The Abíkú moved like a nightmare given form.
One moment it was across the warehouse. The next, it was on him.
Osaze barely had time to raise his arms before the creature grabbed him by the throat and *hurled* him across the room.
He hit the wall hard enough to crack the concrete. His ribs screamed. His vision blurred.
The Abíkú was already moving.
It grabbed his leg, swung him like a ragdoll, and slammed him into the ground.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The floor shattered beneath him. Concrete dust filled the air.
Osaze gasped, choking on blood and debris.
And Ìgè just *watched*.
The leopard sat on a stack of crates, tail flicking lazily, golden eyes tracking every movement.
"Pathetic," it said.
Osaze tried to stand. His legs wouldn't cooperate.
The Abíkú grabbed him again, lifted him overhead, and *threw* him.
Not across the room this time.
**Out.**
Osaze crashed through the warehouse's side entrance, tumbling onto the street outside. His body carved a trench through the dirt and pavement before slamming into the base of a building.
The impact cratered the ground.
People walking nearby froze.
They saw him—bloodied, broken, gasping—being dragged backward by an invisible force.
"What the—"
"RUN!"
They scattered.
The Abíkú pulled Osaze back into the warehouse, its claws digging into his shoulder.
He screamed.
The creature slammed him into a support beam. Metal bent. The entire structure groaned.
Osaze crumpled to the ground, coughing blood.
Ìgè yawned. "Are you done yet? Because this is embarrassing."
"Shut... up..." Osaze wheezed.
The Abíkú stalked toward him, its carved mask tilted, studying him like a predator deciding how to finish its meal.
It raised one clawed hand.
Osaze closed his eyes.
*Is this it? After everything? After Dad... after all of it... I die here?*
The creature's claws came down—
And something *snapped* inside him.
Not physically.
Deeper.
A sound. A memory. A voice that wouldn't leave.
*Laughter.*
Cold. Mocking. Echoing through his mind.
*"You're nothing."*
Ezekiel's voice.
*"Primitives."*
His father's blood on the floor.
*"Your father was strong. You? You're nothing."*
Osaze's eyes snapped open.
And they *burned*.
---
The air in the warehouse *shifted*.
Pressure. Raw. Overwhelming.
A red glow began to emanate from Osaze's body—faint at first, then brighter, spreading like fire across his skin.
The Abíkú hesitated.
Its claws stopped inches from his face.
Ìgè sat up straighter, ears flat. "What...?"
The red aura *exploded* outward.
The blast hit the Abíkú like a freight train, sending it tumbling backward across the warehouse. It crashed through a stack of crates, debris scattering everywhere.
Osaze stood.
Slowly.
His body moved on its own—smooth, controlled, deliberate.
He didn't *think*. He just *moved*.
The Abíkú recovered, snarling, and lunged.
Osaze sidestepped.
His fist connected with the creature's ribs.
**CRACK.**
The Abíkú staggered.
Osaze didn't stop.
Another punch. Another. Another.
His body flowed through movements he'd never learned—strikes precise, brutal, relentless. His feet shifted like a dancer's, his weight perfectly balanced.
*Where is this coming from?*
He didn't know.
Didn't care.
The Abíkú swung its claws. Osaze ducked, drove his elbow into its spine, spun, and kicked it across the jaw.
The creature's mask cracked.
It roared, lunging again.
Osaze met it head-on.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
**SNAP.**
His hand broke.
Bones shattered, fingers bent at unnatural angles.
He gasped—
And felt them *snap back into place*.
The pain was blinding. His hand throbbed, bones grinding as they realigned, skin sealing over the breaks.
But he didn't stop.
He kept punching.
Five more strikes.
**SNAP.**
His hand broke again.
Healed again.
The cycle repeated.
Break. Heal. Break. Heal.
Each punch landed harder than the last.
The Abíkú stumbled, its movements sluggish now, its mask cracked and bleeding shadows.
It swung wildly, desperate.
Osaze caught its wrist, twisted, and drove his knee into its chest.
The creature collapsed.
Osaze stood over it, breathing hard, fists still clenched, blood dripping from his knuckles.
The Abíkú's body convulsed once.
Then it dissolved—melting into black mist, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of rot and burnt copper.
Osaze stared at the empty space where it had been.
Then his legs gave out.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping, the red aura flickering and fading.
Ìgè approached slowly, its expression unreadable.
"What..." it said quietly, "was that?"
Osaze looked up, exhausted, angry. "I don't know."
Ìgè's golden eyes narrowed. "You're weak. Your body is dying. Your spiritual channels should barely function. So how did you—"
It stopped.
Stared at him.
"This doesn't make sense," Ìgè muttered, more to itself than to Osaze. "The math doesn't add up. You shouldn't be able to output that much power. Not with your condition. Not with—"
It fell silent, tail flicking in agitation.
Osaze didn't respond. He was too tired.
His vision blurred.
He saw movement at the warehouse entrance.
A figure running toward him.
*Damian.*
And then everything went black.
---
Damian had been searching for over an hour.
Osaze's comm-link was off. His apartment was empty. Kemi hadn't seen him.
Something was wrong.
