Darkness.
Osaze floated in it, weightless and cold. His body felt distant, like something he'd forgotten how to use.
He couldn't feel his arms. Couldn't feel his legs.
Couldn't feel anything.
*Am I dead?*
The thought drifted through his mind, slow and heavy.
But then he heard it.
A growl.
Low. Deep. *Hungry*.
Osaze's eyes snapped open—or at least, he thought they did. The darkness remained, but now he could *see*.
He was standing.
The ground beneath his feet was smooth and cold, like polished stone. Around him, the darkness stretched endlessly, formless and suffocating.
And ahead of him, in the distance, was a door.
It was massive—easily three times his height, carved from black wood and bound with iron. Symbols covered its surface, glowing faintly with a dull red light. They pulsed in rhythm with the growl, like a heartbeat.
*What is that?*
Osaze took a step forward.
The growl grew louder.
He took another step.
And then he heard it—**BANG.**
Something slammed against the door from the other side.
**BANG.**
The door shuddered, the iron bindings rattling.
**BANG.**
Osaze stopped, his breath catching in his throat.
"What..." he whispered. "What's in there?"
The growl rumbled through the darkness, vibrating in his chest.
And then, from somewhere deep inside him, a voice spoke.
Not one of the ancestors.
Something else.
*"Open it."*
Osaze's feet moved on their own, carrying him forward. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the cold wood.
The door was hot to the touch, searing like iron left in the sun.
But he didn't pull away.
He pushed.
The door cracked open—just a sliver.
And from the gap, a roar erupted.
Feral. Primal. **Furious**.
It slammed into Osaze like a wave, knocking him backward. His vision exploded with light—red, blinding, all-consuming.
And then—
He woke up.
ÀJẸ́KU's arms tightened around him, crushing his ribs, suffocating him.
"**Nothing will keep me from this power,**" the entity hissed. "**NOTHING.**"
Osaze couldn't breathe.
His vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges.
*I'm going to die.*
The thought was distant. Calm.
And then—
Something inside him *roared*.
Not a sound.
A **feeling**.
It started deep in his chest, coiling like a spring, winding tighter and tighter until it snapped.
And when it did—
The world exploded.
A pillar of blood-red light erupted from Osaze's body.
It shot upward, piercing through ÀJẸ́KU's mass of arms, through the ceiling, through the floor above. The air around it shimmered and warped, crackling with raw, unfiltered power.
ÀJẸ́KU recoiled, its arms **burning** where they touched the light.
"**WHAT—?!**"
The entity stumbled backward, its many faces contorting in shock and pain.
And in the center of the light, Osaze stood.
His body was rigid, his arms hanging loose at his sides. His head was tilted slightly forward, his face shadowed.
And then, slowly, his glasses slipped from his face.
They tumbled through the air in slow motion, the lenses catching the red light before they hit the ground and shattered.
Osaze lifted his head.
His eyes were **wrong**.
The brown irises were gone, replaced by vertical slits—**leopard pupils**, glowing a deep, molten gold. His expression was blank, emotionless, but his eyes... his eyes were *alive*. Predatory. **Hungry**.
ÀJẸ́KU stared at him.
And for the first time since it had crawled into this world, it felt *fear*.
"**What the fuck is going on?**" it whispered.
Osaze—*no, not Osaze*—smiled.
It wasn't a human smile.
It was the smile of something that had tasted blood and wanted more.
Inside Osaze's mind, the ancestors erupted.
**Eghosa:** *"Wait—is that—?!"*
**Adesuwa:** *"No. It can't be."*
**Ivie:** *"My child... what's happening to you?"*
**Osazuwa:** *"This... this is impossible."*
**Omonigho:** *"I knew it. I knew something like this would happen!"*
**Òsómwèngié:** *...*
Even Ìgè was silent, its presence a weight in the back of Osaze's mind, watching.
Because whatever was standing in Osaze's body now—
It wasn't Osaze.
ÀJẸ́KU lunged.
Its arms shot forward, a forest of grasping fingers and claws, each one tipped with bone-white talons.
Osaze didn't move.
He didn't dodge.
He raised one hand—slowly, deliberately—and *caught* the first arm mid-strike.
ÀJẸ́KU froze.
And then Osaze *pulled*.
The arm tore free with a wet, sickening *rip*. Black ichor sprayed across the floor, sizzling where it landed.
ÀJẸ́KU screamed.
Osaze threw the severed limb aside and stepped forward.
