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There wasn’t a day when Hubert Vestra wished that he could not recount what used to be his life.
To put it simply, he had lived a tumultuous experience. One that had him tied to the art of dark magic and the disposal of enemies from the high parts of society, thanks to bribes from the elite who either wanted to keep themselves in power or preserve the order. Honestly, the clientele and reasons varied.
Though he has since mostly retired from that long period of his life, Hubert can’t help but recall the times and moments from when he was a sorcerer for hire. He didn’t know exactly why, but part of him thought it was because he is and will always be who he was since his birth.
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He had his beginnings as a youngster trying to master the art of whispering and communicating with the insects around him. Back then, it was unassuming; his father and mother ran a cover business as insect farmers raising only the rarest form of butterflies and moths. So the young Vestra heeded it no mind while he tried to connect with the creatures that lived in their family garden.
Hubert was then taught how to feed beetles using ginger root, and after the sudden command from his father to the beetles to get rid of a robber in self defense, that’s when he learned the secret of his clan.
As to what he had found out, the Vestras were a long line of magical practitioners called the Mambabarang.
Harnessing the power of manipulating insects and little creatures to their will, the Vestras were one of the few remaining clans that practiced barang, or placing a curse through that specific means.
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In his hometown of Capiz, Hubert had his first kill.
After a disgraced principales attempted to murder his father, he managed to trace the identity of that would-be murderer, and out of obligation, Hubert was sent to do the deed. This doubled as his final exam, a test to see if he was truly ready to take up the mantle as the Mambabarang of Capiz.
With his hollow bamboo necklace holding his ginger root and a beetle magically bound to him inside it, Hubert took on the task. He made his way to the manor of the person of interest, and with the target falling asleep in his bed for the night, Hubert began to take action.
The youth in all-black snuck into the lawn, scanning each and every window of the place. When he finally saw the open window where his target was located, now came the difficult part: deploying his insect conduit.
Hubert whispered a chant, one that was laced with such venom in his voice. The beetle got covered a midnight blue aura, an energy filling the little creature with the power it needed to finish the job. Once he was done, Hubert laid the beetle against the house’s wall, letting the rest come into play.
As the beetle crawled further indoors, Hubert got the cue that it was successful when his eyes glowed bright violet for the first time. With a wave of his hands, Hubert manipulated the magic imbued in the beetle, controlling it to enter the target’s mouth his sleep. Then, gathering a dark blue flame in his palm, it was time to bring in the sorcery.
Hubert quickly clenched his palm, combusting the flame, and then, screaming resounded from the room.
The target, the ever so despicable principales, yelled out from the swarm of beetles suddenly erupting from all openings of his body. His mouth, his ears, even the corners of his eyes...the principales was left to deal with the torment of his pain. The army of little insects diverged in different directions, this time to torment the whole family. Their screams followed the principales’, with one even running out of the house to call for help against this incurable infestation. They failed to notice Hubert lingering in the shadows beneath the balete tree.
When Hubert saw the shadowed figure of his target suffering, his lips suddenly gave into the urge to sneer. Having fulfilled that very first mission, as a Mambabarang entering his practice of the dark magic, delivering retribution to a heathen who tried to take away his family. It was satisfying for the young Hubert, and it wouldn’t be the last time.
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The next missions afterwards came by mostly without much issue, and throughout his next hits, he got a bit more sophisticated with his methods.
Rather than using the typical beetle troop that other Mambabarang clans utilize, Hubert opted for something more...unconventional. Using the butterflies his mother had raised in their garden, Hubert trained and imbued them with magic so they would be loyal to his command. While one butterfly was relatively harmless, a whole flock of them infesting the human body was enough to send them in a critical condition. Also, the beauty that these particular insects held was a perfect deceiver for what would be an unfortunate soul’s eventual fate.
If he were to pick a favorite butterfly, it would have to be the black butterfly; after all, one that lingered in a family home signified death.
