After viewing the vast vista that was the cliff, Orlok made sure to note within my mind’s eye that that vista’s particular name was Cliff of Cycles. Additionally, he told me that since I experienced something new, that would grant me greater strength, and fuel my Gahum.

“Gahum?” I asked as Orlok told me to begin walking west. Apparently, according to his spirit map, there was a village there. And so I did.

“We might find some assistance in the Village. There must be one so close to an Altar because there used to be a ritual that brought you up there in the first place," said Orlok, as I strode down a dirt path, uncaring about my barefeet. "Hmm... Gahum is the burning essence within your soul. It’s not far to think of it as your… power level. Currently, you are at Gahum 1. The lowest level of any being that is stronger than a dead plant.”

“All right,” I said, sighing and staring straight ahead. “I didn’t need that kind of strange, destructive motivation.”

“Get used to it, child,” said my ancestor spirit. “No one gets stronger through kind words.”

I scowled at that, and the words were like a hammer upon the furnace of my heart.

I followed the path that began from the clifftop. I realized than that I came out from a mountain, which was definitely strange. A weird room complex built within the mountain? That’s crazy, and I wondered what kind of technology or machinery was used to achieve that kind of technological marvel.

Presently, the road led me down a dirt path, flanked by short grasses and weeds. Even then, flowers blossomed. The sun was high up, although it was more or less beginning to dive west. I made it a point to walk faster. No matter who I was in my past life, I was bound to be scared of being alone in the dark, with nothing to protect me but a bow, a rusted kris, and some stone arrows.

The dirt road seemed to cut straight through a forest, for further still past the grasses and weeds were great trees of molave, katmons, banana trees and mango trees. Others were trees of jackfruit. There were even narra trees and malabulak trees, with their flowers burning red, making them look like they were on fire. As I walked, a cold wind passed by and wrapped around me, and I felt refreshed. The cold wind rejuvenated my heart as it went through my nostrils, and made me feel like I could get around more.

As I walked, I lost track of time. It felt like my body just wouldn’t give up. I felt like I could walk all day. As the sun dipped closer behind the mountains, Orlok spoke again. “You’re not tired yet?”

I shook my head. “Not in the least, actually.”

“That’s good. Perhaps this is a good time to bring up your Traits.”

“My Traits?”

If an emerald snake turned into a bracer could nod, Orlok definitely would’ve. “Your Traits. Here.”

And then her eyes burned bright red, as if in response to something. A confirmation perhaps? In my mind’s eye, nine words appeared.

“Now you must know, all creatures have these Traits. For all creatures are Mighty, Agile, Enduring, Reasoning, Superstitious, Faithful, Charismatic, Manipulative, and Composed. ” And as he said those things, those words came up in my mind’s eye. The Physical traits were Might, Agility, and Endurance. The Mental traits were Reason, Superstition and Faith. Finally, the Social traits were Charisma, Manipulation, and Composure. Beside them, I saw that there were numbers.

My Might, which apparently governed my ability to perform physical feats of strength, ability to fight in close combat, and general ability to wreck things was rated at a number of 1. I also learned that for each point of Might, your attacks dealt an additional 1/4 damage.

My Agility, which governed my ability to move quickly, facilitated my manual dexterity, and my ability with long range combat, was rated at a number of 1.

My Endurance, which governed my ability to, well, endure, as well as rated my ability to withstand physical damage, was rated at 2. That made sense, of course. It was why I was able to survive those lamanlupa.

My Reason, which apparently governed my natural ability to reason and deduce logic and to work with things wrought by science, as well as how quick one’s thoughts were, was rated at a measly 0. I don’t blame them, I guess? Was 0 a bad rating?

My Superstition, which governed my ability to perform magic, speak with the spirits and the things unknown, and the knowledge of things that was not in the purview of science, was rated at 0.

My Faith, which governed my ability to hold on to either my Reason or Superstition, staying strong and weathering every spiritual or mental harm. That was rated at 1 as well.

I somewhat cringed when I saw the Social category. My Charisma was at a 2 as well, which wasn’t bad. That governed my natural charisma and ability to sway people with just my sheer force of will.

My Manipulation, however, was at a 0. I was not very good at fast-talking, at getting to know if people are lying or not, learning their true intentions, as well as making them dance at my fingertips with words and leverage. And truly, I didn’t think I could.

My Composure was also at an embarassing 0. Composure was my ability to weather social harms, if I could resist overwhelming temptation or social maneuvering. I was not good at it.

But hey, I was good at wrecking things, right? That’s a plus.

“Okay, that’s interesting. So you’re telling me everyone has these traits?”