Another arm came at him.
He ducked under it, his movements fluid and precise, and drove his fist into the entity's torso.
The impact sent a shockwave through the room.
ÀJẸ́KU *staggered*.
For the first time in its existence, it felt *pain*.
Real pain.
"**IMPOSSIBLE!**" it roared. "**YOU'RE HUMAN! YOU CAN'T—**"
Osaze punched it again.
And again.
And *again*.
Each blow landed with bone-crushing force, driving ÀJẸ́KU backward. The entity's body cracked and splintered, its many faces screaming in agony.
From the corner of the room, Mr. Chuks scrambled to his feet. His nose was broken, blood streaming down his face, but he grabbed the ritual knife and charged.
"You ruined everything!" he screamed. "EVERYTHING!"
Osaze didn't even look at him.
He reached out—grabbed Mr. Chuks by the throat—and *threw* him.
Mr. Chuks flew across the room, crashing through the kitchen counter. Wood splintered. Bottles shattered. He hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.
Osaze turned back to ÀJẸ́KU.
The entity tried to retreat, its arms flailing wildly.
But Osaze was faster.
He grabbed one of the heads—a woman's face, her eyes wide with terror—and *ripped it off*.
ÀJẸ́KU shrieked.
Osaze grabbed another head.
Ripped it off.
And another.
And another.
The fight wasn't mindless.
It was *calculated*.
Every strike was precise. Every movement deliberate. Osaze—*whatever was controlling him*—wasn't just attacking. He was *dismantling* the entity, piece by piece, with cold, brutal efficiency.
It was savage.
But it was **intelligent**.
The shockwave from one of Osaze's punches rippled outward, slamming into the walls. A chair lifted off the ground, spinning through the air before crashing into the refrigerator. The coffee table flipped over. Plates flew from the counter, shattering against the floor.
The spiritual energy from the clash was tearing through the apartment like a storm.
And outside, in the hallway, neighbors heard it.
"Wetin dey happen?!" someone shouted.
"I no know o! But e dey loud!"
"Make we go check!"
Three neighbors—two men and a woman—ran to Mr. Chuks' door. One of them pounded on it.
"Mr. Chuks! You dey okay?!"
No response.
The man tried the handle. Locked.
"Abeg, help me break am!"
Together, they slammed their shoulders into the door. Once. Twice.
On the third hit, the lock gave way, and the door burst open.
They stumbled inside—
And froze.
The living room was *chaos*.
Furniture was floating—*floating*—spinning slowly in the air. A lamp hung suspended near the ceiling, its light flickering wildly. Blood stained the walls in long, dark streaks. And in the center of the room, a pillar of red light pulsed like a living thing.
The woman screamed.
"**JUJU! NA JUJU! Ooo!**"
One of the men backed toward the door, his hands raised. "Ah ah! Wetin be this?! I no fit stay here o!"
A chair suddenly shot toward them, spinning end over end.
They didn't wait.
They *ran*.
Their screams echoed through the hallway as they bolted for the stairs, shouting warnings to anyone who would listen.
Back inside, ÀJẸ́KU realized it was going to lose.
Its regeneration couldn't keep up. Its power was failing. And this... this *thing* inside the boy wasn't stopping.
It had one option left.
**Possession.**
The entity's form collapsed, dissolving into a cloud of black smoke. It shot across the room, coiling through the air like a serpent, and slammed into Mr. Chuks.
Mr. Chuks convulsed.
His back arched violently, his spine bending at an unnatural angle. His arms snapped to his sides, fingers twitching. His eyes rolled back, and when they snapped forward again, they were black—empty voids filled with ÀJẸ́KU's rage.
He stood, his body jerking and unsteady.
And then he moved.
**Fast.**
Faster than any human should be able to move.
Mr. Chuks—*no, ÀJẸ́KU wearing Mr. Chuks like a suit*—lunged at Osaze, the ritual knife flashing in his hand.
Osaze sidestepped.
The blade whistled past his ear.
Mr. Chuks spun, slashing again.
Osaze caught his wrist, twisted, and drove his knee into Mr. Chuks' ribs.
The crack was audible.
Mr. Chuks gasped, but ÀJẸ́KU kept him moving, kept him fighting. The entity was using him like a puppet, pushing his body beyond its limits.
Osaze grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him into the wall.
The concrete cracked.
Mr. Chuks' arm hung at an unnatural angle, but he swung the knife again.