And in this case, it was an omen for death to come to the targets that he would eventually dispose.
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Hubert, one day, was hired by the cabeza de barangay to dispose of someone, a rival elite and aspiring politician, whom they say is a traitor to society for holding someone hostage. He took on this task, and set on his way to the target’s address.
Once there, Hubert summoned a black butterfly in his hand, and outstretched his hand to let it fly up to the target’s window.
Meanwhile, the target, one Señor Varle, was settled on his desk, gathering up important papers. He was in the process of signing up a document for his work, when he noticed the black butterfly perched up on his desk, atop his pluma. Señor Varle stared at the insect with abject horror; for the past few days, he had heard of fellow officials dropping dead in broad daylight, butterflies of different colors pooling over their remains. Never would he think that he would be next.
Stepping out of his chair, Señor Varle stood back and tried to step away from the butterfly. Then, he felt his throat constricting, and from the lack of air, Señor Varle wretched and wretched in desperation to get some relief. Clutching his throat, he felt something crawling from inside him.
Next thing he knew, waves and waves of butterflies flew out of his mouth, the inside of his neck truly burning from the insects injuring him from within.
“Wh-What’s happening...ack! H-Help! A-Anyone!” He turned to the door. “B-Bernadet—“
A thud from his room’s floorboards silenced his cries, and Señor Varle stared at death in the face.
Hubert gazed down at the pathetic excuse of an insulares, his hand glowing from the amount of power gathered in his palm. Upon seeing how truly helpless the other was, he let out a cackle.
“What a pathetic display I see here...” Hubert sneered. “To think someone as lowly as you could hold someone hostage.” He clenched his fist, further agonizing Señor Varle by having more butterflies fly out of his airways. “And from what I’ve heard, it’s a woman, probably unable to fight back because of your abuse.”
“H-How could you k-know—-“ was all Señor Varle could say before the last batch of butterflies came out, this time from his ears and eyes. Señor Varle dropped dead in an instant, the mesmerizing aesthetic of the butterflies doing nothing to curb the macabre scene on the floor. Dusting off his hands from a job well done, Hubert turned to leave when he heard a thud coming from the door. Next thing he knew, the door opened to reveal a young woman, rope loose around her and a chair. Hubert deduced that this was the hostage of Señor Varle.
Her voice was shaky. “Y-You got rid of my father...”
Ah, so the Señor Varle had the audacity to take hostage his own daughter. If he wasn’t pathetic, then he was truly a monster for doing so.
“As much as I-I hated to see someone die, f-father had it coming...it’s what he deserved.” She then bowed her head in respect. “M-My name is Bernadetta...heiress to the Varle name, though my father wanted me to be married off even if I didn’t want to...”
“So he tied you up.”
“H-He wanted me to become the ‘perfect wife’...Father didn’t want me to speak with anyone for he said ‘a chatty wife isn’t a good one.’” Bernadetta’s voice remained shaky recounting the memory.
“At the very least, he would bother you no more.”
And that’s how he got Clan Varle’s descendants to be grateful for his deeds, even after over a century.
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The Philippine Revolution, or at least the movement that occurred his home island of Panay, was something he was a full participant in. Thinking of it in his head, the idea of freedom, the fact that his home would at last be independent...Hubert longed to make it a reality.
Fitting for his heritage, Hubert was delegated to espionage for the Panay charter for the Katipunan. He spent most of his time gathering information on any possible movement coming from the colonial authorities.
When he finally dug deeper, much to his shock, he found that his own father was part of the scheme that nearly blew the Katipunan’s cover. As per the order from his superior, Hubert was asked to do the deed since he was the closest to the target. A cruel mission, he might add, but if it meant setting his motherland free, he had to do it.
Which was why he summoned his father for a little chat atop their family veranda one night. He set up two cups of coffee, the beans fresh from Batangas, and the drinks hot. A little later, Don Vestra came and sat opposite of his son.
“Hijo, it’s not often that you would want to speak with me.” Don Vestra remarked, being the first to take a sip from his cup. “What is it?”
