Osaze opened his eyes.
He wasn't in the guest room anymore.
The world around him was white. Pure, endless white. The ground beneath his feet was solid but featureless. The sky above was the same—white, stretching infinitely.
And cutting through it all, like veins in marble, were streaks of *red*.
Blood-red.
They pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
Osaze stood slowly, his breath visible in the air. It was cold here. Not freezing, but... empty.
"Where am I?" he whispered.
"Home."
Osaze spun around.
A man stood behind him.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark skin. Strong jaw. Eyes that looked tired but kind.
He looked like Ehizogie.
Osaze's heart stopped.
"Dad?" he whispered.
The man's expression was calm. Patient. He didn't smile, but there was warmth in his gaze.
"I am the one who came before him," the man said gently.
The words took a moment to land.
Osaze's breath hitched. "Before... before my father?"
"Yes."
"Then where is he?" Osaze's voice cracked. "Is he here?"
The man's expression grew softer. Sadder. "He is here. But you are not yet strong enough to see him."
Osaze felt his chest tighten. "What does that mean?"
"It means you must grow first," the man said. "Your power is waking. Your body is changing. But you are still at the beginning. When you are strong enough—when you have learned what we have to teach—then you will see him."
Osaze stared at him, his throat burning.
*He's here.*
*But I can't see him.*
*Not yet.*
The silence stretched.
Then Osaze's legs gave out.
He didn't fall dramatically. Didn't cry out.
He just... knelt.
Slowly. Quietly.
His hands pressed against the white ground, his head bowed.
The ancestor stepped forward and crouched beside him.
"Do not despair," he said softly. "You are home. And here, you can finally meet the rest of your family. Not just those who are alive, but those who have been with you always."
Osaze looked up, his eyes wet but unfallen.
The ancestor stood and extended a hand.
"Come," he said. "There are many who wish to meet you."
Osaze hesitated.
Then he took the hand.
---
They walked together through the white-and-red expanse.
And ahead of them, rising from the ground like a monument, was a *gate*.
It was massive. Towering. Made of something that looked like bone and iron and blood, all fused together. Symbols covered its surface—old symbols, older than language, older than memory.
The gate pulsed.
The red veins in the realm converged on it, flowing into it, feeding it.
Osaze stared.
"What is that?" he whispered.
"The threshold," the ancestor said. "Beyond it are the others. Those who mastered the power. Those who will teach you."
The gate began to open.
Slowly. Silently.
And from within, a light began to pour out.
Not white. Not red.
*Gold.*
Warm. Brilliant. Overwhelming.
Osaze shielded his eyes, but he couldn't look away.
The ancestor smiled faintly. "Welcome home, Osaze Evbuomwan."
The light grew brighter.
Brighter.
Brighter.
And the gate opened wide.
---
Osaze walked through.
The golden light engulfed him, and for a moment, he couldn't see. Couldn't think. Could barely breathe.
And then it faded.
He stood in a new space.
It was still the ancestral plane—white ground, red veins pulsing like a heartbeat—but *different*. Warmer. Fuller.
And ahead of him, standing in a loose circle, were *people*.
Seven of them.
Tall. Short. Young. Old. Men. Women.
All of them watching him.
The ancestor who had led him here stepped forward, gesturing to the others. "These are the ones who came before you. The ones who mastered the power. The ones who will teach you."
Osaze's throat tightened. He wanted to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
One of them stepped forward.
A man. Middle-aged. Kind eyes. He looked... familiar. Not like Ehizogie, but close. Like a distant cousin.
"I am Osazuwa," the man said gently. He extended a hand. "Welcome, Osaze."
Osaze hesitated, then took the hand.
The grip was firm. Warm.
Real.
Another figure stepped forward. A woman. Tall. Lean. Scarred. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, and when she moved, it was with the precision of a trained killer.
She didn't smile.
"Adesuwa," she said. Her voice was cold. Blunt. She crossed her arms. "You look soft. Weak. We'll fix that."
Osaze bristled. "I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." Her gaze didn't waver. "But you won't be for long."
Others stepped forward.
A man with wild eyes and a grin that never quite faded. "Eghosa," he said, practically vibrating with energy.
A woman with an air of eerie calm, like she was always listening to something no one else could hear. "Ivie," she whispered.
A man who stood with perfect stillness, his presence heavy, oppressive. "Omonigho."
And more.
They all sized him up. Studied him. Judged him.
