Osaze opened his eyes.
He was standing in the ancestral plane again.
The sky above was a swirling mass of colors—deep reds bleeding into golds, purples fading into blacks. The ground beneath his feet felt solid but *wrong*, like walking on glass over an endless void.
"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Not here again."
He looked around. The landscape was empty—just rolling hills of strange, shifting terrain that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.
He started walking, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
"Hello?" he called out. "Anyone here?"
No answer.
He kept walking, frustration building. "This is getting old. If someone's going to drag me here, at least—"
A hand touched his shoulder.
Osaze spun around.
An old man stood there. Ancient. His skin weathered like old leather, his eyes sharp and knowing. He wore traditional Edo garments, faded and torn, as if he'd been wearing them for centuries.
He opened his mouth to speak.
But Osaze heard *nothing*.
The old man's lips moved, forming words, but no sound came out. It was like watching a silent film—expressions, gestures, urgency in his eyes, but completely *inaudible*.
"I can't hear you," Osaze said, leaning closer. "What are you saying?"
The old man kept talking, his hands moving, pointing at Osaze, at the sky, at something behind him.
Osaze tried to focus, to read his lips.
*"...coming... soon... not ready..."*
"What? What's coming?"
*"...the seal... breaking... must..."*
"I don't understand!"
The old man reached out, placed both hands on Osaze's chest—
And Osaze *jerked*.
---
He woke up screaming.
His body lurched forward, gasping for air, his heart hammering in his chest.
The room came into focus slowly—Damian's apartment. The couch he'd been sleeping on. Morning light filtering through the curtains.
"Not again," he muttered, rubbing his face.
The door to the room opened.
Kemi walked in, smiling.
Not a sad smile. Not a forced smile.
A *real* smile. Bright. Joyful.
"Bad dream again?" she said, leaning against the doorframe. "You really need to stop eating before bed, Osaze. It's giving you nightmares."
Osaze stared at her.
Her mother had died *yesterday*.
He'd seen her catatonic, holding her mother's body, covered in ash and blood.
And now she was... *happy*?
"Kemi—"
"Relax," she said, waving a hand. "I'm fine. You're fine. We're all fine."
She turned and walked away, humming softly to herself.
Osaze sat there, confused, unsettled.
Then he noticed Damian.
The vampire sat in the corner of the room, a Bible open in his lap, reading quietly.
Osaze blinked. "Are you... reading the Bible?"
Damian looked up, his expression flat. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Trying to understand something."
Osaze raised an eyebrow. "You planning to give your life to Christ or something? Because I hate to break it to you, bro, but you're immortal. That ship kinda sailed."
Damian closed the Bible with a soft *THUD*. "I'm three hundred years old, Osaze. I've had a lot of time to think about faith. And lately, I've been wondering if maybe I got it wrong."
"Got what wrong?"
"Everything."
Before Osaze could respond, there was a knock at the door.
Damian stood, set the Bible down, and walked to the entrance.
He opened it.
Detective Chidi Okafor and Sergeant Amara Nkosi stood on the other side.
Damian's expression hardened. "No."
Chidi raised his hands. "We just want to talk."
"No," Damian repeated. "You're not coming in."
"We need to ask some questions about what happened last night—"
"I said no." Damian's voice was cold now. "You're not coming in. Not again."
Amara stepped forward. "We're just doing our job."
"And I'm doing mine." Damian didn't move. "I promised to protect these kids. So unless you have a warrant, you can fuck off."
Chidi's jaw tightened. "We're trying to help."
"Then help by leaving."
"Damian," Osaze called from behind him. "Let them in."
Damian turned, frowning. "Osaze—"
"It's fine. Let them in."
Damian hesitated, then stepped aside.
Chidi and Amara entered, their eyes scanning the room. The window had been patched with wood and plastic. The furniture was sparse. It looked temporary. Broken.
Kemi sat on the couch, still smiling, the axe resting across her lap.
Chidi sat down across from her. "Kemi. I'm sorry about your mother. I know this is hard. But we need to know what happened."
Kemi's smile didn't waver. "What do you want to know?"
"A woman came to your house last night. White. Blonde hair. Wearing a white dress. Do you remember her?"
"Yeah."
"What happened?"
"She attacked us."
"Why?"
Kemi shrugged. "I don't know. She said something about pagan magic. Called my mom a devil worshipper. Then she started shooting arrows made of light."
Chidi and Amara exchanged a glance.
"Arrows made of light," Chidi repeated carefully.
"Yeah."
"And your mother fought back."
"Yeah."
"With what?"
Kemi looked down at the axe in her lap. "This."
Amara leaned forward. "Where did you get that?"
"My mom gave it to me."
"Before or after the attack?"
Kemi's smile flickered. Just for a moment. "During."
Chidi's voice softened. "Kemi, I know this is hard. But we need details. What exactly—"
"She's answered your questions," Osaze said, his voice firm. "That's enough."
