*"What an elder sees sitting down, a child cannot see even if he climbs the tallest iroko tree."*
— African Proverb
---
The hallway was pristine.
White walls. Polished floors. Giant mirrors lined both sides—steel-framed, reflective surfaces that stretched from floor to ceiling, catching every angle, every movement.
It looked like the inside of a cathedral built for the future. Clean. Perfect. Holy.
Ezekiel walked down the center, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression calm. Satisfied.
Kyle walked beside him, practically bouncing with energy.
"That was *incredible*," Kyle said, his voice full of awe. "Pastor, the way you healed that woman—she couldn't walk for *years*, and you just—" He made a gesture with his hands, like something miraculous had happened. "And the light! Did you see the light when you touched her? It was like—like God himself was there!"
Grace walked on Ezekiel's other side, her arms crossed, a faint smile on her lips. "Kyle, you're going to make him insufferable."
"What?" Kyle blinked, confused.
"You keep praising him like that, he's going to develop an ego."
Ezekiel chuckled softly. "I already have one."
Grace shot him a look. "See?"
Kyle laughed nervously. "I'm just saying—what we did out there tonight? That was *real*. People were healed. Lives were changed. That's what we're here for, right?"
"Of course," Ezekiel said smoothly. His tone was warm, but there was an edge to it. A smugness. "Though I will admit, it's satisfying to see the fruits of our labor. The way they looked at me—at *us*—with such... devotion." He smiled. "It's intoxicating."
Grace's smile faded slightly. "Ezekiel."
"What?" He glanced at her, his expression innocent. "I'm simply acknowledging the truth. We wield power. And people *worship* power. Whether they admit it or not."
"That's not what we're supposed to be teaching them," Grace said quietly.
"Isn't it?" Ezekiel's voice was light, teasing. "We show them miracles. We give them hope. We make them *believe*. And in return, they give us their faith. Their loyalty. Their—"
The window exploded.
Glass shattered inward, a storm of glittering shards.
And through the opening, a figure *launched* into the hallway.
He landed hard, knees bent, fist slamming into the floor.
The impact cracked the tiles.
Ezekiel stopped mid-step.
Kyle stumbled back, startled.
Grace's hand twitched toward the bracelets on her wrists—but she didn't activate them. Not here. Not inside.
The figure stood slowly.
He was dressed in dark clothes—black jacket, dark pants, boots. His face was covered by a simple cloth mask, wrapped around his nose and mouth, leaving only his eyes visible.
And those eyes—
They burned with rage.
"You," the figure said, his voice low, trembling with fury.
Ezekiel tilted his head, his expression shifting from surprise to careful neutrality. "Me?"
The figure didn't answer.
He just *moved*.
Fast.
Faster than Kyle could track.
One moment he was standing ten feet away.
The next, he was *right there*, fist already swinging toward Ezekiel's face.
Kyle's body moved on instinct.
He lunged forward, throwing himself between the attacker and Ezekiel, arms raised—
The punch connected.
Kyle's forearms absorbed the impact, and the force sent him *sliding* backward, his boots screeching against the polished floor.
Pain shot through his arms.
*What—*
The masked figure pulled back, breathing hard, and swung again.
Kyle blocked again, gritting his teeth.
*He's strong. Too strong.*
"Pastor, get back!" Kyle shouted.
Ezekiel didn't move. He just watched, his expression calm. Unreadable.
Grace stepped forward, her voice sharp. "Stand down! Whoever you are, you don't want to do this!"
The masked figure ignored her.
He feinted left, then struck right—
Kyle barely blocked it, his arms trembling from the impact.
And then the figure *stopped*.
He pulled back, chest heaving, fists trembling.
And then he turned and *ran*.
He leapt back through the shattered window, glass crunching under his boots, and disappeared into the night.
"After him!" Grace shouted.
She and Kyle bolted immediately, chasing after the attacker.
Ezekiel stood alone in the hallway, his hands still clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.
*Who was that?*
The question lingered in his mind, quiet and insistent.
*And why did he feel... familiar?*
---
Osaze ran.
His lungs burned. His legs screamed. But he didn't stop.
He vaulted over a railing, landed on a lower rooftop, and kept moving.
Behind him, he heard them.
Footsteps. Fast. Getting closer.
He glanced back.
Kyle and Grace.
They were *fast*.
Kyle's movements were clean, efficient—trained. Grace moved like she was gliding, her feet barely touching the ground.
They were gaining on him.
Osaze pushed harder, leaping across a gap between buildings, his arms windmilling for balance as he landed.
His heart pounded in his chest.