Testing. Weighing. Measuring.
Finally, Osazuwa spoke again. "We can teach you. Pass on what we've learned. But it will not be easy."
Osaze nodded slowly. "I understand."
"Do you?" Adesuwa stepped closer. "We can *possess* your body. If you give us permission. Guide your movements. Use our techniques through you. Make you faster. Stronger. Deadlier."
Osaze's stomach turned. "Possess me? That's... that's not ethical."
Omonigho laughed. Cold. Sharp.
"Ethics?" He stepped forward, his eyes piercing. "Survival trumps ethics. Every. Time. You think your enemies will play fair? You think the ones who killed your father cared about *ethics*?"
Osaze's fists clenched.
"You are weak," Adesuwa said flatly. "And if you stay weak, you will die."
"I don't need—"
"You don't get a choice." Omonigho's voice was final. "The world is about to go to hell. And you WILL be prepared. We'd rather you survive than die prematurely."
Before Osaze could argue, the space around him *shifted*.
The ground became solid. Stone. The air grew heavy.
And suddenly, they were all around him.
"No—wait—"
Adesuwa struck first.
A punch. Fast. Precise. It hit him square in the chest and knocked the wind out of him.
Osaze gasped, stumbling back—
Another strike. From the side. His ribs.
He tried to block, but he was too slow.
Too weak.
"Move!" Adesuwa barked.
He tried. But his body wouldn't listen.
They didn't stop.
Osazuwa corrected his stance. Omonigho forced his feet into position. Adesuwa beat technique into him with brutal efficiency.
Eghosa circled like a predator, laughing, pushing harder. "Come on! MOVE!"
And the *pain*—
It was real.
Every punch. Every fall. Every time his body hit the ground.
He felt it all.
*"Get up."*
He tried.
*"Faster."*
He couldn't.
*"AGAIN."*
They forced him to fight. To move. To strike.
Over and over and over.
Until his body screamed.
Until his mind went blank.
Until all he could do was *obey*.
---
Osaze woke up gasping.
His chest heaved. His muscles burned. His hands were shaking.
He sat up slowly, wincing at the pain that shot through his ribs.
*What the hell...*
He looked down at his hands. No bruises. No cuts.
But his body *remembered*.
Every punch. Every fall.
He stood, testing his weight. His legs were sore. His arms ached.
*It wasn't a dream.*
*They really did that.*
He adjusted his glasses, grabbed a shirt, and stepped out of the room.
---
The smell of food hit him first.
Damian sat at the kitchen counter, the Bible open in front of him. He was reading silently, his expression contemplative.
Kemi sat at the table, picking at a plate of fried plantains and eggs. She looked exhausted. Hollow.
"Morning," Osaze said quietly.
Kemi glanced up, managed a faint smile. "Morning."
Damian looked over. "You look like you got hit by a truck."
Osaze rubbed the back of his neck. "Had a weird dream."
"Can't be that bad," Kemi said.
*You have no idea.*
Damian closed the Bible. "Eat. We're leaving soon."
Osaze frowned, sitting down. "Where are we going?"
Damian raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget what I told you last night?"
Osaze blinked. "I... might have."
"We're going to see someone who can help with the axe." Damian gestured toward the weapon, which leaned against the wall near Kemi. "Someone who actually understands what it is."
Osaze nodded slowly, though his mind was still foggy.
They ate in silence.
And Osaze couldn't shake the feeling that his body was different.
Stronger.
Heavier.
Like something had changed.
---
They left an hour later.
The city center was alive—holographic billboards, street vendors, the hum of O.N.E. devices chiming in unison. People moved like currents, guided by notifications, recommendations, invisible hands.
But as they traveled further out, the city changed.
The buildings grew older. Cracked. The streets narrower. Fewer holograms. Fewer people.
And then they reached the edge.
The outskirts.
Osaze felt it immediately. A shift in the air. Colder. Heavier.
"Why does it feel like this?" he asked.
Damian's expression darkened. "Because this is where the city dumps its problems. The desperate. The dying. The dead."
"People murder here," Kemi said quietly. "Dump bodies. No one cares."
"And that attracts them," Damian continued. "The Abíkú. Spirits born from despair. They thrive in places like this."
Osaze frowned. "Why are they only here? Why not in the city?"
"There's a hierarchy," Damian explained. "The major Abíkú—the powerful ones—stay in the city center. Where the spiritual energy is concentrated. The weaker ones stay out here. There are more of them, but they're scrappy. Desperate."
