Realm of Thorns

Facing the Tikbalang

Joaquin's entire body trembled, not only from fear but from the crushing weight of exhaustion. His limbs felt like lead, his legs no longer able to support him. He knelt on the rough, cold ground, his knees scraping against the earth, but the sharp pain barely registered in the haze of his fatigue. His arms hung limply by his sides, too weak to even lift them. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and his vision blurred, the edges of his world darkening as if the forest itself were closing in.

The silence around him was deafening, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the distance. The air grew colder, so thick it seemed to press against his skin, suffocating him with its heaviness. He didn’t need to turn around to know the tikbalang was there—looming, grinning, watching him with those malevolent yellow eyes. A shiver ran down his spine, colder than the night air, as he felt its presence drawing nearer, the atmosphere thickening with dread.

Joaquin stared at the ground beneath him, the dirt and fallen leaves blurring together as his tears welled up. This is it, he thought. I’m going to die here… in this godforsaken place. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and for a brief moment, he wished for the strength to fight, but his body was betraying him. He was too tired, too afraid.

Behind him, the soft crunch of leaves announced the creature’s approach. Each step echoed louder in the stillness, a slow, deliberate sound that seemed to reverberate through the very marrow of his bones.

“Finally gave up?” The tikbalang’s deep, resonant voice came from behind him, the words laced with mockery.

Joaquin’s muscles locked in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His entire body was frozen, paralyzed by terror. His eyes stung with the tears that threatened to spill, but he refused to let them fall. This is how it ends.

The creature’s footsteps were slow, deliberate, drawing closer with each passing second. As the tikbalang approached, Joaquin’s mind began to unravel, memories flashing before his eyes in a chaotic blur. His mother’s kind, loving face. Her laugh, her warmth. And then… his father’s cold, hard eyes. The sting of his words.

"You’re the reason she’s gone." The voice in his head was his father’s—sharp, bitter, echoing from the darkest corners of his memory.

"It was your fault." The words were like knives, cutting deeper than any wound he’d ever felt.

"You caught the virus first."

"You useless brat..."

Each accusation, each blame, replayed in his mind like a never-ending nightmare, battering his already fragile spirit. And yet, beneath the crushing weight of guilt and fear, something stirred inside him. No. I can’t die like this.

Joaquin's fists clenched into the dirt, his nails digging into the earth. He couldn’t let his life end here, hating his father. He couldn’t die believing those words, carrying that burden. His chest tightened, not from fear now, but from the realization that he didn’t want to die with this darkness in his heart.

"I don’t want to hate him forever. I don’t want him to hate me either."

A sob caught in his throat, but he swallowed it down, pushing the tears back. He couldn’t let this be the end. He had to live—not for his father, not for the approval he had always sought, but for himself. His life wasn’t meant to end in this twisted game, this cruel forest.

Marco’s words echoed softly in Joaquin’s mind, cutting through the haze of fear and exhaustion like a lifeline. Marco—his only friend, the one person who had never given up on him. In a world that had seemed cold and indifferent, where his father’s approval was a distant dream, Marco had always been there. The memories of their time together flashed before him: their late-night conversations, dreaming of a better future; the way Marco had always encouraged him, pushed him to see beyond the limitations of their small town and his own self-doubt.

"We’ll hang out again..." Marco had promised before he left, the words full of certainty, as if it were not even a question. They would see each other again, somewhere beyond this place, beyond the weight of their pasts.

"We’ll both be successful..." Marco’s confidence had always amazed Joaquin. Even when Joaquin had doubted himself, even when he felt like a burden in his own home, Marco had never wavered in his belief that they were destined for something greater. He had seen the best in Joaquin, the parts of himself that he had long since stopped believing in.

"You deserve it too, Joaquin, you just have to believe it..."

That last line lingered in the air, carrying with it the warmth of their friendship, the unspoken understanding that Marco saw something in him no one else did—not even himself. Marco believed he was worth more than the life he had resigned himself to. Joaquin wanted to believe that too. He wanted to see Marco again, to prove that his friend’s faith in him hadn’t been misplaced, that he was capable of more than just surviving in the shadow of his father’s harsh words.

The warmth of those memories brought a flicker of strength to his trembling limbs. Marco was out there, building a future, the future they had both dreamed of. And Joaquin had to live to see it, to join him. Marco had left, confident that Joaquin would find his own way. I deserve it too, Joaquin thought, his chest tightening with resolve. He wanted to be there when they met again—two friends who had beaten the odds. He had to believe in himself—no one else could do it for him. Not his father. Not even Marco. It had to come from him.

Joaquin’s body screamed for rest, for surrender, but his spirit refused to yield. With a grunt of effort, he pressed his hands into the ground and pushed himself up, every muscle in his body protesting the movement. The air felt thick and oppressive, like a weight pressing down on him, but he forced his legs to stand, shaky but determined. He heard the tikbalang stop in its tracks behind him, its breath heavy and expectant in the silence. The sudden halt of its footsteps sent a fresh jolt of fear through Joaquin’s veins, but he swallowed it down.