*I can't let them catch me.*
*I can't—*
He turned a corner—
And hit a dead end.
A tall fence. No way around.
He spun, breathing hard, his back against the wall.
Kyle and Grace appeared at the entrance to the alley, blocking his escape.
Kyle's expression was cautious. Concerned. "We don't want to hurt you. Just... just come with us. We can talk about this."
Grace's hands hovered near her bracelets, ready. "Or we can do this the hard way."
Osaze's fists clenched.
*No.*
*Not like this.*
And then, from the back of his mind, a voice spoke. Wild. Amused.
**Ìgè.**
*"Oh, look at you. Cornered like prey. How pathetic."*
Osaze's jaw tightened.
*Shut up.*
*"Why? It's true. You ran in there like an idiot, swung blindly, and now you're trapped. What did you think was going to happen?"*
*I said shut up.*
But Ìgè was right.
And Osaze knew it.
He closed his eyes.
And reached *inward*.
He felt it immediately—the blood in his veins, hot and alive, responding to his will.
He extended his hand—
And pulled.
The air shimmered.
Blood poured from his palm, twisting, solidifying, forming a shape.
A *spear*.
Long. Sharp. Red as fresh blood, but hard as steel.
Kyle's eyes widened. "What—"
Grace's expression darkened. "He's Tuned."
Osaze opened his eyes.
And attacked.
He moved *fast*, the spear spinning in his hands as he closed the distance.
Kyle raised his arms to block—
Osaze feinted left, then struck right, the spear slashing across Kyle's shoulder.
Kyle shouted in pain, stumbling back.
Grace's bracelets flared to life—rings of light forming around her wrists.
She fired an arrow of light—
Osaze twisted, the spear deflecting the shot, sending it ricocheting into the wall.
He pressed forward, relentless, the spear moving like an extension of his body.
Strike. Block. Spin. Thrust.
Grace summoned more arrows, firing rapidly—
Osaze dodged, weaving between them, closing the gap.
He swung the spear low, sweeping her legs—
She jumped, flipping backward, landing in a crouch.
Kyle recovered, charging forward—
Osaze pivoted, driving the blunt end of the spear into Kyle's chest, sending him sprawling.
And then, in the back of his mind, Ìgè spoke again.
*"Not bad. You might survive this after all."*
Osaze stood in the center of the alley, breathing hard, the blood spear still in his hands.
Kyle and Grace were on the ground, injured but alive.
They stared at him, shocked.
"What *are* you?" Grace whispered.
Osaze didn't answer.
He turned to run—
And then the air *shifted*.
A sound. Faint at first. Then louder.
Wings.
Hundreds of them.
Osaze looked up—
And saw them.
*Bats.*
A swarm of them, pouring out of the darkness, filling the alley, blocking the sky.
And standing at the entrance, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, was Damian.
"Enough," Damian said quietly.
The bats descended, screeching, swirling around Kyle and Grace, disorienting them.
Damian moved faster than any of them could see, crossing the distance in an instant, and grabbed Osaze by the arm.
"We're leaving. Now."
Kyle shouted something, his voice drowned out by the swarm.
Grace raised her hands, light flaring—
And then Kyle's power *erupted*.
Holy light exploded outward, a shockwave of divine energy that incinerated dozens of bats instantly, sending the rest scattering in all directions.
But by then, Damian and Osaze were already gone.
---
Kyle and Grace stood in the alley, breathing hard, surrounded by the ashes of dead bats.
Grace looked at Kyle, her expression grim. "What *was* that?"
Kyle shook his head, still catching his breath. "I don't know. But whoever he was... he wasn't normal."
"And those bats..." Grace frowned. "That wasn't random. Someone helped him escape."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what had just happened settling over them.
And then, in the distance, they heard voices.
People. Drawn by the light. The noise.
"We need to go," Grace said.
Kyle nodded.
And they vanished into the night.
---
**Church Safehouse - One Hour Later**
Ezekiel sat alone in a small, dimly lit room.
A tablet rested on the table in front of him, its screen glowing faintly.
He stared at it, his expression unreadable.
*That kid.*
*The way he moved. The way he fought.*
*I've seen him before.*
A knock at the door.
"Come in," Ezekiel said, not looking up.
Kyle stepped inside, his expression troubled. "Pastor... I need to ask you something."
Ezekiel finally looked up. "Of course."
Kyle hesitated, then spoke. "Why would someone attack you? What did we do?"
Ezekiel's expression softened. He stood, walking over to Kyle, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Kyle," he said gently. "This world is drenched in darkness. In sin. We are here to cleanse it. To bring light. And when you bring light into darkness..." He smiled faintly. "The darkness fights back."