“I’m merely concerned, father.” was Hubert’s simple reply. “With all of the tension that’s occurring in our home of Capiz.”
“Ah, that.” Don Vestra sipped more of his coffee. “Those pests...the Katipunan, they call them...trying to betray the Spanish crown with their talks of independence—-don’t they know that these islands truly belong to Spain?”
Every word that came out of his mouth only seemed more venomous to Hubert by the second. He resisted breaking the coffee mug in his hand.
“So what if those Indios are concerned? It’s not like they’re smart enough to even comprehend the meaning of independence...” Don Vestra moved to put down his cup down.
That’s when he noticed that Hubert’s cup was still full. “Oh, hijo, why haven’t you—-“ Then Don Vestra collapsed on the floor, clutching his throat from the sudden burn rushing through it. Hubert only sat still, not moving an inch from his place.
“Hubert...why a-aren’t you doing something, h-help me—-“
The younger Vestra looked down at his father, blank and no hint of remorse. “Those so-called Indios whom you call not smart are the same ones that have planned your demise. And I was just sent to finish the job.”
Don Vestra’s eyes widened with shock. “M-My own son, betraying me of all people! I thought you were loyal to the clan!”
Hubert only cackled from that assumption. “I never said I was loyal to the family in any way.” Then he summoned a new insect in his hand, one vampire moth enhanced by his abilities. “My home comes first.” Then his palm outstretched to let the moth flutter down to Don Vestra’s neck.
The terrified final moments of Don Vestra included hearing the last words he’d ever hear.
“Goodbye, Father.”
Then he clenched his fist, the vampire moth finishing off Don Vestra with a fast acting poison plunged into his neck. The older Vestra dropped dead instantly, eyes vacantly staring nowhere.
It was quiet in the veranda, and after a few moments, a single tear slipped from Hubert’s cheek. This, despite promising himself he wouldn’t cry from this mission. After all, his father was a traitor to their homeland, and so he was rewarded with what he deserved.
The vacant stare of his father’s eyes almost haunted him days after that.
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Now that Hubert was in a free land, and with a few more killings beneath his belt, Hubert eventually got tired of it being a constant. Since he mostly stopped doing it, that’s when the implications began to truly set in for him. The fact that he took away lives without much remorse, and despite his targets being just as despicable, it still stood that he might have gotten some people with a grudge against him.
Frankly, he was okay with being called a devil, but it did deprive him of human connections. Hubert never really had a taste of socialization (the descendants of Clan Varle weren’t really much of friends as they were associates out of gratitude), and it had left him with a sense of emptiness that got him melancholic most of the time. He wondered, was this the price for being dedicated to his powers?
”Hubert?” A voice rang in his mental room.
Blinking from the sudden call, Hubert turned to see the source.
Ah, of course, Ferdinand.
They were currently hanging out in his dorm, settling at the balcony where they looked at the daily goings-on below. Ferdinand’s face, already the epitome of sunlight, became more radiant with the sun’s rays serving as a backdrop behind him. The redhead was the one who took the initiative of befriending him, and at first it was irritating for Hubert, for my god he couldn’t stop rambling about his aspirations. Eventually, the ever plucky spirit of Ferdinand won him over, and the fact that he was kind enough to even talk with Hubert was enough for him to be grateful.
”You’ve been staring blankly at the sky for a long time now—are you alright?” Ferdinand was looking at Hubert with those doe eyes in spite of his boyish face.
Touched by Ferdinand’s concern, he gave a little smile. “Nothing, Ferdinand...just recounting the past.”
Ferdinand chuckled. “I didn’t know you were one for nostalgia...if it makes you feel better, I love to remember the past too.”
Hubert couldn’t help but chuckle from that. His fingers, for a moment, lingered close to Ferdinand’s. The company of the other teen was something he wanted to keep, if Ferdinand was alright with it.
”You know what, Ferdinand? It did.”