

  "Shoofff him... now!" Halang ordered.

  Out of terror from his master, the archer took a risk and let his arrow fly before he can even properly aim his shot. It soared straight through the air, glacially piercing the howling winds of the cliffs' above the Narrows and coming straight towards Pulaco. But the gods seemed to think differently that moment. For the arrow only grazed Pulaco's face, drawing a mere bead of blood from the datu. A few inches short and he would've been just a dead bagani. It was just luck that saved him but for those who saw it... it seemed like fate itself did not want him back to the mud yet.

  Undaunted, Pulaco turned to the archer with blood-shot eyes. "I'll save you for last," he whispered as he stumbled on, gaining momentum in every painful step he took on the uneven ground. The archer gave out a faint whimper as he dropped his bow in panic. He felt a different kind of terror from the Mandawilian– the kind that was tangible. The kind that was born from pure disdain. The kind, that if left unchecked, could scar men for life.

  Zullah howled and pushed the timawa down, slapping the poor warrior's pale face. "I give the orders here! Not you! Or you! Not even you!" He pointed at the other serfs, stopping only at Halang.

  "Bufff Faffer!"

  "Another word from you...and I will forget that you are my son." Zullah turned to Pulaco. "Now... Now. Come here you lucky bastard! Let us test that fortune of yours with my blade." He barred Pulaco's path to Mingming, relishing every reaction he can draw from his sworn enemy.

  Pulaco growled again, breathing out slowly.

  Zullah shook his head. "You can talk to him and your wife in the afterlife. Right this moment... we settle things dagger against dagger!"

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  Pulaco spat. "Mingming will be avenged. All my men will be avenged! The gods will be my witness."

  "I'd like to see how you go about that with your current state."

  With ease, the two circled each other. But Zullah looked more and more agitated as their feet drew them nearer to the cliff were the rocks met the raging waves below.

  "I'm going to kill all your sons and parade their lifeless corpses all over the island after I'm done with you," he said, relishing every word. "But not that daughter of yours. I'll spare her... and make her my slave. Make her child... my own little pet."

  Pulaco didn't answer him as more of Zullah's men surrounded them, closing all points of egress. But the timawas were hesitant to come within his range. They were all too afraid of Pulaco's dark reputation. Even in his current state– wounded and weakened they still respected his prowess. After all, he was still the bagani of legend. And it was clear in his feral eyes that no man would halt his approach.

  When Zullah noticed their hesitation... it only made the arrogant datu hate the Mandawilian more. He howled again at Pulaco, distaste written all over his face. "What are you waiting for, dog?" he said as Pulaco paused, eyeing everyone around him.

  Zullah took a step closer. "Fight me! Fight me, Kalipulako! Let those who witness our battle tell it with awe. Let us be like the heroes in old epics– forever revered. Let us be more than these mere men around us! Let us be the only baganis they talk about for all the ages to come!"

  "You're going to regret all of this," Pulaco said as he tightened his grip on Balat's blade. "All of you here. I'll make sure you do. I'll make sure people remember you. But not the way you want it, Zullah. Your tale will be about defeat like all these men around you. It is already written in stone. I already carved it on destiny's back. And all the great and honorable Zullah could do is accept it. For it is my words..."

  The emboldened timawas came closer to Pulaco. But their master shrieked like some wild beast. "He's mine!" Zullah screamed, halting his henchmen from taking on Pulaco. "Damn you! This is datu against datu. Do not stop him. Mind your station! This is between us. And us alone!" He snarled at his men. "Interfere...and I will have you flayed. Victory must come from this hands alone. Or it will not be victory at all." There was pride sewn all over his words but Zullah also knew he could take Pulaco out. It was clear that the famed bagani was fading. The blood loss would take its toll too. Just in time for Zullah to snatch the warlord's life.

  Pulaco halted a few yards shy from the other datu of Opon Matan, raising his dagger and making Zullah take a step back. The Mandawilian's cold penetrating gaze were glaced with desperation, rage and something much worse. Perhaps, it was blood-lust or madness but Zullah couldn't be sure. He refused to know. The only thing in his mind was how sweet it would be to feel the man's beating heart on his hand. Behind him, Mingming's dark blood covered the ground where he lay.

  Zullah licked his blade, lowering his stance. "Come, boy," he said. "Come and meet your maker!"

  The datu of Mandawili's lips twisted into a mirthless smile, feeding his will with all the negative emotions he could muster. It steeled him for a moment and he knew it would be his end if it finally ran out.