Kyle's brow furrowed. "But—"
"There are forces in this world that do not want us to succeed," Ezekiel continued. "They see what we're doing—the miracles, the healings, the salvation—and they fear it. Because we are a threat to their power. To their control."
Kyle nodded slowly, absorbing this. "So... we're just going to keep doing what we're doing?"
"Exactly." Ezekiel's smile widened. "We will not be deterred. We will bring God's light to every corner of this city. No matter what stands in our way."
Kyle's expression brightened. "I'll stand with you, Pastor. No matter what."
"I know you will." Ezekiel squeezed his shoulder. "Now go. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we continue the crusade."
Kyle nodded and left.
Ezekiel stood alone for a moment, then returned to his seat.
Grace appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
She didn't say anything.
She just looked at him.
And Ezekiel knew what that look meant.
*If you're going to tell him the truth, tell him.*
Grace turned and walked away.
Ezekiel sat in silence, staring at the tablet.
And then he opened the file.
**Osaze Evbuomwan.**
**Age:** 20
**Occupation:** Medical student, Caliphate University
**Condition:** Sickle cell disease
**Father:** Ehizogie Evbuomwan (Deceased)
Ezekiel stared at the photo. The face. The eyes.
*It can't be.*
*That kid was dying. He couldn't even stand without help.*
*So how—*
He closed the tablet.
*I need to see for myself.*
He pulled up a map. Located Caliphate University.
*Tomorrow.*
---
**Damian's Apartment - Same Night**
The door slammed shut behind them.
Osaze stumbled forward, the blood spear dissolving in his hands, evaporating into red mist.
Damian stood in front of him, his arms crossed, his expression *furious*.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" Damian's voice was low, dangerous.
Osaze didn't answer. He just stood there, breathing hard, his fists clenched.
"You attacked him in a *hallway*," Damian continued. "In his own church. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I know what I did," Osaze said quietly.
"Do you?!" Damian stepped closer. "You've just painted a target on your back. On *our* backs. They know someone's coming for them now. And they'll be ready."
"Good," Osaze said, his voice hard. "Let them be ready."
Damian stared at him, his jaw tight.
Kemi stepped into the room, the axe still in her hands. "Damian, he saw—"
"I know what he saw," Damian snapped. "But that doesn't change anything. You think you're strong enough to fight them? You're not. Not yet."
"Then when?!" Osaze's voice cracked. "When am I allowed to fight back?! When am I strong enough?!"
"When you're *smart* enough!" Damian shot back. "You strike first, yes. But if you strike first and your enemy is stronger, they retreat. They pull into their cave. And they push out resources—soldiers, assassins, informants—to weaken you. To hunt you."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "This thing you're chasing? It's bigger than you think. And you just kicked the hornet's nest."
Osaze opened his mouth to argue—
And then, from the back of his mind, voices spoke.
Calm. Steady. Respectful.
**Osazuwa.**
*"The vampire is right, Osaze."*
Osaze froze.
**Adesuwa.**
*"You acted like prey tonight. Not a predator. You broke character. That's why you failed."*
**Omonigho.**
*"The leopard does not charge blindly. It waits. It watches. It strikes when the moment is perfect."*
Osaze closed his eyes, his fists trembling.
*I know,* he thought. *I know I messed up.*
**Eghosa's** voice, wild but not unkind:
*"You have the tools. But tools are useless if you don't know how to use them."*
**Ivie**, soft and eerie:
*"Rage is a weapon. But uncontrolled rage is suicide."*
Osaze exhaled slowly.
*I understand,* he thought. *I'll do better.*
The ancestors didn't respond. But he felt their approval. Faint. Quiet.
He opened his eyes.
Damian was still staring at him, waiting.
"I'm sorry," Osaze said quietly. "I... I wasn't thinking."
Damian's expression softened slightly. "I'm not asking you to stop. I'm asking you to be *smart*."
Osaze nodded slowly.
Kemi stepped closer, her voice quiet. "What do we do now?"
Damian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Now? We lay low. We plan. And we—"
A knock at the door.
Everyone froze.
Damian's expression darkened. "Stay here."
He moved to the door, his hand hovering over the handle.
Another knock. Firm. Insistent.
Damian opened the door—
And standing on the other side were two people.
Detective Chidi Okafor.
Sergeant Amara Nkosi.
Chidi's expression was serious. Tired. But his eyes were sharp.
"We need to talk," he said. "This thing you're caught up in? It's bigger than you think."