“Correct,” answered my ancestor spirit. “The normal adult has ratings from 0 to 2. 0 being the baseline ability that most children and untrained people have, in a particular trait. A completely nondescript, mediocre person would have a rating of 0. 2 is a professional at that Trait. At 3, one is notedly better, a trained individual. At 4, one is more or less skilled at that thing, and does not need to be taught. 5 is the measure of proficiency. If you have a 5 at something, you are on the level of professionals You are no greenhorn. 6 and 7 are both differing levels of mastery, one that would take years to achieve. 8 is the level of grandmasters in that Trait, one that reach the tip top peaks of human achievement. 9 to 10 is past human. Those are the realm of superhumans, of heroes.”

“Can it go past 10?” I asked as I saw something in the distance, down the road, right as it leveled out and stopped being a downhill walk. “Oh look, what’s that?”

“It can,” said Orlok. “But that is the purview of the Gods and Karanduun. Now careful, Dalita, granddaughter, as a newly born Attainer, you will come across a great number of challenges.”

I took that into account, and put a hand on my rusted kris. I hoped it would do the job, if there was any danger.

I neared the thing, which from afar looked like the shadowy silhouette of a box. But up near, I realized that it was a wagon, turned to its side. Grass and stalks of rice spilled over to the side of the road, and a karabaw, or a water buffalo, was cut into three pieces in the middle of the road. The blood was somewhat dry, and I almost gagged at the stench.

“Ho, there,” I spoke. “Uh, i-is anyone there—“

And before I could even finish what I was trying to say, a woman—lithe, young, beautiful, wrapped in layers of cloths—leapt out from behind the overturned wagon and fell to her knees, supplicating before me. I—not being used to stray women supplicating to me—stood and gawked, and then promptly said, “Hey, don’t do that. Come on, stand up.”

The woman was muttering something. She didn’t stand up. Instead, still kneeling, she looked up to me and said, “O, great one, god of the mountains! You come down to us from your Altar, after one hundred and eighty years of rest! O, almighty one, please grant me some of your great wealth and riches!”

“I’m sorry, all I’ve got is a rusty kris that can do 1 point of damage.”

“Any amount of bulawan will do!”

“Look, here, how about I help you with your wagon instead? I can uh… I can pull it up for you as well if you’d like.”

“Hospitable,” said Orlok. I briefly wondered if the young girl heard it, but she didn’t show any sign of it.

The lady grasped my ankles. “O please, just a little of your great vaults of wealth, so that my family would not go hungry!”

“Hey, lady.” I bent down to my knees and lifted her face. “Tell me where your fam—“

And then her face—which was beautiful, and was like a mask of porcelain, delicate and easy to shatter—burst out in a grotesque cascade. Her eyes multiplied and became six, and then her mouth opened way too wide, ripping her cheeks wide open, and then forming into bloody mandibles. Her black hair turned white and it fell to her shoulders, flaring out. She stood at least a foot taller than me. Her upper body was wrapped in a bone-like exoskeleton, while her lower body starting from the hips down was covered in nothing but the molting skin of her once human form.

“What the—“

“Rana Paibarong sends her regards!” she shrieked, and then four more arms erupted from within her layers of clothing, revealing a six-armed lady beneath. The naked spider lady was upon me in the next instant, and six krises—all of them not rusted—flashed out into her hands. “Die, Attainer!”

I found myself cursing as a blade cut into my clothing even as I rolled my upper body away from her twin sword lunge. Even with the 1 point of armor from the clothing, however, I still suffered a whole hearts worth of damage. I winced, feeling the burn on my right side, but I managed to grab one of the arms that tried to stab me, and I kicked her away using my foot.

She flew backward, but, like the spider she was, was up on her feet immediately. “Attainer!” She said, crouching low with two of her hands now empty, clutching the dirt road. “Tell me your name, so that it is all the sweeter when I kill you and drink your blood like honey. I am Venomstress Alessandra the Silent!”

“You’re not very silent, bitch.” I got up and, as I did, unsheathed my kris as well as picked one of the krises that Alessandra, the not-very-silent had left on the dirt. “And I’m Dalita!” With that proclamation, I kicked the other kris that was left on the dirt into the sky, and then twisted around, kicking the kris as it fell down, and sending it shooting straight at the spider-woman.

Perhaps the spider-woman hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps she was too busy gloating. But the kris caught her by one of her arms by surprise. The kris hit its mark, but it clanged off a hard, bone-like carapace the color of brightly painted yellow clay. An exoskeleton?

I looked at the kris, and saw in my mind’s eye…

Steel Kris.

Deals 2 points of damage to Ginhawa. Breaks after 5 battles.

