The fire’s glow painted Ugbo Street in hellish hues. Elias staggered after Lira, his lungs raw from smoke and exhaustion. Behind them, the night market burned—not with normal flames, but with unnatural fire that twisted into skeletal shapes against the sky.

"This way!" Lira yanked him into an alley choked with laundry lines. The blessed baton in Elias’s hand had gone dark, its carved prayers exhausted.

A crash echoed from the street. Elias risked a glance back and wished he hadn’t.

The fire demon rose from the wreckage of a noodle stall, its body a writhing column of flame and human silhouettes. Where it stepped, the pavement blackened and cracked.

"Firebrand," Lira hissed, shoving Elias behind a dumpster. "Don’t let it touch you. Their fire eats souls."

Elias’s backpack jerked violently. The box inside was reacting, its wood humming against his spine. "It wants the demon," he realized aloud.

Lira’s eyes narrowed. "Of course it does. That’s what it’s for." Before Elias could ask, she grabbed his wrist. "The church—run!"

They burst onto a side street just as the Firebrand unleashed a wave of heat that melted plastic signs into dripping sludge. Elias’s skin blistered from the near-miss.

Manila Cathedral loomed ahead, its stone walls scarred from old battles. A cluster of robed figures stood at the gates, their hands raised in unison. Elias recognized the oldest—Father Mateo, his mentor’s face gaunt under the emergency lights.

"Elias! To me!"

The priests’ chant swelled as they approached:

"By sacred light, we banish shadow!"

Holy water arced through the air, sizzling where it struck the Firebrand. The demon shrieked, its form flickering—but it didn’t retreat.

Father Mateo thrust a hand toward Elias. "The box, boy! Now!"

Elias hesitated. The box was vibrating now, its hunger palpable. Lira’s warning echoed in his mind: That thing isn’t a weapon. It’s a mouth.

A priest screamed as the Firebrand seized him. The man’s robes ignited, revealing bone before ash.

Elias threw the box.

It struck the Firebrand’s chest—and stuck. The demon froze, its flames stuttering. Then the unthinkable: the fire reversed course, streaming into the box’s seams like water down a drain. The wood darkened, veins of black spreading across its surface.

Silence.

The box thudded to the pavement, inert.

Father Mateo crossed himself. "God have mercy."

In the cathedral’s sacristy, Elias slumped onto a pew, his hands still shaking. The box rested on the altar between two lit candles, its nails weeping tarry droplets.

"It’s a prison," Father Mateo said quietly. "Forged by the first guardians to trap the Hollow King."

Lira, who’d been silently sharpening her knife, snorted. "And now it’s cracking."

Elias stared at the box. "That demon… it didn’t just die. The box ate it."

"It eats all of them," Lira said. "That’s why your priest friends guard it. Every demon consumed buys more time before the Hollow King wakes up."

Father Mateo’s hands trembled as he poured tea. "The box was meant for twelve guardians. Elias is the last."

A chill crawled down Elias’s spine. "What happened to the others?"

The old priest wouldn’t meet his eyes. Outside, the first raindrops of monsoon began to fall, hissing against the still-smoking ruins of Ugbo Street.