The Wigu's shriek still echoed in their bones, a chorus of stolen voices that made the night itself feel like it was shattering.
Low staggered to her feet, gripping her rocks from her bag. "I'll cut its throat myself," she snarled, though her hands trembled. The sight of Widow Eno's raven bouncing limply against the Wigu's chest was a brand burned into her mind.
Jacqueline pressed her palms together, the faint shimmer of water gathering between them. "Don't let it touch you," she warned. "Spirits this twisted… they don't just take flesh. They take pieces of the soul."
The Wigu moved with a jerking, unnatural rhythm, its arms dangling too long, claws dripping shadow. It took one step, then another, each footfall heavier than the last, until the ground itself seemed to thrum with its weight.
Then it screamed again.
This time, it was Leonotis's voice. His own cry of pain. Perfectly captured, spat back at him with cruel delight.
Leonotis's chest seized. He could hear the echo of his own weakness, twisted into a weapon. Rage welled in him, threatening to burn hotter than fear. He slammed his palm into the dirt, and thick roots shot upward, coiling around the Wigu's legs.
"Now!" he shouted.
Low flung her rock, the stone spiraling in the dim light. The rock bit deep into the creature's side, tearing through shadow and sinew. A spray of black ichor hissed against the earth like acid.
The Wigu convulsed, its body twitching wildly. Then, with a sickening snap, it shed its outer skin entirely, slipping free like a serpent. A new, rawer form crouched before them, its body slick and glistening, its teeth bared in a mockery of a smile.
Jacqueline's stomach turned. "It molts…"
Zombiel's eyes flared, twin ghost-fires burning cold blue. "It adapts. The longer it lingers, the stronger it becomes."
The Wigu hissed, its voice fractured, dozens of stolen tones spilling from its throat at once. "Hungry… hungry… Njiru waits…"
The name struck them like a blow.
Low's face twisted with fury. "You won't tell him anything!" She threw volley of rocks, her strikes fast, relentless. Sparks lit the air as her rocks scraped its skin. But the Wigu caught her wrist mid-swing.
Her breath caught in her throat as its claws tightened. The mimicry came again—her own voice this time, pleading, "Help me! Please, help me!"
The real Low screamed, thrashing, trying to pull free. Panic bubbled in her chest as her own cry echoed back at her, cruel and mocking.
Leonotis didn't think. He drew his sword from the ground and bolted toward the Wigu. He slashed down on the Wigu's arm, making a large gash, forcing it to release Low with a snarl.
Jacqueline darted forward, water swirling around her hands. She pressed them to Low's arm, soothing the jagged lines the claws had left. "Stay with me. Don't listen to it."
But the Wigu wasn't done. Its black tongue flicked across its teeth as it crouched low. And then it howled again—this time, in a chorus of voices that weren't theirs.
The village's voices.
Men. Women. Children. All crying for help, all screaming in terror.
Every house they had passed, every locked door—they heard them now, woven into the Wigu's song.
The sound rooted Leonotis where he stood. The entire village, their fear, their helplessness—it had fed the Wigu, stolen them whole.
Zombiel stepped forward, his pale face unreadable, his voice steady despite the storm around them. "Enough."
He lifted his hand. Blue fire erupted, ghostly and cold, curling up his arm like a serpent. The graveyard itself seemed to recoil from the unnatural light.
The Wigu froze, its eyes locking on him. For the first time, it hesitated.
Leonotis saw it too. "Zombiel—whatever you're doing, do it now!"
The boy's eyes burned brighter. "Ghost fire severs ties. If it's bound to Njiru, I can cut it."
The Wigu shrieked, lunging at him with a frenzy that shook the earth. Low leapt in its path, her nails slashing upward, forcing it to veer sideways. Jacqueline's water barrier flashed into existence, slowing the creature just long enough.
Zombiel thrust his hand forward. The blue fire leapt from his palm, striking the Wigu square in the chest.
The scream that followed was unlike any before. Not stolen. Not mimicked. Its own. A raw, tearing shriek of pain that split the night sky.
The shadows around its body writhed, unraveling as though the fire was eating them from the inside out. The raven's corpse tumbled free, black feathers scattering like ash.
For a heartbeat, it seemed the Wigu might collapse entirely. But then, with desperate fury, it surged forward, claws aimed directly at Zombiel's throat.
He didn't move. He couldn't. The ghost fire held it, but it also held him.
Low saw it first. Her heart lurched into her throat. "Zombiel!"
She dove, but she wouldn't make it in time. The claws descended—
And then, with one final burst of blue flame, Zombiel severed.
The Wigu froze mid-strike. Its body cracked down the center like broken stone, light pouring from within. It collapsed in on itself, shattering into nothing but ash and smoke.
The night fell silent.
Zombiel staggered, his knees buckling. Low caught him before he hit the ground. His skin was pale, his lips blue, faint burns marking his arms where the ghost fire had turned inward.
Jacqueline was already at his side, water glowing at her fingertips. "Hold him still." She pressed her hands to his chest, magic flowing into him, soothing the worst of the damage.
Zombiel's eyes fluttered open, faintly glowing even as he whispered, "It's… gone."
Low's hands shook as she cradled him, her fury from before curdling into fear. For the first time, she realized just how close they'd come to losing him.
Leonotis retrieved the raven's broken body from the dirt, his jaw tight. He held it gently, as though Widow Eno herself might feel the weight. "We'll make this right," he murmured. "We'll bury it properly."
Jacqueline glanced at Low, her voice soft. "He saved us."
Low swallowed hard, her throat burning. She didn't answer. She just held Zombiel tighter, a silent vow forming in her heart.
Never again.
She would not let him throw himself into the fire alone.