"The first men to cross the Peaceful Sea from the other side of the world came upon the Greater Archipelago to find glory. And there, they would find it...And there, they would also find their end."
Mingming dragged Halang atop the ridge on the side of the Narrows and to the cliff where Zullah was torturing Pulaco. While most of his men remained to face the heavily-armored Magalos that emerged out of the pass, all thinking it would just be like fighting the previous Destroyer scouts they ambushed earlier. But they were sorely mistaken this time, for they'll be facing the elite echelon of the sultan's soldiers. It was their first mistake. The second was that only a handful of the Daragangans went with their leader, Mingming, to face a line of archers about three dozen or so.
Mingming halted a few yards from them and raised his kampilan just below Halang's neck. On the opposite rank, the line of enemy archers opened a small gap, revealing Zullah who had one hand on Pulaco's blood-soaked hair and the other on a gray dirk. "Pulaco?" he said, face full of surprise. "Are you all right?"
The chief of Mandawili tried to warn his brother-in-law but it came only as a feeble groan. Pulaco was barely conscious, hanging on a fraying thread.
"I just want Pulaco back." Mingming added, barely controlling himself after seeing Pulaco's swollen, beaten face. "I don't want a fight, Zullah."
"Well, that sounds exactly what I'm thinking," Zullah said as his archers raised and aimed their bows at Mingming and his Daragangan. The whole lot sniggered, waiting for the Mandawilians to challenge them. Zullah clapped his hands. "But as you can see, you don't have the right to demand me anything."
Mingming took a step forward unfazed. "What did they do to you, Pulaco?"
Balat, who held the Mandawilian datu, growled at Mingming. "Don't worry baldy... I didn't hurt your chieftain that much."
Mingming took a step. "You son of a bitch! I'll tear your head off for hurting Salip!"
"Oh, he's all right," Zullah said, after giving Pulaco a gentle slap on the face. "He'll live. He'll live long enough." Halang murmured something but his father cut him off. "Shut up, you whiny little fuck," Zullah spat as he took one of the archer's bow and arrow. "I told you to be fucking careful, didn't I? Your insolence will ruin everything I have worked hard for." He aimed the weapon on his son with deadly intention. Halang's face froze in shock for a second. If it was just a joke no one was laughing, especially him.
"Don't do anything stupid, Zullah," the Daragangan leader said.
The Mandawilian serfs raised their shields as their leader pushed Halang forward. "It'll be alright, Salip," Mingming said as he held on the princeling's neck. "I'll get you out of here."
Zullah only snarled at him in reply, making his men laugh.
"Let's do this like the old ways." Mingming eyed Zullah and then Balat as he halted. "I'll give your son back if you give us Pulaco." Ming was betting on Zullah's rational side to come through. If things went south he and his men were on the bad side of the Narrows. They'd be hard-pressed in a fight against Zullah's archers. The terrain and the numbers were against them too. So, he hoped for a miracle or some sense on Zullah's deranged mind to rein things his way. Mingming nodded. "What do you think, honorable datu?"
Zullah lowered his bow, pausing to think. "The old ways. I like the sound of that."
"I know you'd say that."
"Oh, really?" Zullah said, raising his brow. "Well, I guess, Pulaco should've made you his fortune teller instead of making you the Daragangan's leader. He could've avoided this mess."
"I guess, he was wrong. He is wrong on many things."
"Oh, you're right, Ming... we could agree on that."
Mingming nodded. Things were going right where he wanted it to go. The only thing he needed was ample time to think of a way out. And making Zullah talk more seemed like the best path to take. But he misjudged how obsessions maddened a man. Without warning, the other datu of Opon Matan shot his arrow. Halang cried as he fell, half the shaft protruding on his foot.
"Hoarry fuffing shifft! You shath me. You shath me!" he screamed at his father with bloodied lips. "Shifft on you, farther!"
"Now, you got no hostage!" said Datu Zullah to Mingming with a smug look on his face. Then, he turned to his men. "What are you waiting for? Shoot them all down to dust!" He hissed at his men and arrows fell like hail towards the Daragangans.
Mingming jumped for cover behind the shield wall and arrows punctured their only line of defense in no time. Three Daragangans instantly fell from the first volley. Mingming covered his head as more shafts flew. "Shit, raised your damn shields or will all die here!" Pulaco's brother-in-law cried, still shock by what Zullah did.
The screams of his men beside him mixed with the shrieks of the Daragangans below the ridge as the Magalos attacked them too. It formed a chaotic cry that made the hardiest men shiver in fear. And in that moment Mingming realised what Pulaco meant, It was a trap. "Shit," he snapped as he grabbed one of the shield from a fallen Daragangan, still in a state of disbelief. He raised it and gave his last command. "Fight! Fight till the end my Daraganans!"
And so they fought on, outclassed and outnumbered, using their kalasags to delay death. Some arrows broke upon impact while others bit through their shields and through their flesh. The only course for them now was go forward. Mingming roared as they trudge on. But very step they took on the ridge had to be paved with a life of a Daragangan. Mingming and the others went through all of it with heads low and formation as tight as they could possibly hold. Just like how Pulaco drilled them. Just like how Mingming led them in battles before. Those archers who were close enough suffered for their mistake as the Daragangans' blade went through them.
