Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XLVIII: Web of Intramuros

Lieutenant Aeon Ginto walked into his office, the weight of three cases pressing heavily on his shoulders. Each was a puzzle piece in a growing web of mysteries: the sudden disappearance of Noumenon Rosaryo, the grotesque death of Zard in police custody, and the suspicious "suicide" of Vlad Labaha. Together, they pointed to a shadowy presence looming over Intramuros. Aeon could feel the clock ticking as he pieced together the fragments of truth.

Among the evidence on Aeon's desk was a small but unmistakable object—a silver ring recovered from the wreckage of the vice mayor’s house. The ring was engraved with delicate details, its simplicity masking its profound significance. He recognized it immediately when it had been handed to him; it belonged to Noumenon Rosaryo. The now deceased Sister Lita had once mentioned the novice's tendency to fidget with the ring during moments of prayer, as though it was her personal talisman.

Finding the ring in the ruins of the vice mayor's residence raised more questions than answers. He couldn’t ignore the chilling context in which it was discovered: amidst the aftermath of Sister Lita’s brutal murder. The house had been reduced to rubble, almost as if someone had tried to erase its secrets. That ring, fragile as it seemed, became the keystone for his investigation—a tangible thread tying Noumenon to the chaos enveloping the city.

He picked up the ring and studied it carefully. The weight of its discovery hadn't diminished; in fact, it had almost been lost forever. The memory of that harrowing night flooded back—the attack while he was driving home, the forceful collision that sent his vehicle skidding off the road and into the river. He recalled the icy water filling the car, the crushing pressure on his chest, and the desperation to escape while clutching the precious evidence. Whoever orchestrated the ambush had intended to silence him which certainly irked him.

This made him even more determined. Noumenon’s disappearance wasn’t merely a missing person’s case—it was a deliberate act aimed at silencing someone who had uncovered dangerous truths. The ring was now safely in his possession, a symbol of her identity and an important detail to her whereabouts.

Her story was fragmented but compelling. Sent to Saint Peter the Fisherman Parish by the Saint Catherine Monastery for fieldwork, her routine task of observation had unraveled a nightmare. The parish was entwined in corruption and exploitation, its leadership tied to the city’s most heinous crimes.

Aeon had combed through every report, and it was clear that Noumenon’s findings had made her a target. Her subsequent a*******n from the hospital, following her collapse from exhaustion, confirmed the lengths to which her enemies would go to keep her silent.

The vice mayor’s connection was undeniable. His house, demolished under suspicious circumstances, stood as a monument to an interesting mystery. Sister Lita’s gruesome death there served as both a warning and a clue. Aeon was growing skeptical of the politician whose shadow fell heavily over every corner of this case, but to which he vehemently denied.

The young lieutenant’s skepticism deepened as he reviewed financial records and backdoor dealings implicating the man.

On the other hand, Zard’s death in his jail cell lingered at the edges of Aeon’s thoughts like an unresolved melody. The reptilian humanoid had been a key figure in the city's criminal landscape, tied to multiple illegal operations and violent confrontations. Arrested after a brawl with him, he had become a prisoner full of secrets—secrets he would never get the chance to share.

Forensic reports painted a bizarre and disturbing picture. Zard had suffocated, but without external marks of strangulation. His body bore signs of internal crushing, as if he had been subjected to an invisible force. Surveillance footage from the jail cell, marred by static and glitches, showed Zard pacing and muttering to himself. In his final moments, his behavior turned frantic, almost as if he was pleading with something unseen. Then, the footage cut to static, and when it resumed, Zard’s lifeless body was on the ground.

Aeon couldn’t dismiss the possibility of supernatural interference. Whether through scientific tampering or some unexplained force, someone—or something—had ensured Zard’s silence. To uncover the truth, Aeon had called in experts to analyze the footage and reconstruct the missing moments. Meanwhile, bio-anthropologists were examining Zard's physiology, searching for clues about what might have caused his injuries. What they were more interested in was about the genetic make-up of the corpse. He had the physical appearance of a gecko but the rationality of a human being.

Meanwhile, the recent death of Vlad Labaha added yet another chilling layer to Aeon’s investigation. Labaha, a notorious human trafficker, had operated with impunity for years, his crimes spanning the entire city. Yet, his life had ended in apparent suicide—a gunshot to the right temple. Around his neck was a metallic rosary, a detail that wasn’t new to him.

The rosary was the calling card of Cross, the enigmatic vigilante known for targeting the city’s most irredeemable criminals. His actions bordered on myth, his executions leaving behind both fear and fascination. Yet, something about Labaha’s death didn’t sit right with Aeon. The gunshot wound was perfectly angled, the scene staged almost too neatly. Labaha’s face, contorted in terror, suggested he had been coerced into pulling the trigger.

Aeon ordered a full ballistics report on the weapon and began analyzing the documents recovered from Labaha’s hideout. Among them were ledgers detailing the trafficking network’s operations and a list of names—victims, collaborators, and possibly targets. One name stood out: Noumenon Rosaryo. Had Labaha been part of the group that abducted her? Or was he tied to the same forces hunting her?