“Nice. 2?” I turned to the spider-lady then, and her information arose in her mind’s eye.

“Good thing she spoke her name,” said Orlok. “Otherwise you would have to fight her to gain her statistics!”

“What? Why?”

“Souled beings like her—and not manufactured warriors like the black lamanlupa—are not easily read by us umalagad. Their names, however, carry with them their identity.”

“Why would they say it, then?” I asked as Alessandra was upon me. She was a hurricane of steel and I could not stop her. I leaped out of the way even as a blade struck my core, and I lost another heart.

However, I hit the ground to my right in a roll, lunged forward a bit, and then swung with my rusted kris, hamstringing her completely.

“Gah!” She shrieked again. I looked again, and my quicksilver eyes—or was it my battle instinct?—burned within me again. I saw that on her upper body and her arms there was a chitinous exoskeleton, the color of bright clay. Did that give her armor, even without wearing any?

Soon, I saw that my questions were answered. Like a quickness, imprinted onto my brain, my mind’s eye saw…

Venomstress Alessandra the Silent.

Gahum 1.

Ginhawa 3.

Natural Armor 2 (Carapace, on her arms and her upper body).

Her claws deal no damage but inflict Poison.

“Venomstress Alessandra works for the great Silk Sword Princess, Rana Paibarong, who rules a great western kingdom in the Thousand States region. Her title, Venomstress, gives away her upbringing, as the Venomstresses are a family of woman-spiders given the ability to poison. So do not be hit.”

Oh shit. I avoided more of her attacks, and then I used her momentum against her since she was horribly apt to leaning forward and letting her momentum carry her. When she thrust with one kris, she would stab with another. I avoided the stab, and then I swung one kris down and another up. My kris was enough to cut deep into her carapace, and my other kris parried away her strike.

In my mind’s eye, I saw that her Ginhawa had been reduced to 1 whole heart. My first attack—the stylish kicking of that kris at her—did 1/2 damage. My second attack, hamstringing her, was enough to cut her Ginhawa down by 1 whole heart since she wasn’t protected by her carapace down there!

But as I reveled in my victory, a third hand came up, a bolt of shadow. It cut up, ripping past my clothing, pushing me backward. Her claws burned and bubbled with an acidic green.

I winced but felt no long-lasting hurt. As her hand lingered, offering up that wound to whatever sky gods there were, I stepped in with my rusty kris at the ready. She was getting slow with every attack against her Ginhawa, with every deduction of her heart.

“Tell Rana Paibarong that I’m not interested.” And my kris shot out, like lightning, like a dragonfly, and impaled itself straight through the spider-woman’s jaws.

She went slack.

I savored the moment. I grabbed the krises that she had, and then pulled the leather satchel she had on her hip to put it in. Within were some waterskins and some food, rusted. How long had she been standing here, waiting for me?

“Good job,” said Orlok, and the lady burned and then dissolved into strands, which twined together to create a thread that pierced my heart. “However, I would suggest you find some way to rid of the poison entirely.”

“Huh? Oh, shit, you’re right.”

I ran over to the wagon and found nothing that could’ve helped with the poison. I cursed. “Nuno, what removes poison here?”

“A remedy only. If not a remedy, then an albularyo or folk healer, or a babaylan, or a shaman.”

“Shit.” I looked up, and in the face of certain death, I felt myself thinking clearer. The village. The village that Orlok was talking about. Surely they’d have something there! And so, I ran, without second-guessing. I had only two lives left. I couldn’t give it up, even if I’m not entirely sure why. I’m not a quitter, and so I’m not quitting.

And so, I ran. I ran as fast as I could, a madman dash down the dirt path, with the leather satchel of weapons clanking behind me. I ran faster than my legs could take me, and surely they protested with agonized pain since I haven’t moved this intensely in apparently 180 years!

In my mind’s eye, even as I made that mad dash, I found that my heart slowly reduced. Unlike the half hearts, my Ginhawa was being subtracted by quarters of a heart. My strides only widened when my single lasting heart was reduced to a half. My lungs burned, and I thanked my high Endurance that I was able to.

However, for as strong as my Endurance was, it didn’t seem like it was able to stem the poison for too long. Indeed, it cut through not just my body, but my very essence as well.

“Keep running, Dalita. Your Endurance has greatened the intervals at which you suffer the effects of the poison. However… poison is insidious and must be treated. There!”

I realized that I was staring at the dirt road. When I looked up, even as my final fourth of a heartbeat, I saw the silhouettes of stilt houses and a church.

“We’re here. I did it—“ But as I took my final step, I weakened, and fell upon the floor, in the vicinity of the village. My vision blacked out completely, as my final portion of my Ginhawa throbbed and wailed.