#first manuscript

Manuscript begins.

Kabanata 0000

The voice from beyond calls, blessed Maka, no rest for us.

<Zero in our tongue is Wala/Wala is nothingness/nothingness is zero/zero is infinity>

Rest beckons. We cannot answer.

Greetings and greatest day. I am Professor Samonte Umali Montesperre Salvador de Tablanza, but most of my colleagues simply call me Samonte. I am the Head of the Ministry of Research in the Haligi, the sky-reaching pillar that none sees and none can enter. I am here to brief all newcomers about the Forgotten Umalagad Society.

The Haligi is a newly created foundation/the Haligi has been here forever. We are tasked with cleaning up Bloodspills. Bloodspills are our terms for reality anomalies. Left behind during the war that ended creation. There are an innumerable amount of Bloodspills. Scattered across the entire multiverse. We have need will might catch them all.

fuck

Bloodspills are so called because they are the blood of      . Why does it do that? The blood song sings forever. Am I to follow?

<We will never finish our job/We believe the end of our job is near/The end of days is past, we are the maggots upon the corpse.>

Reality anomalies are often mind-bending things. Things not meant to be heard. Nothing comes out of my tongue. Only bright pleasantries please and thank you. Things that none of us can truly understand, nor can we ever hope to. We don’t think of them as things that are there to be understood, but rather, to be contained. Perhaps researched. I, Samonte, have taken upon the herculean task of researching Bloodspills. Who else but me? It has to be me. To actually access Bloodspills, we are in need of professionally and specifically trained agents that no longer exist/have never existed/once existed but now forgotten.

Why? Because they are meant to be expendable. They are expendable because each Bloodspill is dangerous, and will kill most mortals when they interact with it. Thus we train and create these agents to be fearless. Our success rate is second to none. Of course, we are the only people doing this, so we don’t have anyone to compare ourselves to.

Umalagad, as you proably already might well know, are the ancestor spirits that watch over the dealings of the mortal world. Sometimes they meddle, granting powers and whatnot to mortals. In return, mortals grant them worship. Well, they used to, at least, until the Trinity came and messed that whole arrangement up.

Some umalagad arrive at a point where their bloodlines end. Death forgotten. Once-existed, now null-existences, specters of non-existent specters. As they are forgotten, they eventually forget themselves. These are the beings we call the Forgotten Umalagad--ancestor spirits with no descendants, damned to toil away forever at the inert and dead soil of Sulad.

And so we borrow some of them, grant them a new name, and give them a new life. These spirits are not connected to anything, whatsoever, making them perfect. They thus become perfect agents for containing Bloodspills, for they are already dead.

Of course, Of course, Of course, Of course, Of course, the sad catch is that if they are killed by anything, their soul vanishes into nothingness, which I’m sure is not much different from languishing from a life forgotten.

There’s something written above but only They can see it. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it. I always do. I’ll handle it. Here, there, I’ve given you the fruit from the Tree of Sin. That’s the basic gist of the Forgotten Umalagad Society, or the “Lipunan ng mga Kinalimutang Umalagad”. They are unlike Karanduun in that they do their best not to be notied. They are unlike Asuwang in that they choose not to eat and devour and pervert for equality. They are the silent watchers, the ancestors now forgotten, the Nameless Ones, the devil-dreams forgotten when you wake up.

Signed, 

Professor Samonte, Head of Haligi Research

<Bloodspills betray our nature/Bloodspills must show who or what BATALA is/Let the Sky Song Seep Swiftly>

Manuscript Ends.

Burn Manuscript. Burn Manuscript. Burn Manuscript.

Burn Manuscript.

Burn Manuscript.

Burn Manuscript.

Burn Manuscript.

There’s something written above. I’ll handle it. Go here. Read. Maybe you’ll see it. Maybe you’ll see it? 

Pretty proud that I finished that project in a year and I think it’s actually pretty decent.

*So sorry that this is a day late, but better late than never, right?

The first novel you write may never get published. That’s hard news to hear for those of you out there working on your first novel, I mean, you put so much effort into writing that…