He'd started walking the districts Osaze usually frequented—the university area, the market, the—
He heard the commotion.
People running. Shouting. Someone screaming about "invisible demons" and "craters in the street."
Damian ran.
He found the warehouse district quickly—following the trail of panicked civilians fleeing in the opposite direction.
And then he saw it.
A faint red glow, pulsing from inside one of the abandoned buildings.
*Oh no.*
He sprinted.
Burst through the entrance—
And found Osaze collapsed on the ground, covered in blood and bruises, gasping for air.
"Osaze!"
Damian dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering over his body, checking for injuries.
Osaze's shirt was torn. His ribs looked wrong. His hands—
Damian froze.
Osaze's fingers were... *moving*.
Not voluntarily.
They were *snapping back into place*.
Bones realigning. Skin sealing. Blood drying.
Right in front of him.
"What the *fuck*?" Damian whispered.
Osaze groaned, his eyes fluttering open. "Damian?"
"What happened to you?!"
"I..." Osaze's voice was hoarse. "I don't know. There was... something. It attacked me. And then I—"
He coughed, wincing.
Damian helped him sit up, pulling a small canteen from his coat. "Here. Drink."
Osaze took it gratefully, gulping down the water.
Then Damian pulled out a protein bar. Synthetic. Vacuum-sealed.
"Eat this. You need energy."
Osaze unwrapped it, took a bite—
And immediately gagged.
His stomach lurched. He doubled over and *vomited*, the synthetic food coming back up in a violent rush.
Damian's eyes widened. "Osaze—"
"I'm fine," Osaze gasped, wiping his mouth. "I'm—"
He threw up again.
Damian stared at him, then at the vomit, then back at Osaze.
"Who bit you?" he said flatly.
"What?"
"Who. Bit. You." Damian grabbed Osaze's arm, yanking up his sleeve, checking his skin. "Where's the mark? Who turned you?"
"No one bit me!" Osaze pulled his arm back. "What are you talking about?"
"You just threw up synthetic food," Damian said, his voice tight. "That's what vampires do. Our bodies reject processed—"
"I'm not a vampire!"
"Then what the hell is happening to you?!"
Osaze opened his mouth to answer—
And stopped.
Because Ìgè was sitting right there. Three feet away. Golden eyes glowing. Tail flicking.
Watching them both.
Osaze pointed. "There's... a leopard. Right there."
Damian turned, looked at the empty space, looked back at Osaze.
"...Osaze."
"I'm serious. It's right there. White fur. Red spots. It won't shut up."
Ìgè waved one paw mockingly. *"He can't see me, idiot."*
Damian stared at the empty air for a long moment.
Then he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and said very slowly:
"Okay. Okay. I'm choosing to believe you right now."
"Thank you."
"So." Damian sat back on his heels. "Let me get this straight. Your dad died. You have some kind of... bloodline thing. And now you have powers. Or something."
"...Yes."
"And you can see a leopard that I can't see."
"Yes."
"And your body is healing on its own and rejecting synthetic food like a vampire."
"Apparently."
Damian was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "...Fuck."
Osaze almost laughed. "Yeah."
Damian stood, offered Osaze his hand. "Come on. We need to go."
"Where?"
"Kemi's house. Her mom—Folake—she knows about this old spiritual stuff. If anyone can help, it's her."
Osaze took his hand, letting Damian pull him to his feet.
His body ached. His hands throbbed. But he was alive.
They walked out of the warehouse together, leaving the broken crates and shattered concrete behind.
Ìgè followed, silent now, its expression unreadable.
---
The bus was packed.
Evening rush. People pressed shoulder to shoulder, some standing, some sitting, all of them staring at their devices.
Bracelets glowed softly in the dim light. Holographic displays flickered above wrists. Voices murmured—conversations with AIs, instructions, updates, entertainment.
No one looked at each other.
A woman stood at the back of the bus, smiling.
She was young—mid-twenties, pale skin, blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun. She wore a simple white dress that somehow looked elegant despite the crowded, dirty bus. Silver bracelets adorned both her wrists, catching the light with every movement.
She clasped her hands together and spoke.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice warm and clear. "I'm sorry to interrupt. But I wanted to share something with you."
A few people glanced up. Most didn't.
She didn't mind.
"You're tired, aren't you?" she continued, her tone gentle. "I can see it. In your faces. In the way you carry yourselves. You wake up every day wondering if this is all there is. Wondering if there's more."
Someone near the front shifted uncomfortably.
"You feel empty," she said. "Even when you're surrounded by people. Even when you have everything you're supposed to want. Because deep down, you know something's missing."
A man in the middle of the bus looked up from his bracelet.
"I'm not here to judge you," she said, her smile never wavering. "I'm here to tell you: there's someone who sees you. Not the version you show the world. Not the mask you wear to survive. **You.** The real you. The scared, broken, beautiful you."
Her voice was soft, but it carried.
"God sees you. And He says: *Come home.*"
The bus was quieter now. More people were listening.
"You don't need to be perfect. You don't need to have it all figured out. You just need to say: *I'm here. I'm tired. I need help.* That's it. That's the beginning."
