Here it was. The heart of the bargain. She had rehearsed this in her mind, but the reality of it, of him, was overwhelming. She took a breath, the cold air stinging her lungs. She extended her bleeding palm, the cut a vivid red slash against her skin.
“My blood,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “My devotion.” She paused, then offered the final, most crucial piece, a name that had come to her in feverish dreams, a word of power she had not understood until this very moment. “And a name. I name youMaruz.Judgment Bringer.”
The being stopped circling. He stood directly before her, his head tilted in what might have been curiosity. A slow smile spread across his features, and the sight was more terrifying than any display of rage. It revealed teeth that were just a fraction too sharp, too predatory, to be human.
“Maruz,” he tasted the name, his internal voice giving it a sibilant hiss. “It has been an age since I was given a name by a mortal. I accept it. And I accept your offering.”
He reached out and, this time, he did touch her. He took her wrist, his grip surprisingly gentle yet inescapably firm. His skin was cool and smooth as polished stone. He brought her bleeding palm to his lips and licked the blood from the cut. Ligaya gasped, a jolt like lightning striking her spine. The act was shockingly intimate, a branding. Where his tongue touched, her skin tingled and the pain of the cut vanished, leaving only a thin, white scar.
“The terms are these,” his voice was now a low, seductive whisper in her thoughts. “I am bound to this plane for one season - from this full moon until the first rains of the monsoon. In that time, I will render the judgment you seek. When the season turns, I must return to the nethermost halls that serve as my cage.” He released her hand. “Unless another call is made. Another woman, another offering, another judgment sought. That is the only thing that can extend my stay in your world.”
He leaned closer, his fiery amber gaze pinning her. “Do you accept these terms, summoner?”
She was bound to a monster. She had invited a nightmare into her life to drive out another. But looking into the beautiful, merciless face of Maruz, she felt not regret, but a surge of wild, triumphant power.
“I accept,” she said, and sealed her fate.
They descended from the cliff together, Maruz guiding her through the moonlit forest with the silent confidence of a creature who could see in perfect darkness. As they passed beneath the boughs of the great balete tree that marked the edge of the clearing, his form shifted. The change was subtle, like watching the light change at sunset. The otherworldly iridescence of his skin muted to the deep, even tone of burnished copper. The razor-sharp perfection of his features softened just enough to appear human, though his beauty remained a breathtaking, unsettling thing. He was still a god or a demon walking the earth, but now he wore a disguise that might fool a mortal eye in the forgiving darkness. A simple length of dark cloth had appeared, wrapped around his waist like a tapis, preserving a shred of modesty she hadn’t realized she was grateful for until it was there.
He walked beside her, his silence a comfortable weight, unlike the oppressive hush of his arrival. His presence was a shield; the shadows seemed to deepen around them, making them invisible to any late-night wanderers. When they reached the edge of the village, he stopped her with a light touch on her arm. His skin was still cool, but it no longer felt like stone; it felt like living flesh.
“Go home,” his voice was a soft vibration in the air, no longer booming in her mind. “Bolt the door. Do as you have always done. Wait for him.”
Ligaya looked up at his face, cast in shadow and moonlight. Fear warred with a dizzying sense of anticipation. “What will you do?”
A slow, merciless smile touched his lips, a fleeting glimpse of the inhuman being beneath the handsome mask. “Your husband will face judgment tonight.” The words were a promise, laced with an ancient hunger.
He melted back into the shadows of the tree line, vanishing so completely it was as if he had never been there. Only the faint,lingering scent of incense and sea salt proved it wasn’t a dream. Ligaya hurried through the sleeping village, her heart a frantic drum against her bruised ribs, and slipped back into the small nipa hut that had been her cage for five years.
She bolted the door. The familiar act felt different now, charged with new meaning. It was no longer to keep the world out, but to trap a beast within. She lit a single oil lamp, the small flame casting long, dancing shadows that writhed like living things. She sat on a woven banig mat in the corner, her back against the wall, and waited.
An hour later, she heard him. Mateo, stumbling down the path, singing a bawdy Spanish tune horribly off-key. The door rattled as he fumbled with the latch, his curses loud and slurred. He finally burst in, reeking of tuba and sweat. His eyes, bloodshot and cruel, scanned the small room.
“There you are, you useless bitch,” he snarled, his gaze locking onto her. “Where did you run off to? Did you think you could hide from me?”
He stalked toward her, his bulk filling the small hut. He was a mountain of rage, his face flushed and ugly. Ligaya remained seated, her hands clenched in her lap. The fear was there, a cold, familiar knot in her stomach, but it was overlaid with something new, something sharp and watchful.
“I asked you a question!” He stood over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. He drew back his hand, the heavy rings on his fingers glinting in the lamplight. Ligaya flinched, an involuntary, conditioned response.
But the blow never landed.
From the darkest corner of the room, a deeper shadow detached itself from the others. It rose, unfolded, and solidified into the formof Maruz. He stood behind Mateo, utterly silent, his presence sucking all the warmth from the air.
Mateo’s hand froze mid-swing. The drunken haze in his eyes cleared, replaced by a flicker of confusion, then stark, animal terror. He slowly turned, his breath catching in his throat. He looked up, and up, at the impossibly tall, perfectly formed man who had appeared from nowhere. He saw the cold fire in Maruz’s eyes and whatever drunken bravado he possessed shattered into a million pieces.
“What… what in God’s name are you?” Mateo stammered, scrambling backward, tripping over his own feet and crashing to the floor.
Maruz did not answer. He simply raised a hand, palm open, toward the cowering man. The air around Mateo began to shimmer, to warp like heated glass. Ghostly images flickered into existence, visible only to Ligaya and her husband. She saw herself, a week ago, her face contorted in pain as Mateo twisted her arm behind her back. She saw herself last month, weeping silently as he threw a plate of food at the wall beside her head.
Mateo screamed, a raw, ragged sound, clutching his arm as if it were being broken anew. “No! Stop!”
Another image bloomed in the air - Mateo slapping her so hard her head snapped back, the sharp crack echoing in the hut. And on the floor, Mateo cried out, his own head jerking to the side as a phantom blow landed, a trickle of real blood suddenly appearing at the corner of his mouth.
“You are judged,” Maruz’s voice was a low, pitiless rumble. “You will now feel every moment of pain you have given.”
One by one, the memories of his cruelty played out in the shimmering air, a litany of bitter years. Each shove, each kick, each venomous word manifested as physical agony upon his body. He writhed on the floor, weeping, begging, screaming apologies to a woman he had nevershown an ounce of mercy. Ligaya watched, her face impassive, her heart a cold, hard stone in her chest. This was not vengeance. This was balance. This was justice.
When the last memory faded, Mateo was a broken, sobbing wreck on the floor. Maruz lowered his hand.
