The village had been plagued for weeks. Pregnant women locked their windows; midwives burned thistle. The Hantu Penanggal was hunting.
She floated over the rooftops, her entrails glowing with a sickly green light. Detached-Head Flight. She smelled life.
She descended toward a house, but stopped.
Standing in the courtyard was a creature of impossible grace. It had the body of a deer, the tail of an ox, and scales like a dragon. The Qilin. Omen-Blessing. It wasn't hunting; it was grazing on the moonlight.
The Stain
The Penanggal shrieked. The presence of the holy beast burned her eyes. She spat venom, trying to drive it away. Neonate Blood Siphon. A spray of cursed blood flew toward the Qilin.
The Qilin raised its head.
Judgment of Purity.
The blood hit an invisible shield of serenity and hissed, evaporating into harmless steam. The Qilin’s aura was a sterilization field.
Gentle Passage
The Qilin walked up into the air. It stepped on the wind as if it were solid ground. Hooves of Gentle Passage. It moved without disturbing a single leaf.
It reached the floating head. The Penanggal snapped its fangs, wide-eyed with terror.
The Qilin lowered its antlered head and gently—so gently—nudged the Penanggal.
It wasn't a violent blow. It was a spiritual eviction. The touch of the Qilin was absolute order meeting absolute corruption. The Penanggal shrieked as her magic unraveled. She was flung backward, spinning out of control, forced to retreat to her vat of vinegar miles away.
The Qilin watched her go, snorted softly, and melted back into the shadows.