"And they don't cross into each other's territory," Kemi added. "The big ones don't come out here. The little ones don't go in there. Mutual agreement."
"Until now," Damian said grimly. "Because that axe is disrupting everything."
As if on cue, something *moved* in the shadows.
Then another.
And another.
Osaze's heart sank. "Oh no."
They appeared.
Abíkú. Dozens of them.
Twisted, grotesque figures with too many limbs and hollow eyes. They moved like broken puppets, jerking and twitching, drawn by the axe's energy.
"Run," Damian said.
They bolted.
The Abíkú *shrieked* and gave chase.
Osaze's legs burned, but he pushed through it. Kemi ran beside him, clutching the axe tightly. Damian was faster—inhumanly fast—but he stayed close, watching their backs.
One of the Abíkú lunged.
Kemi spun, swinging the axe in a wide arc.
The blade cut clean through its torso. The creature dissolved into black smoke.
But more kept coming.
"There's too many!" Kemi shouted.
And then Osaze felt something small and warm land on his shoulder.
He glanced over.
Ìgè.
But not the large, imposing leopard he was used to.
A *kitten*.
Small. White. Red spots. Golden eyes gleaming with fury.
Osaze bit back a laugh. "You're—"
"Say one word," Ìgè growled, "and I will bite your shoulder clean off."
Osaze's smile faded. "You're serious."
"I will NOT be mocked by a child." Ìgè's claws dug into his shoulder.
"Fair enough."
The kitten was surprisingly heavy for something so small. Osaze winced as Ìgè's claws dug deeper for balance.
Another Abíkú lunged.
Damian appeared beside it, faster than Osaze could track, and drove his fist through its chest. Blood erupted. The creature collapsed.
"Keep moving!" Damian barked.
They ran.
Through narrow streets. Past crumbling buildings. Deeper into the outskirts.
And then, ahead of them, a house appeared.
Small. Modest. But *different*.
The air around it was calm. Quiet. The Abíkú stopped at an invisible line, shrieking in frustration but refusing to cross.
A woman stepped out onto the porch.
She was stunning.
Dark skin that seemed to glow in the dim light. Long locs tied back with beads that clicked softly as she moved. High cheekbones, full lips, eyes that held centuries of wisdom despite her youthful appearance. She wore a simple wrapper, but it was elegant, regal. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists and neck, catching the light.
She looked no older than thirty-five.
But there was something *ancient* about her.
The way she stood. The way she spoke.
"Next time," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly, "you CALL first."
Osaze, Kemi, and Damian stumbled to a stop, gasping for breath.
The woman crossed her arms, her expression somewhere between amused and annoyed.
"You don't just show up at my door, dragging every spirit in the city behind you." She looked directly at Kemi. "Invitation only."
Damian straightened, still catching his breath. "Adéọlá. It's been a while."
The woman—Adéọlá—smiled faintly. "Damian. Still walking around in that stolen body, I see."
"Still pretending to be thirty, I see."
She laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Vanity and wisdom can coexist." Her gaze shifted to Osaze and Kemi, studying them with sharp, assessing eyes. "And you brought children."
"They need your help," Damian said.
Adéọlá studied them for a long moment, her gaze lingering on Kemi. Then she sighed. "Come inside. Before you attract anything worse."
But as they moved toward the door, Adéọlá paused.
She turned, looking down the street.
An elderly woman was sweeping her doorstep. Adéọlá raised a hand in greeting.
"Mama Ngozi! How are the grandchildren?"
The woman smiled, waving back. "Growing too fast! Thank you for the soup yesterday!"
"Anytime!"
Further down, a group of children played in the dirt. One of them ran up to Adéọlá, tugging at her wrapper.
"Auntie! Auntie! Do you have more bread?"
Adéọlá reached into a basket near the door and handed the child a wrapped loaf. "Share with your brothers, okay?"
"Thank you, Auntie!"
The child ran off, laughing.
Damian watched, his expression softening slightly.
Adéọlá noticed. "What? You think I live out here alone, hoarding power like some hermit?" She gestured to the street. "These are my people. I feed them. Protect them. That's what power is *for*."
She turned and walked inside.
Osaze, Kemi, and Damian followed.
---
The inside of the house was... unexpected.
Osaze had expected something mystical. Candles. Incense. Symbols carved into walls.
