They ran at first light.
Not in panic—because panic wastes breath—but with the quiet urgency of those who know staying means death. The cursed land behind them groaned, hills settling as if relieved to see them go.
That hurt Chukwudi more than hatred would have.
The earth did not chase them.
It let them leave.
Adaeze staggered, clutching her side, ash leaking from her mouth in thick, choking plumes. One of the twins had gone silent entirely, lips moving without sound, while the other whispered names that did not belong to the living.
"Something's wrong with the bond," Adaeze gasped. "It's… thinning."
Chukwudi felt it too—the covenant fraying, threads snapping and tightening unpredictably, like a rope about to strangle or fall apart.
"She anchored it," he whispered.
The Snake Mother had been the keystone.
Now there was only weight.
---
They crossed into lands untouched by gods.
And the land rejected them.
Grass blackened where Chukwudi stepped. Stones cracked under his weight, not in obedience, but in resentment. The air tasted sharp, metallic, as if the world itself had drawn blood from biting its tongue.
"They don't want us here," said the silent twin suddenly, voice brittle as glass.
"No," Chukwudi replied. "They're afraid of what follows us."
Behind them, horns sounded again—closer now.
Humans.
---
The hunters this time were not holy.
They were prepared.
They wore armor etched with stolen runes, carried nets woven with hair from murdered dibia, and dragged with them a device that screamed even louder than Ọkụ-ala ever had.
It was a cage.
Inside it writhed something small.
Something familiar.
"Adaeze," one of the twins whispered.
The cage hit the ground with a wet thud.
Inside, bound in iron and scripture, was the shadowless boy's heart—still beating.
Chukwudi screamed.
---
"They're learning," Adaeze said hoarsely. "They're dissecting us."
The leader of the hunters stepped forward, smiling with a mouth full of filed teeth.
"We don't kill gods anymore," he said. "We harvest them."
The cage pulsed.
The covenant shrieked.
Pain tore through Chukwudi's skull as the bond yanked violently, dragging his strength toward the device.
"Let it go!" the Snake Mother's voice whispered from nowhere and everywhere. "You cannot save what they have already claimed!"
But Chukwudi would not listen.
---
The battle was ugly.
Not glorious.
Not righteous.
Chukwudi tore the ground open with bare hands, screaming as the earth resisted him. Roots rose reluctantly, half-hearted, snapping under blessed blades. One twin was dragged screaming into the trees, prayers carving smoke into his flesh.
Adaeze unleashed everything she had.
Ash became a storm.
Men vanished, lungs filled with grey ruin, screams turning to coughing, then silence.
Still they came.
Because the cage held leverage.
---
Chukwudi reached it.
The hunter leader lunged, plunging a blade of god-bone into Chukwudi's side. The pain was sharp, focused, effective.
He fell.
The cage screamed louder.
The world tilted.
And then—
Idemili Ọbara arrived like laughter.
She tore through the hunters in a blur of red coils and joy, crushing bodies like fruit, bathing in their terror.
"My my," she purred. "You look lost without your mother."
She crushed the cage in one hand.
The heart fell into the dirt, finally still.
Chukwudi stared.
"No," he whispered.
Idemili tilted her head.
"You see?" she said gently. "They will take everything from you. Slowly."
She leaned close, whispering like a lover.
"Let me show you how to take back."
---
When the last hunter fled, the clearing was silent except for Chukwudi's breathing.
One cursed child gone.
One dying.
One broken beyond speech.
The covenant sagged, heavy with grief.
Chukwudi knelt in the dirt, blood soaking into soil that no longer welcomed him.
Idemili stood before him, patient.
"Choose," she said. "Before they choose for you."
Chukwudi looked up.
And somewhere deep beneath the world, the Snake Mother stirred faintly—
Too far to reach.
Too weak to guide.
The earth waited.
And for the first time—
It did not care what he decided.