Chidi looked at him. "We're just trying to understand—"
"I said that's enough." Osaze stood, walked over to Kemi. "Go inside."
Kemi didn't move.
"Kemi. Go."
She stayed where she was, gripping the axe tighter.
Chidi stood. "Look, we're not the enemy here. We're trying to help. But if you don't cooperate—"
Osaze stepped between him and Kemi. "Stop. Get out."
"Excuse me?"
"I said get out." Osaze's voice was calm but hard. "You're done here."
Chidi took a step closer. "We have a right to—"
Osaze and Damian moved at the same time.
They were in Chidi's face in an instant, both of them taller, both of them blocking his path.
"If you don't leave," Osaze said quietly, "we'll throw you out. We didn't invite you in. You're trespassing."
Amara stood, her cyborg arms clicking as she clenched her fists. "You're talking to us like that? After we let you walk last time?"
Damian turned to her, his eyes cold. "Yeah. I'm talking to you like that. This is *his* house. He said fuck off. So fuck off."
Chidi's jaw tightened. He looked at Osaze, then at Damian, then at Kemi—still sitting on the couch, still smiling.
He exhaled slowly. "Alright. We're leaving."
Amara looked like she wanted to argue, but Chidi placed a hand on her arm. "Come on."
They walked to the door.
Chidi stopped, pulled out a card, and set it on the table.
"When you need help," he said quietly, "we'll be here."
Then they left.
The door closed behind them.
Osaze exhaled, his hands shaking slightly.
Damian looked at him. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Osaze turned to Kemi. "Are you—"
She was gone.
The window was open.
Osaze ran to it, looked out.
Kemi was already two blocks away, running, the axe in her hand.
"Shit," Osaze muttered.
Damian appeared beside him. "Go. I'll stay here."
Osaze didn't hesitate. He jumped.
---
Kemi ran fast.
Faster than she should've been able to.
The axe felt light in her hand, humming faintly, like it was *alive*.
She didn't know where she was going. Didn't care.
She just needed to *move*.
Behind her, she heard footsteps.
"Kemi! Wait!"
Osaze's voice.
She grinned, glancing back. "You're getting faster! But not fast enough!"
She pushed harder, turning a corner, leaping over a stack of crates.
Osaze followed, his body moving with the same strange fluidity he'd felt during the Abíkú fight. Instinct. Ancestral techniques activating without him realizing.
For a moment, it felt like old times.
Just two friends. Chasing each other. Laughing.
And then Kemi saw it.
The creature stood in the middle of the alley ahead.
Hunched. Massive. Wearing a carved mask.
An Abíkú.
Kemi skidded to a stop.
The creature tilted its head.
And *lunged*.
---
Kemi raised the axe, bracing herself—
The creature hit her like a freight train.
She flew backward, slamming into a wall, the axe clattering from her grip.
The Abíkú was on her in an instant, claws raking across her arms, her shoulders.
She screamed.
And then Osaze was there.
He didn't hesitate.
His fist connected with the Abíkú's head with a sickening *CRACK*.
The creature's skull caved in.
It staggered, collapsed, and dissolved into black mist.
One punch.
Osaze stood there, breathing hard, his fist still raised.
Kemi stared at him, wide-eyed. "What... what the hell was that?"
Ìgè padded out of the shadows, grinning. "That was easy. You're getting stronger, boy."
Osaze turned to the leopard. "Yeah, well, that one was weaker than the first."
"Doesn't matter. Progress is progress."
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" Kemi shouted, pointing at Ìgè.
Ìgè froze.
Looked at Kemi.
Looked at Osaze.
"She can see me."
Osaze blinked. "What?"
"She can *see me*," Ìgè repeated, its voice shocked. "That's not supposed to happen. Not yet."
Kemi scrambled to her feet, gripping the axe. "What is that thing?! And what the hell just attacked me?!"
Ìgè studied her for a long moment.
Then it looked at the axe in her hand.
"Oh," it said quietly. "That's why."
"What?" Osaze asked.
Ìgè pointed at the axe with one paw. "That weapon. It's not normal. It's divine. Blessed by a god. And it's leaking spiritual energy."
Kemi looked down at the axe. "What?"
"You're carrying a beacon," Ìgè said. "Every spirit, every creature, every monster in this city can *feel* that thing. You need to hide it. Or you're going to keep attracting things you don't want to meet."
As if to prove its point, Ìgè looked up.
"Like those."
Osaze followed its gaze.
Shadows moved in the alleys around them. On the rooftops. In the windows.
Dozens of them.
Abíkú.
All converging.