Instead, it looked like a normal home. Comfortable furniture. A small kitchen. Shelves lined with books and jars filled with herbs.
But there was a *room* at the back. A heavy curtain hung over the doorway, and beyond it, Osaze could feel something.
Power.
Adéọlá gestured for them to sit. "So. What is it you need?"
Kemi held up the axe.
Adéọlá's entire demeanor changed.
Her eyes widened. She stood slowly, then *bowed*.
Not a casual nod. A full, reverent bow.
"Ogun," she whispered. "Why didn't you tell me you were bringing *his* presence into my home?"
Kemi blinked. "I... we didn't know."
Adéọlá looked up, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. "You didn't *know*?"
"My mother gave it to me before she died," Kemi said quietly. "She said it would protect me. But I don't understand what it is. Or how to use it."
Adéọlá straightened, her gaze softening. "Your mother was wise. And brave." She paused, studying Kemi more closely. "She came from a powerful family. Did she ever tell you?"
Kemi's breath hitched. "No. She never... she didn't talk about it."
Adéọlá nodded slowly, as if that explained something. "Some secrets are too heavy to share. Even with those we love." She gestured toward the curtained room. "Come. We have much to discuss."
Kemi stood, gripping the axe tightly.
Osaze moved to follow—
Adéọlá's hand shot out, stopping him. Not forcefully. But firmly.
"Not you," she said.
Osaze frowned. "What?"
Adéọlá's gaze shifted. Not to him. To his *shoulder*.
To Ìgè.
The kitten froze.
"That thing you're carrying," Adéọlá said quietly. "I cannot help you with it. Not here. Not now."
Osaze looked at Ìgè. "What's she talking about?"
Adéọlá's expression was unreadable. "You don't understand what it is yet. What it *will* become. But I see it." Her voice was gentle but firm. "It cannot come into that room. The gods will not allow it."
Osaze felt a chill run through him. "Then what do I do?"
"You wait." She gestured to the living room. "Sit. Rest. I'll help your friend."
Osaze wanted to argue. But something in her tone told him it wasn't negotiable.
He nodded slowly and stepped back.
Ìgè's claws dug deeper into his shoulder. "Well. This is humiliating."
Kemi glanced at Osaze, hesitant.
"Go," he said. "I'll be fine."
She nodded and followed Adéọlá and Damian through the curtain.
Osaze sat down on the couch, Ìgè still perched on his shoulder.
And for the first time in days, he was alone with his thoughts.
---
The Ritual Room
The room was unlike the rest of the house.
Symbols covered the walls. Cowrie shells lay scattered across the floor in intricate patterns. Candles burned at each corner. The air was thick with incense.
In the center of the room, Adéọlá knelt, the axe laid before her.
Kemi and Damian stood nearby, watching in silence.
Adéọlá closed her eyes and began to chant.
The words were old. Older than Yoruba. Older than language itself.
The cowrie shells began to move.
Not by wind. Not by touch.
They shifted, forming new patterns, guided by unseen hands.
The axe began to glow.
Faint at first. Then brighter.
Red. Orange. Gold.
And then he appeared.
Not fully. Not physically.
But his presence filled the room.
Ogun.
The god of iron. Of war. Of creation and destruction.
Adéọlá's voice trembled. "My lord."
Ogun's voice was not heard—it was felt. A weight in the chest. A pressure in the air.
"Let what is coming happen. It is part of the plan."
Adéọlá's eyes widened. "But—"
"Trust."
And then he was gone.
The glow around the axe intensified. Brighter. Purer.
And when it faded, the weapon was changed.
Polished. Shining. Renewed.
The divine energy no longer leaked wildly. It was contained. Focused.
Kemi stared at it, breathless.
"What just happened?" she whispered.
Adéọlá stood slowly, her expression shaken. "Ogun himself blessed this weapon. He's renewed his presence within it." She looked at Kemi. "Whatever is coming... he wants you ready."
Kemi reached out, gripping the axe.
It felt different. Lighter. Stronger.
Like it was truly hers now.
Damian's expression was conflicted. Silent.
Adéọlá placed a hand on Kemi's shoulder. "You carry his will now. Do not take that lightly."
Kemi nodded.
And then, from the living room, they heard it.
A door slamming.
Footsteps. Running.
Osaze's voice, panicked. Angry.
Kemi's heart dropped. She ran out of the room, Damian close behind.
The Living Room - Minutes Earlier
Osaze sat on the couch, Ìgè curled up on his shoulder.