Another volley of steel pushed Mingming's men back and blood mingled with sweat. In the midst of it, bone bent and broke as the weight of violence fell upon them. While fear and fury clashed with each other in all their hearts as they fought on. Mingming halted his war cry when the arrows ceased and a moment of misplaced tranquility came in their little slice of hell. He took a deep breath. Is it all over? he thought as he lowered his shield. But things were far from what he hoped and wished for. He opened a gap in the shield wall only to see their enemies rushing towards them with stone axes and kampilans on hand. He dropped his shield and roared a challenge as Zullah's men descended towards them, snarling like unleashed dogs.
The Daragangan leader's nasty swing severed the throat of the first man to close the gap between the two factions. The dying serf got on Mingming's way but a kick shoved him off towards his fellow warrior, giving the Mandawilian an opening to strike the other on-coming serf. Mingming hacked the man to pieces and turned to fight another, truly set on one man. Zullah himself. He promised he would bring the honorable datu to the mud. But Balat slammed his thick shoulders on Mingming out of nowhere. The brutal impact made the leader of the Daragangan groan in pain as he went down the ground hard. Agony covered his face. It was the same rib that the giant Siagu broke earlier.
"Nah, ah... ah!" Balat said as he looked over Mingming's prone body, a smile plastered on his face. "This ain't the kind of tale where the brave bagani wins."
The serf with an awful birthmark growled at Pulaco's brother-in-law as he stomped him in the head. It was the last thing Mingming saw before unconsciousness and pain got the better of him...
In the shores of Opon Matan the battle against the natives waged on. Magalhaes swung his twin blades at the long-haired savage but a stray arrow struck his unprotected leg. Another barbarian singled him out and threw a javelin at him. He tried to parry it with his sword but the javelin nicked his wrist. And like a forest fire out of control every hot-blood indio focused their anger on him.
The last among the invaders, they thought. The last to taste their vengeance. Like lions to a wounded gazelle they swarmed on him. Lam eyed him as he ran and joined the fracas, the same thought of vengeance and violence roiling in his mind. He had to make the man pay for the lives of Butod and Sandawili. With fury-infused veins, the man shrieked a deafening war-cry. It made the blade in his hand weigh like a feather as he swung it. Magalhaes raised his free arm to take the full brunt of the strike, confidently thinking he could stop it. But the impact made him grimaced in pain. When the savage pulled his sword away it left a mangled mess of a hand for Magalhaes to admire. He was about to counter another strike but the other barbarians threw stones at him. And twice he staggered and almost fell on the waters when the rocks struck his head.
He could hear Pigafetta's pleas for him to run. To save his life. But it was only ignored. It was not in him to give up. He fought on and watched his men's boats slowly move away. He had one purpose now. He was to fight until the end. So, he stayed behind, covering their retreat. A dark smile touched his bloody lips. The moment he felt the savage woman's spear bite his flesh he knew something was wrong. He hissed. Of all people he should know, for he'd been poisoned before by the very men he trusted. The coursing venom on his veins made him think if this was God's way of punishing him after marooning those mutineers in a desert island months ago. Or if this was another payment for a slight long forgotten.
If it was, then he'd gladly take it as a man.
Even as his end drew near Magalhaes thought of glory. And there, he decided to die in honor. A glorious end. Instead of a glorious life. It was a shame that things went like it went but he face it acceptance. The Captain General took a step forward but instead tottered, knees too weak to hold him straight up. He bashed a native in the head with the flat of his sword and anchored himself using his foe's spear to face another man-devil. He steadied himself as he endured a barrage of strikes from the long-haired savage. And he fumbled and slid with only his sword to parry the man's attacks. The native tried to capitalize but he gave him a boot, throwing the man back amongst his fellow. It was not supposed to be like this. But now, Magalhaes had no choice. He had to see this through. "Damn you all!" he said as he stabbed a wiry indio straight through. "I'll fight through the end!"
Blood sprayed from the man's wound like a fountain. And Magalhaes remained on the shore, not backing down from his circling foes. It was all he could do as he waited for his end to come. Whether it be by poison or blade he did not care. "Is that all you got?" he roared as he severed a man's head off. Lam answered him by tackling the Captain General down.
Salt water assaulted Magalhaes' lungs as he sank. His armor weighed him down as his fingers raked the red skies above him with bloodied hands. Then, bone shattering coldness covered his whole body. It was the most terrifying moment he had the chance of experiencing. A shred of nightmare come to life. How could things end like this? Magalhaes thought as he tried to stand. Everything felt futile and senseless. He couldn't even have the honorable death he wanted. Glory was fast becoming an fucking awful goal to chase, he said to himself.
Lam pulled him by the neck back to the surface giving him a short moment of respite. A piece of paradise, the Captain General thought. He inhaled as much air as he could. He felt relieved and glad that he still got a chance to live. Only to realise that to go to paradise one must first die.bLam swung his giant curve blade at him and grim silence fell as Magalhaes' head flew off his neck like a leather ball, sinking on the shallow waters of Opon Matan. And that was how Fernao' de Magalhaes, the great Captain General of Nao Trinidad and the man who sought the acclaim of reaching the Spice island died a senseless death in Opon Matan...
"Not as tough without your head, eh?" Lam said, controlling his giant wayward blade to a stop. "That's for Datu Butod and Datu Sandawili scum!"