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Once upon a time, where the gods and deities breathed the same air, a serpent slithers atop the highest point of the land, and stared at the seven beings in the sky, dancing as if they are celebrating a joyous feast. Its tongue flickers as its closed jaws stretched as it eyed one of the dancers, the one who danced proudly yet also guarded, that shone bright in the sky.
It hissed, tongue flickering, as if cursing the heavens of its beauty. And some of the dancers shone brighter as if taunting the snake that looked up on them.
"Don't test them, snake," came the dreary voice from the darkness of the mountain the serpent perches on.
With a defying hiss towards the taunting moons, the snake turned its body, coiling on the earth and saw the embodiment of death—black skinned with white tribal markings and long golden horns atop its head. The one who walked among the spirits and owned the mountain the serpent currently dwelled at.
Whenever the serpent tried to glare at the smaller dancer, death itself growled at it—a warning of not to touch the petit one. With another hiss, the serpent eyed the one called as death with displeasure.
Death then scoffed off, arms crossed that emphasized the strength it holds. "Do not test me. Try and you will drown in the depths of Kasamaan. I, Sidapa, will deliver you directly there, if you try to challenge me.”
Yet the snake hissed louder, not fearing the one that was called Sidapa. The thought of mauling the one who ruled over those who passed was dripping along its poisoned fangs; yet even before the serpent could move, the giggles from the sky dancers ceased their threats to one another and along such delighted tunes are the chants and flutes of the human tribes—the Babaylans—around the highest peak echoed, singing a lullaby for the monstrous serpent to sleep.
And when the serpent dozed off into the oblivion, its scales slowly shed. The serpent that could wound the largest mountain slowly shrink, and within the pile of glittering dark scales, a lithe woman slept until the deity of day, Apolaki, graced the lands.
Slowly, the woman stirred awake and walked along the bed of scales to the nearest river. Slit-like eyes gleaming of emeralds stared back at herself after looking at her reflection, lips twitching at the sight.
A human form; shoulders down to torso, marred with scaly markings, face marked with tiny scales from the bridge of her nose curving along to her cheeks. She stood dominantly with a form fit for agility and strength.
She is the one called Bakunawa, the giant serpent, in human form.
With disgust over such form akin to the humans who forces her to sleep, she prowled the forest towards the nearby lake and there she bathe herself in the waters where the Diwatas—woodland spirits—played.
As she swam and savored the coolness of the waters, letting her scaly skin bask in it, she heard the Diwatas whispering of new beings who stepped foot in their waters. Caring not of anyone else, Bakunawa swam and then dove under, until she noticed two light pillars not from Apolaki's rays.
A familiar light.
Slowly, she emerged from the water with her snake-like eyes firm on the two beings who played with the Diwatas. From afar, she watched them, focused on the taller being whom she was greatly familiar with.
The night dancer that captured her attention.
It did not take long for her to distant from the being she always gaze at night. Flickering her snake-like tongue, she swam closer to her and the child, and all Diwatas ceased to move and the two deities of night turned to look at the human form of the giant serpent.
“Such grace of Kan-laon, the moons descended down on land. Are you here to play, deity?” Bakunawa asked, bowing with her lips curved upward yet her sights never leaving the deity with a warrior's physique.
But to Bakunawa's dismay, both moon deities turned their backs on her, the one she admired holding on the child protectively, and left the lake.
It left the serpent filled with rage, eyeing the child with spite, for being ignored.
The next night, Bakunawa, all in its glorious serpentine beauty, slithered up to one of the highest peaks and sprang towards the sky. With force, it was able to grab one of the dancers by its jaws, thinking it was the child whom the one it admires overly protects. Swallowing the captured one, it then felt how the deity melted in its stomach easily as if it was candle underneath the fire of Mankukulam and along with it was the anguished soft feminine scream.
Bakunawa then realized it ate one of the dancers who taunted her. Before she could snatch another dancer, hoping it was the child, the Babaylans once again banged their drums and sang their lullabies, which drifted the snake back to slumber.
“Another night,” Bakunawa swore before she fell to slumber.
It tried night after night, lunging at every dancer that floated and danced in the evening sky. And every time Bakunawa swallowed them, they melted in her like wax on fire.
Six out of seven. From then on, Bakunawa was now called as the moon-eater by the mortals who noticed the moonless nights.
