The woman smiled.
"My name is Grace Holloway," she said warmly. "I'm with the Church of the Anointed. I wanted to share God's love with you tonight."
Folake stood in the doorway, still wiping tears from her face, her voice tight. "I said now's not a good time. Please leave."
Grace didn't move.
"God's love is always timely," she said, stepping further into the house. "Especially when hearts are heavy. I can feel it—the pain in this home. The grief. The anger."
Folake's jaw tightened. "You need to go. Now."
Grace clasped her hands together, her smile never wavering. "I'm here to help. To offer comfort. To remind you that no matter how far you've strayed, God is waiting. All you have to do is open your heart."
"I'm not interested."
"Are you sure?" Grace tilted her head, her tone still soft but her eyes sharp. "Because I sense something here. Something... unclean."
Folake froze.
Grace walked slowly through the living room, her gaze sweeping over the furniture, the walls, the small altar in the corner—traditional Yoruba carvings, offerings, incense.
"Pagan magic," Grace said quietly. "I can feel it. Clinging to this house like a sickness."
Kemi stood near the hallway, watching, her fists clenched. "What did you just say?"
Grace turned to her, smiling. "I'm not judging, dear. I'm just concerned. Your mother has opened doors that should remain closed. Doors to darkness. To spirits that do not serve the one true God."
Folake stepped forward, her voice low and dangerous. "Get out of my house."
"I'm trying to save you," Grace said, her voice rising slightly. "You worship false gods. You practice witchcraft. You've invited demons into your home, and now your daughter—your precious daughter—is at risk because of *you*."
"Mom," Kemi said, her voice shaking. "What is she talking about?"
Grace looked at Kemi with mock sympathy. "Your mother is a devil worshipper. She clings to pagan rituals, to gods that abandoned Africa centuries ago. She's leading you down a path of destruction."
Folake's eyes went cold.
And then it clicked.
This wasn't a missionary.
This was something else.
"Kemi," Folake said quietly, her voice steady now. "Go out the back. Run."
Kemi blinked. "What?"
"RUN!"
Grace's smile widened.
"Too late."
---
The air shimmered.
Golden light gathered in Grace's hands—not a physical weapon, but something *else*. Rings of light formed, spinning slowly, stacked like halos. Sacred text flickered across their surface—words in languages long dead, glowing with divine fire.
An arrow materialized.
Pure white flame. Humming with power that made the air taste like copper and ash.
Grace pulled the string—a string made of light—and aimed.
"Cleanse," she whispered.
The arrow fired.
Folake *moved*.
Metal ripped from the walls—pipes, rebar, supports—twisting through the air like living things. They formed a shield in front of Kemi just as the arrow hit.
The impact was deafening.
The metal held for a moment—then shattered, fragments scattering across the room.
Kemi stumbled back, her ears ringing.
Folake was already moving, pulling more metal from the ceiling, the floor, the furniture. She shaped it with a thought, her hands guiding the flow like a conductor leading an orchestra.
"Kemi, GET OUT!" she screamed.
"No!" Kemi grabbed a chair, swung it at Grace.
Grace sidestepped easily, didn't even look at her.
Another arrow formed in her hands.
Folake threw a wave of jagged metal shards. Grace fired. The arrow tore through them like paper, forcing Folake to dive behind the couch.
Kemi grabbed a knife from the kitchen, ran at Grace, and *stabbed*.
The blade sank into Grace's shoulder.
Grace looked down at it.
Smiled.
Pulled it out.
No blood.
Just light, sealing the wound instantly.
"Blessed," she said simply.
She backhanded Kemi across the room.
"KEMI!" Folake roared.
She tore the metal support beams from the ceiling, sent them flying at Grace like spears.
Grace spun, firing arrows mid-air—each one exploding on impact, filling the room with smoke and fire.
Folake pulled more metal, formed it into a whip, lashed out.
Grace dodged, fired again.
The fight was chaos.
Metal tearing. Arrows exploding. Walls crumbling.
