The air turned bitter as Nkosana stepped out into the storm. Rain fell like needles, each drop carrying an unnatural chill. The scream still echoed in his ears, and though the village lay quiet, he felt the presence—ancient, vile—creeping closer with every heartbeat.
A shadow slithered across the clouds. Then it landed.
Zamcolo.
He wasn't massive—no horns or wings. Just a tall, cloaked figure with skin that seemed to flicker between forms. His eyes glowed a molten red, locked onto Nkosana.
"You broke the seal, little vessel," the demon purred, voice like smoke and rust. "You summoned me. Now, I collect."
Nkosana stood firm, his fists clenched. "I didn't summon anything. I want nothing from you."
"But I want *everything* from you," Zamcolo hissed. "Your pain, your blood, your soul. It's the price your lineage owes."
Just as Nkosana stepped back, lightning struck the earth beside him, and from the flash, MaGogo appeared—chanting in a tongue forgotten by most.
She tossed a satchel at his feet. Inside: bones, salt, and a necklace with an obsidian shard.
"You want to fight?" she growled. "Then do it properly."
Zamcolo laughed, but the sound cracked with unease.Nkosana grabbed the shard. The moment his fingers touched it, his eyes darkened. His breath slowed.
And the ground beneath him pulsed.
Something was waking… inside *him.*