Night after night, the serpent jumped and snatched a moon, failing to capture the one it seeks of revenge. She tried to chase but was only able to capture one per night.
Yet on the sixth night, the skies held not the moon the moon it need to slay. Curiosity, the serpent slithered on top of Sidapa's mountain and there, it saw how the child dancer somehow took shelter in Death’s mountain, along with the warrior deity whom she took interest so heavily.
There, Bakunawa indeed saw the child but with Sidapa who draped the child with his cloth. Its tongue flickered, annoyed at how the deity of death somehow took in the moon dancer the serpent is bent on hurting.
With the thirst for revenge, Bakunawa did not care if it would attack on Sidapa's grounds. A quick flicker, the serpent lunged towards the child, only to be held back by a flat shield made of gold by a warrior wearing a golden mask.
The serpent hissed angrily for the warrior who stopped its attack and saw how Sidapa covered the child in his cloth and escaped. It hissed once again at the warrior, furious of the loss of its prey.
“Dare to touch Bulan, and it will be your end, serpent!” The warrior commanded in a firm yet soft tone. “I, Haliya, will smite you here and now for the deaths of my siblings!”
Instantly, Bakunawa recognized the warrior and then shed its scales, revealing its human form. “They deserve their fates for they taunted me to no end,” she then hissed at the deity who wore a golden mask. “Bulan will meet the same fate, and you will be mine, Haliya!”
The deity who wore the golden mask lunged forward, pinning Bakunawa on the ground and rained strikes on her foe. Each strike aimed for the defeat of the moon-eater, were blocked by Bakunawa's hard scales.
Frustrated, the moon deity pushed herself off of the snakewoman and banged her bangles on the shield she carried angrily.
The sounds mimicked the Babaylan's chanting, making Bakunawa feel drowsy. Her eyes slowly dropped until Apolaki’s rays reflected from Haliya’s mask, realizing how she was falling to slumber. Immediately, she gathered all her strength to pounce the deity, pinning her down on the ground. She then bent down a bit, tongue flickered against the exposed skin of Haliya's. “You, my deity, I crave for you so,” she hissed, pleased at how she restrained her moon deity beneath her.
Haliya felt her body shudder from Bakunawa's words and she pushed the serpent off her. And slid back to distance herself. With a quick step, she then retrieved her fallen shield and threw it towards Bakunawa's head, hoping it would decapitate the snake.
The actions alarmed the snake’s instincts and raised her scaly arms to cover her face. But she mentally admitted she was not fast enough for the corner of the shield struck her left face before she was able to fully guard herself.
Deities do not bleed; they are ethereal. But they all knew that their mortal forms will be scarred. And such, the strike from the shield marked Bakunawa's left face—a bloodless cut from her forehead down to her cheek. The snake shook her head to remove the dizziness that slowly plagued her focus.
“Vile move, deity. Impressive,” Bakunawa laughed loudly, looking at Haliya despite her scarred left eye.
The two then went at each other again, hoping for the fall and death of the other. Levelling the mountains and wreaking havoc on everything that came in their paths.
Then, as Bakunawa took an offensive stance, the heaven shook and rumbled, halting the two from their bout. Both took their sights off each other and looked up, only to fall to their knees and bowed their heads in utmost respect.
Kan-laon, he who rules all, came down from the heavens and stood before Bakunawa and Haliya. “One cannot determine, the difference between passion and obsession.” With a wave of his hand, Bakunawa then turned back to a giant serpent while Haliya felt her mask meld with her skin. “One is obsession masked by hate, another is passion fueled by revenge.”
Bakunawa hissed but quieted down when Kan-laon looked at its direction with a calm face.
Kan-laon gestured for the snake to be by his side. “Come Bakunawa, you are not to linger here any longer.” He then looked at Haliya. “You, oh warrior deity of golden moon, I believe you need to watch out more of what's not here. Some do take from the shadows,” he said solemnly.
Bakunawa, strong and fearsome moon-eater, obeyed only Kan-laon. With one final look at the warrior deity, it flickered its tongue, silently vowing to see the deity again when fate permits it.
As for Haliya, once the snake and Kan-laon left, she realized that the one she protects was no longer there. She took her shield and went off to find Bulan and Sidapa—the one who took the moon.