He was exhausted. Sore. His mind was racing.
And then he saw it.
The television.
It had been off when he sat down. But now it was on.
Flickering through channels on its own.
News. Commercials. Dramas.
And then it stopped.
On a broadcast.
LIVE: NEW DAWN CHURCH - THREE-DAY CRUSADE - DAY 1
The screen showed a massive open-air venue. Thousands of people packed together. A stage. Lights. Music.
And standing at the center, smiling warmly, arms raised, was a man.
White. Tall. Perfectly styled.
Pastor Ezekiel.
Osaze's blood ran cold.
He couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
The crowd was singing. Worshipping. Praising.
Ezekiel's voice echoed from the speakers, warm and holy.
"Brothers and sisters, welcome! Today, we gather not as strangers, but as family. United in Christ. United in love."
The crowd cheered.
Ezekiel raised his hands, and light began to glow around him.
"Let us witness miracles together!"
He touched a woman in the front row. She collapsed, weeping, claiming she could walk again.
The crowd roared.
People screamed. Wept. Fell to their knees.
The worship was overwhelming. Ecstatic. Frenzied.
And then Ezekiel laughed.
Not cruelly. Not like he had that night.
But it was the same laugh.
Mixed with the crowd's screaming. Their worship. Their desperation.
Osaze's vision blurred.
His hands clenched into fists.
That's him.
That's the man who killed my father.
He stood.
Ìgè leapt off his shoulder. "Wait—where are you—"
Osaze didn't hear him.
He slammed the door open and ran.
Kemi burst into the living room just in time to see the door swinging shut.
"Osaze?!" she shouted.
Damian was beside her instantly. "What happened?"
Ìgè stood on the couch, looking shaken. "He saw something on the TV. And he just... snapped."
Kemi's eyes went to the screen.
And she saw her.
Grace Holloway.
Standing beside Ezekiel on the stage. Smiling. Preaching. Glowing with divine light.
The woman who killed her mother.
Kemi's breath hitched.
Her grip on the axe tightened.
"That's her," she whispered.
Damian's expression darkened. "Are you sure?"
"That's her!" Kemi's voice cracked. "That's the woman who killed my mother!"
Damian grabbed her shoulders, trying to steady her. "Kemi, listen to me—"
"Let me go!" She pulled away, her eyes blazing. "She's right there!"
"I know." Damian's voice was strained. Conflicted. "But we can't just—"
"Why not?!" Kemi's voice was raw. "She killed my mom, Damian! She destroyed our home! And now she's on TV, pretending to be a saint?!"
Damian went silent.
Because she was right.
And he didn't know what to say.
Adéọlá stepped into the room, her expression calm but firm. "The god has spoken. Let what is coming happen."
Kemi stared at her. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Adéọlá said quietly, "that this was always going to happen. And you must be ready."
The axe in Kemi's hands pulsed.
Glowing.
Waiting.
Kemi looked at the screen one more time.
At Grace. At Ezekiel.
At the people who had taken everything from her.
And she made her decision.
"I'm going."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Kemi—"
"I'm going." Her voice was steady now. Final. "With or without you."
Damian stared at her for a long moment.
Then he sighed. "With. Always with."
Ìgè hopped onto the back of the couch. "Well. This is going to be a disaster."
As they moved toward the door, Damian paused.
He turned to Adéọlá. "How much do I owe you?"
Adéọlá tilted her head, studying him. Then she smiled faintly.
"One hundred and fifty thousand credits."
Damian blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
"For what?" Damian's voice was incredulous. "We were here for an hour!"
Adéọlá crossed her arms. "Do you know how terrified I was when you brought Ogun's presence into my home?" She gestured toward Osaze, who was long gone. "And that thing he was carrying? I had to bless this entire house afterward just to make sure nothing lingered."
Damian opened his mouth to argue—
"And," Adéọlá continued, her tone firm, "I have to feed the people on this street. Food isn't cheap in the city. You would know—you've lived here long enough."
Damian stared at her.
Then he sighed, pulled out his device, and transferred the credits.
"You're robbing me."
"I'm surviving," Adéọlá corrected. She glanced at the transaction confirmation. "Thank you. Now go. Before those children do something stupid."
Damian turned and left, muttering under his breath.
Adéọlá watched them go, her expression unreadable.
And as the door closed behind them, she whispered a prayer.
"Ogun, protect your children."