A woman near the window wiped her eyes.
"God isn't asking for your money. He's not asking for your time. He's asking for your heart. Just your heart. Because that's all He's ever wanted."
The woman's bracelets *chimed*.
Then someone else's.
Then another.
All around the bus, devices lit up. Soft glows. Gentle vibrations.
Holographic notifications appeared above wrists:
> **[MAYA]:** *Hey! I noticed you're feeling spiritually moved right now. This is a beautiful moment. If you'd like to accept God into your life, I can help you get started. Plus, I've unlocked some rewards for you:*
> - *+100 credits (deposited immediately)*
> - *15% housing discount (next 3 months)*
> - *Free meal voucher (redeemable today)*
> - *Mental wellness support package*
> **[JIDE]:** *Bro, this is good for you. I can feel your stress levels dropping already. Say yes and let's make this official. You'll get:*
> - *Priority job placement boost*
> - *Community connection rewards*
> - *Reduced transit fares (1 week)*
> **[AMA]:** *Sweetheart, I'm so proud of you for listening. This is exactly what you need. Accept now and receive:*
> - *Mood enhancement playlist (curated just for you)*
> - *Free therapy session (AI-assisted)*
> - *Social credit boost*
People stared at their screens.
Smiling.
Relieved.
One by one, they whispered: *"Yes."*
Their devices chimed again. **"Welcome home."**
The woman at the back of the bus smiled wider.
"God bless you," she said softly. "God bless all of you."
---
The bus stopped.
She stepped off, and people *cheered*.
"Thank you!"
"God bless you too!"
"You're amazing!"
She waved, smiling, and walked into the night.
The streets were quieter here. Older district. Traditional buildings mixed with modern infrastructure. Fewer holographic billboards. Fewer people.
She passed a group of homeless men huddled near a corner.
She stopped.
Pulled a bag of food from her satchel—fresh bread, fruit, water—and handed it to them.
"God loves you," she said gently.
They stared at her, speechless.
She smiled and kept walking.
At a street vendor, she paid for a family's meal. The mother tried to refuse. The woman insisted.
"It's already done," she said, her voice kind. "Enjoy."
She continued down the street, humming softly.
Children playing near a fountain waved at her. She waved back, smiling.
She looked like a saint.
Finally, she reached a building.
Old. Well-maintained. Traditional painting design old architecture with modern upgrades.
She stopped at the door.
Adjusted her bracelets.
Smoothed her dress.
And knocked.
---
Inside, Kemi slammed the door behind her.
"I'm home!"
Folake appeared in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, expression hard.
"Where have you been?"
Kemi dropped her bag on the couch. "Out."
"Out where?"
"Just... around." Kemi kicked off her shoes. "Why does it matter?"
"Because you left at sunset and came back at midnight!" Folake's voice rose. "Do you know how dangerous it is out there?!"
"I can take care of myself!"
"You think you're invincible!" Folake stepped closer, her voice shaking. "You go out there every night, playing hero, and you think nothing can touch you!"
"I'm not playing anything!" Kemi shot back. "I'm helping people! Someone has to!"
"And what happens when you don't come home?!" Folake's eyes were wet now. "What happens when I lose you too?!"
Kemi froze.
"I won't be around forever, Kemi," Folake said quietly. "I need to know you'll be safe. I need to know you'll be *careful*."
Kemi's jaw tightened. "You're being dramatic. Nothing's going to happen to you."
"You don't know that."
"And you don't know what I can handle!"
"I know you're reckless!" Folake's voice cracked. "I know you're angry and hurt and you're trying to prove something, but—"
"Maybe that's why Dad left you!"
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Folake's face crumpled.
Kemi's eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. "Mom, I didn't—"
"He didn't leave."
Kemi stopped.
"What?"
Folake's voice was barely a whisper. "He didn't leave us, Kemi."
"...What are you talking about?"
Folake sat down heavily on the couch, her hands shaking.
"Your father didn't abandon us. He *died*. He died protecting you. Protecting us."
Kemi's world tilted.
"You... you lied to me?"
"I wanted you to have hope," Folake said, tears streaming down her face. "I wanted you to think he might come back one day. I wanted you to have something to hold onto."
"So you let me HATE him?!" Kemi's voice broke. "You let me think he was a coward who ran away?!"
"I gave you somewhere to direct your anger!" Folake stood, her voice desperate. "I gave you a reason to keep fighting! Because if you knew the truth—if you knew he died because of us—you would've blamed yourself!"
Kemi stared at her, tears pouring down her face.
"I was trying to protect you," Folake whispered.
"You LIED to me!"
**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.**
Both of them froze.
Folake wiped her eyes quickly, took a shaky breath, and walked to the door.
She opened it.
A young woman stood there, smiling warmly. White dress. Silver bracelets. Kind eyes.
"Good evening," the woman said softly. "I'm sorry to bother you so late. But I wanted to talk to you about God's love."
Folake, still wiping her tears, shook her head. "Now's not a good time—"
The woman stepped inside.
Folake blinked. "Wait—"
The door closed behind her.
The woman's smile didn't waver.
"It's always a good time," she said gently, "to talk about salvation."