“You lied, didn’t you?” Hemslock wheezes. “You’re just like these monsters. You’re some tree freak evolved to look human.”

“I am human,” I say. “I have a sick father. I stayed on this island to try and prevent all this from happening.”

“And that’s why these fucking monsters are at your beck and call, right? Were you controlling them all this time? Did you cause the sinkhole and the corpse tree? Take out our comms, mess with our equipment, try to kill us that first time in the cave?”

“That was never me. I told the Diwata not to. I wanted him to leave you alone, to find some other way.”

“Him?” Even heavily injured, Hemslock cannot stop taunting. “Your little demon god?”

A harsh grinding sound echoes above us, like something massive is moving. Drawing closer.

Askal’s face abruptly splits open, but this time it is of his own doing. A mass of frothing tendrils springs from his head. His paws shift and, in the blink of an eye, become writhing, thick roots. My pet dog slowly comes apart, revealing what he really is for the first time. His tail wags, pleased by their reactions, before it drops off, branch-like protrusions forming in its place.

“No,” I say quietly. “Not my demon god. My father.”

Twenty-Five

Ritual

A void that contains both nothing and everything at once; that was how Alex Key had described the Diwata. A demon that wears nothing but an eye, is how Cortes had written of him in his journal, the journal that the hero Lapulapu had claimed and passed down generations until it was hidden away for everyone’s good.

But he had always been Tatay to me.

And now they see Him in all His glory. The branches from the growing trees above us fuse and connect, binding together to form something that boasts no human shape. The foliage around it thickens until oval-shaped leaves look down upon us like a canopy—still forming the shape of an eye, but an eye that is now flowering, growing evergreens. It shifts and twists and breathes like a living thing.

A huge portion of the tree—half the height of the cavern—detaches itself from the cave wall. But when it lays a hand on my head, it is gentle. As always. ’Tay’s hand feels leathery, but cool to the touch.

With an angry roar, Hemslock snatches the flamethrower from Gries, but it is not powerful enough to blast the ceiling, and Father remains unscathed.

Cheated of his target, Hemslock spins back to us, the flames aimed our way.

“I’ll burn everything down,” he threatens. “I’ll destroy the whole island, turn it into a barren wasteland.”

I don’t move. I don’t need to.

The attacks come. Massive roots rise in the air like anacondas, tails ending in sharp stakes. Hemslock burns the first dozen, but he is too slow against more. They tear into him, and he drops his weapon, the flames sputtering out. I can see him struggling, trying to summon the power to force the creatures to carry out his will. None of them listen.