Kemi scrambled to her feet, blood dripping from her lip. She grabbed a broken table leg, charged again—
Grace caught her by the throat, lifted her off the ground.
"Stubborn child," Grace said coldly.
Folake *screamed*.
Metal erupted from the floor beneath Grace, wrapping around her legs, pulling her down.
Grace released Kemi, stumbled—
Folake was already there, slamming a metal-reinforced fist into Grace's face.
Grace staggered back, blood—*real* blood this time—dripping from her nose.
She wiped it away, her smile gone now.
"Finally," she said. "You're getting serious."
Grace raised both hands.
Three arrows formed at once.
She fired.
Folake deflected two with metal shields—but the third grazed her side, burning through her clothes, searing her skin.
She gasped, stumbled.
Grace fired again. And again. And again.
Folake moved desperately, pulling metal from everywhere—walls, pipes, furniture—forming shields, barriers, anything to stop the onslaught.
But she was slowing down.
Her body couldn't keep up.
She wasn't young anymore.
Grace charged another arrow—this one brighter, hotter, bigger.
Folake knew she couldn't block it.
Not with metal.
Not alone.
She reached down.
Her hand touched the floor—
And *pulled*.
---
The axe came out of nothing.
One moment, empty air. The next, her hand was wrapped around the handle of ẸTA-IRIN—Ogun's Fang.
Double-bladed. Crescent shapes gleaming red-orange, humming with power.
The weapon *sang*.
Grace's eyes widened.
"So," she said slowly. "You were hiding it."
Folake stood, breathing hard, blood dripping from her side.
The axe felt *alive* in her hands.
She could feel Ogun's presence—faint, distant, but *there*.
Watching.
Waiting.
Grace smiled. "Good. I'll cleanse this house in holy fire."
She raised both hands.
Ten arrows formed at once.
She fired them all.
---
Folake *moved*.
Faster than before. Stronger.
The axe glowed brighter, and she became a blur.
She spun, deflecting arrows with the flat of the blade—each impact sending shockwaves through the room. Metal debris flew. The floor cracked.
Grace kept firing.
Folake kept blocking.
Arrow after arrow. Strike after strike.
The barrage was relentless.
But Folake was *faster*.
She closed the distance.
Grace tried to fire point-blank—
Folake split the axe into two.
Dual blades. One in each hand.
She spun, a whirlwind of steel and fire.
Grace leapt back—
Too slow.
One blade caught her arm.
Severed it cleanly at the wrist.
Grace *screamed*.
Her hand—the one pulling the bowstring—hit the ground, still glowing with divine light.
"YOU DARE!" she shrieked, stumbling back, clutching the stump. "YOU DARE CUT ME?!"
Blood poured from the wound—real, red, human blood.
Folake stood between Grace and Kemi, both axes raised, breathing hard.
"Get out," she said quietly. "Or I take the other one."
Grace's face twisted with rage.
"You think you've won?" she hissed. "You think cutting me changes anything?"
She raised her remaining hand.
Light gathered.
Not in her hand.
*Above her.*
---
The ceiling exploded.
Grace rose into the air, lifted by wings of pure light—not feathered, but *radiant*, like glass catching the sun.
Her severed wrist stopped bleeding. The stump glowed, sealing itself in divine fire.
She hovered above them, her face cold, her eyes burning with holy wrath.
"I am *blessed*," she said, her voice echoing. "I am *anointed*. You think your pagan god can save you?"
An arrow began to form.
Not in her hand.
In the *air* above her.
Massive. Blazing. A pillar of white fire and sacred geometry—rings of light spinning, holy text wrapping around the shaft, the arrowhead glowing like a small sun.
The power radiating from it was *suffocating*.
Folake felt it in her bones.
This wasn't something she could block.
Not with metal.
Not with the axe.
Not on her own.
She looked at Kemi.
Kemi was staring up at the arrow, eyes wide, frozen.
Folake's heart broke.
