Chapter Eight: God of the Gutter
The man Ely met in the outskirts of Pasig didn’t look like someone who once wore white vestments.
He looked like someone who clawed his way out of a shallow grave.
Levi Abrigo was a name erased from seminary records.10Please respect copyright.PENANAhBIM1JJhjd
No clear reason for dismissal.10Please respect copyright.PENANAzOWsNCzprh
No case filed.10Please respect copyright.PENANAbCrELaWNMG
No history left—just whispers.
But to Father Ely, whispers were louder than sermons.
He found Levi in a borrowed barbershop chair, smoking a half-lit cigarette while trimming the hair of a child who kept flinching. He never looked up. Not until Ely said the name.
“Emiliano.”
A pause.10Please respect copyright.PENANAR3C467zIbz
A laugh.10Please respect copyright.PENANArawhMGB8eO
Then Levi turned slowly, revealing a scar just below his eye.
“He’s still playing priest?”
Levi didn’t believe in God anymore.
Not the one in scripture.10Please respect copyright.PENANAnJCyS3PiMK
Not the one in stained glass.10Please respect copyright.PENANALtH1jaGhEx
And especially not the one who “watched silently while a holy man taught us to sin.”
He wasn’t angry anymore, though. That was the terrifying part.
He was numb. Dangerous.10Please respect copyright.PENANAzmBtjAf7Bz
And far more useful than Ely expected.
“You wanna bring him down?” Levi asked. “You’ll need more than victims. You’ll need receipts. Movement. Dirt. Confessions.”
“He doesn’t just hurt them, Father,” he added. “He launders money. Pays silence. Manipulates succession. He’s not just a predator—he’s a kingpin in robes.”
“And I can show you where the bodies are buried.”
Literally?
Ely wasn’t sure yet.
That night, they broke into a private church residence—one Ely recognized as the “storage house” for church artifacts. A forgotten structure tucked behind the seminary, accessible only through an underground hall used during processions.
Inside, the air smelled like wax, rust, and mildew.10Please respect copyright.PENANATfW17Zn0wL
A single overhead bulb flickered above a locked cabinet.
Levi opened it with a crowbar.
Inside: VHS tapes.10Please respect copyright.PENANA0fryIR9Ypa
Labeled with years.10Please respect copyright.PENANA4qpVZFg9kt
And names.
Choir practices.10Please respect copyright.PENANALc7qrAjUae
Retreats.10Please respect copyright.PENANANM4HdYCn9s
Private counselings.10Please respect copyright.PENANA3Aplf817xP
And in the back, under a pile of mold-eaten folders—one marked “For Archives Only: San Gabriel Seminary”.
“He filmed them,” Ely whispered.
“Of course he did,” Levi spat. “You think men like Emiliano trust memory? No. They document their sins. So they can own the people in them.”
Ely stepped back, bile rising in his throat.
Levi stared at him.
“Still want to be the hero, Father?”
Ely didn’t answer.
He simply picked up the tape.
And walked out—into a night colder than any silence he’d ever known inside a chapel.
ns216.73.216.12da2