As Aeon pieced together the cases, one figure loomed large over them: the vice mayor of Intramuros. His influence stretched across the criminal underworld and the political elite. Aeon suspected the man’s involvement in everything from Noumenon’s a*******n to the orchestrated killing of Zard. But without concrete proof, Aeon’s theories remained shadows in the fog.

The silver ring sat on Aeon’s desk, a stark reminder of what was at stake. Noumenon wasn’t just a victim—she was a key player in this unfolding drama. Whether she was alive and fighting or silenced forever, she held the answers he needed.

He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts a whirlwind of connections and contradictions. The rosary, the ring, the wrecked house—all were pieces of a larger puzzle. Aeon knew the web was tightening, and the danger was growing. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, that someone—or something—was always one step ahead.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up his phone and called his deputy. “Double the surveillance on the vice mayor’s contacts,” he said. “And I want updates on the footage reconstruction by tonight. We’re running out of time.”

Hanging up, he turned his attention back to the board covered in photographs, maps, and notes. Her face stared back at him, her determined expression a silent call to action. He vowed to find her—and to unravel the web of lies and blood that surrounded her.

The hunt was far from over.

Later that afternoon, as Aeon leaned back in his chair, poring over a report on the metallic rosary retrieved from Vlad Labaha’s crime scene, his personal cellphone buzzed to life. The sharp trill broke the tense silence of his office. Grabbing the phone, Aeon’s brow shot up when he saw his deputy’s number for the second time today.

“This is Ginto,” he said firmly, his voice steady.

“It’s me,” came the hushed voice of his deputy. A mix of anxiety and urgency crackled through the connection. “I just spotted the vice mayor heading into a warehouse near the Intramuros bay pier. He... he wasn’t alone. I swear, Lieutenant, the woman with him—she looked like the novice.”

Aeon’s heart skipped. “You’re sure? Where exactly?”

“The old, abandoned dock warehouse—north side. Fifth building down,” the deputy replied quickly. “You need to get here, fast.”

“I’m on my way,” Aeon said, already grabbing his coat. “Stay put until I arrive. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Understood,” came the deputy’s terse reply, though his tone hinted at unease.

The sun was setting by the time Aeon reached the decrepit warehouse district. Shadows lengthened, casting the dilapidated buildings in hues of orange and gold. The air smelled of salt and rust, the occasional squawk of seagulls punctuating the eerie silence. His car skidded to a stop outside the fifth warehouse, and he stepped out cautiously, hand resting on the grip of his sidearm.

Inside, the cavernous warehouse was dark, save for streaks of fading sunlight filtering through broken windows. The space was littered with abandoned crates, tangled fishing nets, and rusted machinery. Aeon’s eyes immediately fell on the crumpled figure of his deputy sprawled on the ground near the center of the room.

“Dela Cruz!” Aeon called out, rushing to the man’s side. He checked for a pulse—there was none. The deputy was already dead.

Before Aeon could process the scene further, the sound of deliberate footsteps echoed through the warehouse. He turned sharply, drawing his weapon. A woman emerged from the shadows, her presence as unnerving as it was surreal.

Her features were sharp—inhumanly so. Bulging eyes glinted with predatory malice, her hooked nose casting long shadows across her face. Her teeth, jagged and uneven, gleamed when she smirked, and her unnaturally long nails tapped rhythmically against her side. She was draped in a long khaki coat paired with matching pants, her movements deliberate and calculated.

Beside her prowled a creature that barely resembled a man. Hunched on all fours, its limbs were grotesquely elongated, its sinewy frame rippling with unnatural strength. Its eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, feral and menacing.

“Well, well,” the woman drawled, her voice a silken mockery. “Lieutenant Aeon Ginto. Quite the determined little bloodhound, aren’t you?”

He leveled his gun at her. “Put your hands where I can see them. Now!”

The woman chuckled, a grating, hollow sound. “Oh, careful there, lieutenant. Chill. We just want what you always bring with you.” Her smirk widened. “Give me the ring, Lieutenant, and perhaps I’ll let you leave here alive.”

Aeon’s grip on his weapon tightened, and his brows furrowed. How was she able to know about the ring? This was confidential information. “Not happening. Step down, or I will use force.”

The hound-like figure growled low in its throat, its nails scraping against the concrete as it shifted its weight, preparing to pounce.

The woman tilted her head, her expression almost pitying. “Force? Against us? My dear, you’re out of your depth.”

Before Aeon could respond, the woman’s coat slipped from her shoulders, revealing arms that began to transform. Her elbows elongated, the bones twisting and contorting until they formed sharp, raptorial forelegs resembling those of a mantis. The grotesque limbs gleamed wickedly, their serrated edges promising a brutal end.

That was then where he pieced together the hints that this was the same person who attacked him before. There was no mistaking her form. Those were the same sharp forelegs during the time when he almost drowned with his car.