Osaze caught his arm and *snapped* it backward.
The bone broke with a sickening crunch.
Mr. Chuks screamed—a sound that was half-human, half-entity.
But ÀJẸ́KU didn't let him stop.
It pushed him forward, forced him to keep attacking, even as his body shattered.
Osaze grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
Mr. Chuks' face was a mask of pain and terror. His broken arm dangled uselessly. Blood poured from his nose and mouth.
And then Osaze threw him.
Mr. Chuks crashed through the wall, bursting out into the hallway. He tumbled across the floor, his body a broken, twisted mess.
ÀJẸ́KU realized the body was failing.
It couldn't keep fighting in this vessel.
With a shriek of rage, the entity abandoned Mr. Chuks, pouring out of his mouth and nose in a cloud of black smoke.
Mr. Chuks collapsed, gasping, his body limp and shattered.
ÀJẸ́KU reformed a few feet away, smaller now, weaker.
It looked at Osaze, its many faces twisted in fear.
"**What are you?**" it whispered.
Osaze didn't answer.
He stepped forward.
ÀJẸ́KU stumbled backward, its arms reaching out defensively.
And then Osaze grabbed it.
He lifted the entity off the ground—easily, as if it weighed nothing—and *threw* it.
ÀJẸ́KU crashed through another wall, tumbling out into the night air.
They were on the third floor.
ÀJẸ́KU hit the ground outside, its body cracking against the pavement.
Osaze jumped after it.
He landed in a crouch, the impact sending spiderweb cracks through the concrete.
And then he stood.
The fight moved to the side of the building.
ÀJẸ́KU scrambled up the wall, its arms clawing at the bricks, trying to escape.
Osaze followed, running up the wall as if gravity didn't exist.
He grabbed the entity by one of its legs and yanked it down.
They crashed through a window on the second floor, tumbling into another apartment.
A man screamed, diving out of the way.
ÀJẸ́KU lunged at him, desperate.
Osaze grabbed it mid-leap and slammed it into the floor.
The impact shattered the floorboards, sending them both crashing down into the apartment below.
They hit the ground in a shower of wood and plaster.
ÀJẸ́KU tried to crawl away.
Osaze stomped on its back, pinning it down.
And then he started *pulling*.
Arms came off.
Heads were torn free.
The entity's body disintegrated under his hands, piece by piece, until there was almost nothing left.
ÀJẸ́KU's last remaining face—a woman's, blood pouring from her eyes—looked up at him.
"**Please...**" it whispered. "**Mercy...**"
Osaze stared down at it.
And smiled.
Then he raised his fist—
And a voice stopped him.
"**NO.**"
The air *shifted*.
The temperature dropped.
And from the shadows, something emerged.
It was massive.
A leopard—**no, THE leopard**—but not the small, sleek form that usually sat on Osaze's shoulder.
This was *divine*.
Ìgè stood over fifteen feet tall at the shoulder, its body rippling with muscle and power. Its fur was pristine white, marked with blood-red rosettes that glowed like embers. Its eyes burned with golden light, ancient and terrible.
The air around it shimmered, distorted by its presence.
Anyone who looked at it **knew**.
This was a god.
ÀJẸ́KU saw it.
And its remaining face twisted in horror.
"**No,**" it whispered. "**No. No. NOT YOU.**"
It tried to flee.
Ìgè moved.
It was impossibly fast—faster than anything that size should be. In one fluid motion, it closed the distance and sank its teeth into ÀJẸ́KU's core.
The entity screamed.
Ìgè's jaws clamped down, and ÀJẸ́KU's form began to dissolve, pulled into the leopard's mouth like smoke into a vacuum.
"**NO! PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING! I'LL—**"
Ìgè didn't stop.
It devoured the entity whole, consuming every last fragment of its essence.
When it was done, Ìgè stood still, its eyes glowing brighter. The red rosettes on its fur pulsed once, twice, and then settled.
It had absorbed ÀJẸ́KU's power.
The leopard turned, its massive head swiveling to look at Osaze.
And Osaze—**whatever was inside him**—looked back.
For a long moment, they stared at each other.
And then, slowly, Osaze smiled.
It was the same predatory smile from before.
But there was something else in it now.
Recognition.
Ìgè's eyes narrowed.
And then—
The presence inside Osaze *released* him.
It was like a switch being flipped.
Osaze's body went limp, and he collapsed backward, hitting the ground hard.