*I can't stop this.*
*But I can save her.*
She dropped the axes, pulled metal from every surface in the house—walls, floor, ceiling, furniture—and wrapped it around Kemi.
Layer after layer.
A cocoon of steel.
"Mom, what are you—"
"I'm sorry," Folake whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Kemi's eyes widened. "No. NO!"
Folake placed her hands on the metal shell.
"Forgive me," she said. "For lying. For everything."
Grace's voice echoed from above:
"**JUDGMENT.**"
The arrow fired.
The light was blinding.
The sound was *apocalyptic*.
The arrow tore through the roof, through the walls, through *everything*—a pillar of divine fire that consumed the entire house.
The explosion shook the block.
Windows shattered. Alarms screamed. People ran from their homes, staring at the column of light reaching into the sky.
And then it was gone.
The house was a crater.
Smoke rose from the wreckage. Flames licked at the broken beams. The walls had collapsed inward, the roof completely gone.
Grace hovered for a moment longer, breathing hard, her wings flickering.
She looked down at the destruction.
No one could survive that.
No one *had* survived that.
She lowered herself to the ground, her wings fading, her remaining hand trembling.
She turned and walked away.
Inside the crater, beneath the rubble, something moved.
The metal cocoon cracked.
Kemi pushed her way out, gasping, coughing, her ears ringing.
The world was muffled. Distant.
She looked around, disoriented.
And then she saw her.
Folake lay a few feet away, half-buried in debris.
Her body was burned. Broken. Still.
"Mom?" Kemi's voice was small. Weak.
She crawled toward her, ignoring the pain in her own body.
"Mom, wake up."
Folake's eyes fluttered open. Just barely.
She smiled.
"You're... alive," she whispered.
"Mom, don't—don't talk. I'll get help. I'll—"
Folake reached out, her hand shaking, and pressed something into Kemi's palm.
The axe.
ẸTA-IRIN.
"It will... protect you," Folake said, her voice fading. "Like it... protected me."
"Mom, no—"
"Forgive me," Folake whispered. "For lying. For... everything."
"I forgive you," Kemi sobbed. "I forgive you. Just stay. Please stay."
Folake's hand touched Kemi's face one last time.
"You... will not... be alone."
Her hand fell.
Her eyes closed.
Her chest stopped moving.
"Mom?"
Silence.
"Mom?!"
Kemi shook her, pushed the axe toward her, tried to make her hold it.
"Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!"
Nothing.
Kemi collapsed over her mother's body, gripping the axe, screaming until her voice gave out.
---
Osaze and Damian were three blocks away when they saw it.
The light.
A pillar of fire reaching into the sky, bright enough to turn night into day.
Damian stopped dead. "What the hell—"
"That's Kemi's house," Osaze said.
They looked at each other.
And ran.
Ìgè sprinted alongside them, silent for once, its ears flat against its head.
They reached the house—what was *left* of it—and stopped.
The entire structure was gone. Just rubble and fire.
"Kemi!" Osaze shouted, climbing over debris. "KEMI!"
Damian was right behind him, scanning the wreckage.
And then they saw her.
Kemi, slumped over her mother's body, gripping an axe that glowed faintly in the firelight.
She didn't move.
Didn't respond.
Just held her mother and stared at nothing.
Osaze ran to her, dropped to his knees. "Kemi—"
She didn't look at him.
Damian checked Folake's pulse.
Nothing.
He looked at Osaze and shook his head.
Osaze's chest tightened. "No. No, no, no—"
In the distance, sirens wailed.
Two figures stepped out of a patrol car at the edge of the wreckage.
Detective Chidi Okafor and Sergeant Amara Nkosi.
They stared at the destruction.
At the fire.
At the bodies.
"What the hell happened here?" Amara whispered.
Chidi's jaw tightened. "I don't know. But—"
He looked at the three figures in the center of the crater.
Osaze. Damian. Kemi.
"Why is it always them?" he said quietly.
Amara didn't answer.
They walked forward, into the smoke and ash.