*When Osaze had first awakened, his spiritual power had leaked like a concentrated beam—sharp, focused, dangerous. It had drawn one strong opponent, a predator that recognized a threat. The others had sensed it too, but they'd stayed away. Too afraid. Too smart.*
*But Kemi's axe was different.*
*It didn't whisper. It screamed.*
*Bright. Divine. Familiar. The kind of light that spirits couldn't ignore even if they wanted to. A Yoruba god's power, bleeding into the air like a beacon for everything that walked between worlds. Weak spirits. Strong spirits. Curious spirits. They all felt it. And they all came.*
*She was a lamp in the dark. And they were moths with no choice but to burn.*
"Oh, shit," Osaze muttered.
Kemi gripped the axe tighter. "What do we do?"
Ìgè grinned. "You fight."
---
The first Abíkú lunged from the left.
Osaze moved on instinct, his body flowing through techniques he didn't remember learning. He sidestepped, drove his elbow into its spine, spun, and kicked it into the wall.
It dissolved.
Two more came from the right.
Kemi swung the axe.
The blade cut through the first one like it was made of smoke. The second dodged, lunged at her—
Osaze grabbed it by the throat, slammed it into the ground, and crushed its skull with his heel.
But more kept coming.
**Too many.**
Three Abíkú tackled Osaze from behind, driving him to the ground. Claws raked across his back. He screamed, tried to throw them off—
His hand broke. Healed. Broke again.
*I'm getting stronger. Faster. But this—this is too much.*
He was slowing down.
Kemi swung the axe desperately, cutting through one, two—but a third grabbed her from behind, lifting her off the ground. She kicked, struggled, but its grip was crushing.
*This isn't how it ends. Not like this. Not like Mom.*
The axe slipped from her hand.
"Osaze!" she screamed.
More Abíkú closed in. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
They were everywhere.
Osaze tried to stand, but one of them slammed him back down. His vision blurred. His body was giving out.
*We're going to die.*
---
*Three hundred years.*
*Three hundred years of watching humans stumble through the supernatural.*
*And somehow, these two are the worst I've ever seen.*
*They don't listen. They don't plan. They just run headfirst into danger and expect to survive.*
*One day, they're going to get themselves killed.*
*And I won't be there to save them.*
*...Not today, though.*
---
And then the air *shifted*.
The Abíkú holding Kemi suddenly went rigid.
Its body convulsed.
And then it *exploded*.
Blood. Everywhere.
The creatures around them froze, turning toward the entrance of the alley.
Damian stood there.
His eyes were glowing faintly red. His hands were raised, fingers curled like he was conducting an orchestra.
"Get. Away. From them."
The Abíkú lunged at him.
Damian didn't move.
He just *clenched his fist*.
Every Abíkú in the alley—**all of them**—stopped mid-leap.
Their bodies went rigid, trembling, struggling against some invisible force.
And then they burst.
Not one by one.
*All at once.*
Blood and ash filled the air. The ground was painted red.
Within seconds, the alley was empty.
Damian lowered his hands, breathing hard, his eyes still glowing faintly.
He looked at Osaze. Then at Kemi.
"Why," he said slowly, "do you keep running off?"
Osaze stared at him, gasping for air. "Damian, what—"
"Explaining," Damian said flatly. "You guys have a *lot* of explaining to do."
---
## PART 2: GRACE RETURNS
The facility was clean. Sterile. White walls. Fluorescent lights. The kind of place that smelled like antiseptic and holiness.
Grace Holloway walked through the hallway, her severed arm hanging limp at her side. Blood dripped onto the polished floor, leaving a trail behind her.
She didn't seem bothered.
A door opened ahead of her. The Handler stepped out, her expression unreadable.
"You're hurt," the Handler said.
Grace smiled. "It's nothing."
"Your arm is gone."
"It'll grow back."
The Handler gestured to a room. "Inside."
Grace walked in. The room was small, clinical. A medical chair. A tray of instruments. A syringe filled with glowing liquid.
The Handler picked up the syringe. "This will hurt."
"I've felt worse."
The Handler injected the serum directly into the stump of Grace's arm.
Grace gasped, her body convulsing. Light flared from the wound—bright, searing, divine.
And then her arm began to *grow*.
Bone first. White and gleaming. Then muscle, wrapping around the bone like vines. Then skin, smooth and flawless.
Within seconds, her arm was whole again.
Grace flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulder. "Praise be to God."
The Handler set the syringe down. "Tell me about the mission."
Grace's smile returned. "It went well. The target resisted, but I dealt with her. I incinerated the entire house. No one could survive that."
"You're certain?"
"Positive."
The Handler pulled up a holographic display, scrolling through files. "Folake Williams. Confirmed deceased. Body recovered by emergency services."
She marked the file: **ELIMINATED.**
"Good work," the Handler said. "You've done God's work tonight."
Grace nodded, standing. "Thank you."
She turned to leave—
And stopped.
Something felt *wrong*.
A tightness in her chest. A whisper at the edge of her thoughts.
*It's not over.*
She shook her head, dismissing it.
The target was dead. The house was destroyed. There was nothing left.
But as she walked down the hallway, the feeling didn't go away.
It followed her.
Like a shadow.