His eyes fluttered closed.
And in the darkness of his mind, he heard himself think:
*Damn.*
*This is happening again.*
When Osaze opened his eyes, he was staring up at the sky.
The night air was cool against his skin. His body ached—every muscle screaming in protest.
He tried to sit up and groaned.
"Easy," a voice said.
Osaze turned his head.
Damian was crouched beside him, his dark skin illuminated by the faint glow of streetlights. His red eyes flickered with concern.
"What..." Osaze croaked. "What happened?"
Damian stared at him for a long moment.
Then he said, "You don't remember?"
Osaze shook his head.
Damian exhaled slowly. "We'll talk about it later. Can you stand?"
Osaze nodded. Damian helped him to his feet, and Osaze swayed slightly, his legs unsteady.
Around them, the building was *destroyed*.
Chunks of wall were missing. Windows were shattered. The ground was littered with debris.
And in the center of it all, police cars had arrived, their lights flashing red and blue.
Chidi and Amara were standing near Mr. Chuks' apartment, talking to a group of officers. Neighbors crowded the courtyard, shouting over each other in a mix of English and pidgin.
"Wetin happen for this compound?!"
"I no understand! Na bomb?"
"That boy—he dey fight something wey we no fit see!"
"Na jazz! I tell una say na jazz!"
Osaze winced. "Did they see me?"
"They saw something," Damian said grimly. "But they don't know what."
Kemi appeared from the crowd, running toward them. Her eyes were wide, her face pale.
"Osaze!" She grabbed his shoulders, her hands trembling. "Are you okay?! I saw—" She stopped, her voice cracking. "I saw you get thrown out of a window. You were fighting something. Something *huge*. And—"
"I'm fine," Osaze said quickly. "I'm fine."
Kemi stared at him. "You're not fine. What the hell was that?"
Osaze opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
"You guys won't believe me if I told you it wasn't me," he said quietly.
Kemi blinked. "What do you mean it wasn't you?"
Damian looked at him sharply.
Osaze shook his head. "Forget it."
Chidi walked over, Amara close behind. The detective's face was grim, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
"We found the room," he said.
Osaze looked up. "The... room?"
Chidi nodded. "Hidden behind a false wall in Mr. Chuks' apartment. The ritual room. The bodies." He paused. "Twelve girls. All wrapped in cloth. All... sacrificed."
Osaze's stomach twisted.
Amara stepped forward. "We've called it in. Mr. Chuks is in custody. He'll be charged with murder."
"Good," Osaze said.
Chidi studied him for a moment. Then he said, "You told me earlier that Ezekiel came to see you. On campus."
Osaze nodded.
"What did he say?"
Osaze explained—the bench, the conversation, the hug. He left out the part about his ancestors screaming in his head.
When he finished, Amara frowned. "Do you think Ezekiel suspects something?"
"I don't know," Osaze said. "Maybe."
Chidi exchanged a glance with Amara. "We'll keep an eye on him. But for now..." He gestured toward the police cars. "We need to deal with this."
The police had Mr. Chuks in the back of a cruiser, his hands cuffed behind his back. His body was broken—arm twisted at an unnatural angle, ribs shattered, face swollen and bloody.
Two officers stood nearby, talking in low voices.
"I can't believe this guy," one of them muttered. "Murdering girls for what? Money? Power?"
"He's young. Good-looking. He could've been a sugar boy to some rich woman somewhere. Why do *this*?"
Mr. Chuks sat in the back seat, his head bowed, his face blank.
He didn't respond.
Couldn't.
His mind was a fog of despair and terror.
*It's over. My life is over.*
And then—
He felt it.
A sharp, twisting pain in his stomach.
He gasped, doubling over.
"What's wrong with you?" one of the officers said, walking over. "You think you can pretend to get out of this?"
Mr. Chuks opened his mouth to respond—
And blood poured out.
The officers stepped back, their faces going pale.
"What the—"
Mr. Chuks convulsed, his body jerking violently.
And then—
*CRACK.*
Hands burst out of his stomach.
Not his hands.
**ÀJẸ́KU's hands.**
Black, twisted, dripping with ichor.
They clawed at his insides, tearing him apart from within.
Mr. Chuks screamed.
It was a long, agonized sound that echoed through the courtyard.
And then, slowly, it stopped.
His body slumped forward, lifeless.
The officers stared, frozen in shock.
And from the shadows, a faint whisper echoed:
**"If I die... you die with me."**