Philnensia

Taylor had traveled halfway across the world, to the jungles of Mindanao, the bio-chronometer’s lights flashing her lover’s vital signs showed he was in strenuous activity. She homed in on it, pushing the anti-grav backpack to overdrive, skimming high above 20-foot coconut fronds swaying in the calm night breeze. Now she heard the otherworldly snarls and roars of her quarry and she landed on the only clearing of a moonlit gnarly forest, with no human habitation lights for miles around.

She saw her mate surrounded by what the natives whispered as aswangs, anthropomorphic changeling-predators, and five to be exact. With an electro-torch, Marten tried to fend off an eight-foot biped tusked black boar, a large hovering bat-thing, a 10-foot biped were-horse, an elongated tongued man with big yellow eyes, and a floating old woman with nine inch nails. Already, there were severed bodies around, but Marten, even as an upgraded human, showed signs of battle fatigue.

Taylor knew why he was sent here. In remote villages in the Philippines, reports of missing persons and disemboweled bodies have reached the Center, hence alerting the High Command of hybrid anthropophagites proliferating in this part of the world. She had wanted to AWOL from the corps, weary of the hunts, but her lover answered the call of duty, and it was love that made her follow him back into the fray, but was she too late? Marten had zeroed on a whole clan of flesh-eaters.

In a fury over slain monster kin, the were-boar charged Marten. He was able to plunge the electro-torch at his attacker, burning a hole through the black, prickly furred chest. However, its momentum tore the burning spear from Marten’s hands as it fell snout first into the mud.

“Kee-yah!” Taylor flying kicked the Bat-Thing, but it just flew above her attack. Now, she joined Marten in the tightening circle of a midnight buffet, however, it seemed they’re wary of attacking, as Marten wasted so many of them, and now, came Taylor. Taylor handed him her gun as she brandished her silver knife.
“Nice of you to drop by, love. I told you I’d go alone”, he said, training the gun round.
“I will always fight with you, love. Where’re your other weapons?” she moved to cover his back.
“I chucked them, no more ammo. I’ve wasted ten of the bastards before they could feast on a village south of here.”
“I like my knife better, never runs out of ammo.” The floating woman spoke, deep and guttural for a female human to produce.
“Lakarsh ng loorb nyo maghimasok ditoh saaa mehn. Nananahimek kameh ditoh sa liblib na lugaaarrr. Kelangan namen mabuhaaayyy.”
“What’s it saying?”
“I’ve got Filipino friends in L.A., with whom I did research on their night creatures. It’s Tagalog. She says we have guts in stepping on their turf. They’re living peacefully, but they need to survive”, they just eyed her hungrily, as if they knew she’s making a translation.
“Tell them why we’re here.”
“Okay, ‘Trabahoe nameen ubuseen ang tyulad neeyong halima-u”, she told them in American accented Tagalog.’” Now the creatures were looking at each other.
“Whadya say?”
“I told them, ‘It’s our job to exterminate monsters like you”, she supplied with a smile. Upon getting Taylor’s meaning, the were-horse roared, and with the others, charged. The two had no choice but to duck the brute, but Taylor was gored. The tall horse slammed her to the ground, then, seeing her prone, readied two six clawed hands for a heart-carving stroke to her chest. She rolled just in time as its hands buried themselves into the soil. She could hear Marten shooting, but could her silver rounds stop them?

Before it could extricate its hands, Taylor jumped behind the were-horse and stabbed the serrated knife into its thick neck. It neighed deafeningly at the moon. Sensing dread, Taylor looked behind. The old woman, white locks flying, was bearing toward her back fast, nine inch nails extended to impale her. The were-horse, hooves pounding, tried to fling her off, bounding around the clearing. Taylor clung to it, holding the knife, and legs wrapped around its thick girth. It’s claws scratched at her, but her wounds closed as soon as they were made, but leaving her spandex suit rent in places. The old woman chased them around, telling her daughter-were-horse to stop. Bathed in dark green blood, Taylor sawed half the neck and tore the rest, pulling by the mane. They crashed, sprawled on the ground. She turned to the wailing woman, who screamed at her daughter’s death. Taylor flung her knife and struck her dead on the forehead. It fell, shaking on the mud.

Her night vision scanned for Marten. Then she shouted, “Marten!”

The Bat-Thing was feeding on Marten’s stomach. Taylor ran, pulled the knife from the head. Seeing her, it flapped its wide wingspan and sprang into the air. Her anti-grav gear went online. She pursued it over treetops. As she was closing in on it, it spat goo on her face, blinding her. She fell on the brush. She rolled, her limbs flailing, until she struck a coconut tree trunk hard. She passed out.

As she returned to consciousness, she felt something cold touching her stomach. She jerked and rolled away to stand six feet from a startled coconut farmer, who had touched her to check if she were alive. The concerned Mindanaoan guy asked if she was all right, but she ran instead. It was already daylight.

She reached the clearing; only Marten’s body lay there. Around him, plumes of smoke rose from the combusted remains of the calibans. Unable to revert to human form in daylight, they burned to ashes in the sunlight. She radioed the Center. Moments later, a radar proof SR-71 Blackbird VTOLed and picked her and Marten’s remains, and flew to the secret base of the Center, deep at the foot of Mt. St. Helens.