He wasn’t going to die on his knees.

With slow, deliberate movements, Joaquin turned to face his tormentor. His heart thundered in his chest, his vision still blurry with exhaustion, but he lifted his head. There it was—towering over him like a dark silhouette against the twisted trees. The tikbalang’s yellow eyes glowed eerily in the shadows, and its smile—wide, toothy, and unnervingly human—gleamed with amusement.

“Wanna continue the game?” it asked, its voice playful, but there was a dark edge to it, a teasing cruelty that made Joaquin’s skin crawl.

Joaquin’s heart pounded in his chest, but something inside him had shifted. Yes, he was scared. Yes, he was tired. But he was also done running, done letting this creature—this forest, this whole twisted world—control him. He would face the tikbalang, even if it meant facing his worst fears. If he was going to die here, he would not go down as a helpless victim.

His breath came in shallow, shaky bursts as he stared up at the creature. “I’m not playing your game anymore,” Joaquin said, his voice hoarse but steady. He squared his shoulders, ignoring the trembling in his legs. His fear was still there, gnawing at him, but there was something else now—something stronger. The will to survive. The will to fight.

The tikbalang’s grin widened, its eyes narrowing in amusement. It tilted its head to the side, studying him like a cat might study a mouse that had just stopped running. “Oh?” it hummed, its tone dripping with mock curiosity. “You think you’re done?” It took a slow step forward, the earth trembling softly under its massive hooves. “You don’t get to decide when the game ends, little one.”

Joaquin’s heart skipped a beat, but he stood his ground. I won’t run. Not anymore. He clenched his fists at his sides, the weight of his decision settling in. He didn’t know how to fight this creature, didn’t know if he even stood a chance—but he wasn’t going to back down.

The tikbalang leaned closer, its smile never faltering, its glowing eyes locked on Joaquin’s. “Brave,” it whispered, its breath warm and unsettling against Joaquin’s skin. “But bravery won’t save you.”

Joaquin felt a cold chill creep down his spine, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to let the fear overtake him again. “Maybe not,” he muttered, his voice low but fierce. “But I’m not going down without a fight.”

For a moment, the tikbalang simply stared at him, its eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression. Then, to Joaquin’s surprise, it let out a low, rumbling laugh. The sound was deep and guttural, reverberating through the forest like distant thunder.

“Very well,” the creature said, its grin widening into something more feral, more dangerous. “Let’s see how long you last.”

The tikbalang’s approach was slow, deliberate, its hulking form casting an even darker shadow over Joaquin. Each step made the ground tremble slightly, its hooves crunching against the forest floor like the ticking of a countdown. Joaquin’s pulse raced, but he forced himself to stand firm, his voice cutting through the dense air.

“I will not run anymore!” Joaquin shouted, his voice cracking but loud enough to echo against the trees.

The tikbalang’s wide grin faltered, its gleaming eyes narrowing in surprise. It stopped mid-step, the amusement in its expression replaced by a fleeting moment of disbelief. The creature was not used to its prey standing up to it. But the hesitation lasted only a second before the grin returned—wider and more feral.

“Enough! I’m not running anymore!” Joaquin repeated, louder this time, his hands trembling but clenched at his sides.

The tikbalang let out a booming laugh that shook the air around them. Its amusement echoed through the trees, wrapping the forest in sinister joy. “So interesting,” it said, the words laced with mockery. It took another step forward, bending slightly as though to get a better look at its prey. “Want a different game, then?” the creature asked, its voice teasing, mocking, as it loomed over Joaquin.

Joaquin’s eyes darted over the tikbalang’s massive body, its towering muscles rippling under its skin, illuminated by the slivers of moonlight cutting through the trees. The creature’s powerful form was overwhelming—a wall of brute strength, with thick, sinewy arms and legs built for crushing anything in its path. Joaquin felt small, insignificant. His mind screamed that he had no chance—there was no escape, no victory here. He was outmatched, overpowered.

But as fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve, something clicked in his mind—a memory, faint but clear. Something Marco had once mentioned in passing, something his mother used to tell him as a child, maybe even something he had read in one of the books at school. He remembered it now: tikbalangs were never alone. They always came in pairs.

He looked around, scanning the forest quickly, his eyes flickering through the shadows as if expecting another monstrous figure to emerge from the trees. But there was nothing. No movement, no second pair of glowing eyes lurking in the dark. Just the single tikbalang standing in front of him.

Then, despite the fear that still coursed through him, a strange calm settled over Joaquin. He smiled, the corners of his lips lifting just slightly, enough for the tikbalang to notice. The creature, still looming over him, tilted its head, curious.

“Why are you alone?” , Joaquin asked