  Salip Pulaco had to seize this chance. He leaned forward and used his own momentum as he started his approach on the rocky surface. The pain ceased as molten hate fueled his limbs. Then, Pulaco sprung towards Zullah's right flank like panther. The hooked-nose datu braced himself, countering Pulaco's rush with an upward swing of his keen dirk. But it was just a feint.

  A feint that the Mandawilian thought would never work. But poor Zullah, full of confidence and uncontrolled excitement took the bait. He returned another swing to deter Pulaco from capitalizing from his mistake. But his blade only sliced air as he over-extended on the wrong side– far from Pulaco, who ducked low.

  The man the Magalos called Dimantag came at Zullah like a blur, spearing him in the gut with his shoulder, lifting him up and wrestling him down. They staggered on the ground and rolled closer towards the edge of the cliff, punching and clawing each other with their free hands.

  "Get off me!" Zullah cried as he tried to dislodge himself from Pulaco's grip.

  But the Mandawilian had other plans. He already realized the only thing to stop this and protect his family was to fight till the end. Fight till his last breath permitted him to. Fight like he used to fight. Dirty and unrelenting.

  The datu of Mandawili struck Zullah on the face with the hilt of his blade, making the vile datu's head snap back. Another one caught the hooked-nosed chief on the jaw, making him bleed.

  "I'll end you!" Pulaco whispered, seeing Zullah's bloody face. But every strike he unleashed against his foe came with a hefty price, changing the once reasonable datu into a man guided by the emotions he once tried to control. Pulaco raised his blade to end his enemy's life.

  But Zullah wasn't done yet. He would not go easily. He was after all, even only in his own eyes, a true bagani. He elbowed Pulaco's injured shoulder and struck the man's wounded side with his fist, stopping Pulaco's attack. "Let's see if you can do what you say you'd do!" he said to the defiant warlord from Mandawili as he swung his blade. But Pulaco raised his own weapon just in time to parry Zullah's strike.

  And both of the chieftain rolled precariously nearer to the edge of the precipice, blades caught in a fatal embrace. With teeth gritted and muscles straining, the two tried to overpower each other. This was the culmination of years of hate, envy and righteous justice. And neither would give any quarter. Neither would offer an ounce of mercy. Neither would freely surrender. Victory had to be taken from their cold clutches by force.

  Zullah pushed his blade down towards Pulaco's throat, drawing blood but halting before he could claim total success "How much are you willing to sacrifice?" he said, neck veins bulging and face red with strain, still trying his best to push down against Pulaco's forearm.

  The Mandawilian butted heads with Zullah. "Everything," Pulaco answered, deflecting the datu's attack to the side. "I'd burn this world twice over to protect the ones I love." He struck but missed Zullah.

  "It won't be enough!" the Lord of the Longbow said as they scrambled for a better position. He pushed Pulaco to where the cliff cut off and only luck saved the Mandawilian from going over the treacherous waters. It was either that or the Mandawilian still had it in him. Pulaco's free hand clasp at the cracks in the rock face for a better grip. But then, Zullah dug his claws at Pulaco's neck, dangling half of his foes' body. As instinct took over the Mandawilian, he let his blade fall to the violent lashing waves below, blindly grabbing for a handhold at the loose jagged rocks around them before he fell.

  "It will not suffice, Pulaco!" Zullah raised his dagger, poised to end the man's life under him. "You will never be enough!" A malicious smile twisted his visage. Weaponless, Pulaco would finally feel his dagger's cold touch. Zullah would finally be free from the cursed man. He would be the greatest amongst all datus in the land.

  Pulaco gritted his teeth. "Then, permit this to change your mind," the Mandawilian answered as he saw his chance. Using the sharp rock on his hand, he struck first. Then, the two scrambled again and out of luck or misfortune a foul steel sank on flesh and one of them groaned in pain. The victor took the bloodied blade off his enemy's rib in one swift motion, preparing to strike the final blow. Perhaps, to punctuate his triumphant streak and seal his own fate. But the act made his dying enemy's body spasm, causing them to slide an inch closer to the edge of the crag beyond recovery. Before the victor could gain a better grip to steady himself, the two datus fell off the cliff. And down they descended to the deep waters below without a sound escaping their mouths, marking a new beginning in the island of Opon Matan, the beginning of its end.

  "Hoooarry fuff," Halang mumbled, face in disbelief. His eyes bulged in surprise and his jaw was slacked as he witnessed his father and Pulaco fall to their deaths. "Hoooarry fuffing...shifft," he added as he stared back at his father's remaining serfs, who were all as stunned as the toothless princeling.