The silence in the apartment was suffocating.
Osaze sat at the small dining table, his hands clasped in front of him, staring at nothing. Around him, the others moved quietly—Kemi cleaning up the remains of breakfast, Amara scrolling through her phone, Chidi pacing near the evidence board, his jaw tight. Damian stood by the window, arms crossed, his red eyes distant.
No one spoke.
The weight of what they'd discovered—the emails, the corruption, the Church's control over the police—hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking.
Osaze's mind was elsewhere.
He kept seeing the door.
The massive black door in the darkness, symbols glowing red, something behind it banging, clawing, *screaming* to get out.
And then the fight.
The pillar of red light. The way his body had moved—brutal, efficient, inhuman.
The way he'd torn ÀJẸ́KU apart.
*What was that?*
His fists clenched.
He needed answers.
"I'm going out," Osaze said suddenly, standing.
Everyone looked at him.
Kemi frowned. "Where?"
"I need to get something." Osaze grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and walked toward the door.
Kemi set down the dish she was holding and followed. "I'm coming with you."
Osaze stopped, turning to her. "You don't have to—"
"I'm coming," Kemi said firmly.
Osaze stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Fine."
---
They took the stairs down, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead as their footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell. The building was quiet—most of the residents were at work, leaving the hallways empty and still.
Kemi walked beside Osaze, her hands in her pockets. For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Kemi said, "You know... I never told you how I got so good at hacking."
Osaze glanced at her. "You said you taught yourself."
Kemi smiled faintly. "Yeah. But there's more to it than that."
Osaze raised an eyebrow.
Kemi exhaled slowly. "My mom used to work in tech. She was a systems analyst before she... before she disappeared. She taught me the basics when I was a kid. Said it was important to understand how things worked, how to protect yourself online."
Osaze's expression softened. "She sounds like she was smart."
"She was," Kemi said quietly. Her smile faded. "And then one day, she just... vanished. No warning. No goodbye. The police didn't care. Said she probably ran off with someone. But I knew better."
Osaze didn't say anything. He just listened.
"So I taught myself more," Kemi continued. "I wanted to find out what happened to her. I thought if I could access the right systems, dig through the right files, I'd find something. Anything." She laughed bitterly. "I never did. But I got good at it."
She paused, her voice quieter now. "And then... I realized I had a talent for it. Not just learning—*understanding*. Like the code made sense in a way it didn't for other people. My mom used to joke that I had 'blessed fingers.' I didn't know what she meant back then."
Osaze looked at her. "Ogun's blessing."
Kemi nodded slowly. "I think so. The god of iron, technology, innovation. Maybe he saw something in me. Or maybe my mom prayed to him before she disappeared." She smiled faintly. "Either way, I got good enough to change my grades. Good enough to help you."
Osaze stopped walking. He turned to her, his expression serious. "Kemi. We're going to find out what happened to your mom. I promise."
Kemi looked at him, her eyes shining. "You really think we can?"
"I know we can," Osaze said.
Kemi smiled—a small, fragile thing, but real.
They reached the ground floor, stepping out into the lobby. A few neighbors were scattered around—an elderly man checking his mailbox, a woman carrying groceries, a young boy playing with a toy car on the floor.
"Morning, Mr. Adeyemi," Osaze said, nodding to the old man.
Mr. Adeyemi looked up, his wrinkled face breaking into a smile. "Ah, Osaze! Good morning, my boy. And Kemi too. How are you both?"
"We're good, sir," Kemi said.
"Good, good. Stay safe out there, eh? The world is getting crazier every day."
"We will, sir," Osaze said.
They stepped outside into the bright morning sun and started walking.
---
The pharmacy was only a few blocks away—a small, unremarkable building tucked between a convenience store and a laundromat. A faded sign above the door read **AKIN PHARMACY - OPEN 24/7**.
As they approached, Osaze's senses sharpened.
He could hear the hum of the refrigerator inside, the faint buzz of the lights, the rustle of fabric as someone moved near the window.
And then he smelled it.
Blood.
Fresh. Metallic. Faint, but unmistakable.
Osaze stopped, his nostrils flaring slightly. He turned, his eyes scanning the street.
*Where is it coming from?*
His gaze swept over the parked cars, the alleyways, the windows of nearby buildings.
Nothing.
But the feeling didn't go away.
*Someone's watching us.*
On his shoulder, invisible to everyone else, Ìgè stirred slightly. The leopard's presence was heavy, subdued, as if it were sleeping.
Or digesting.
Kemi noticed him stop. "You okay?"
Osaze nodded slowly. "Yeah. Let's go."
---
They stepped inside.
The interior was cramped but clean, shelves lined with medicine, bandages, and personal care products. A faint smell of antiseptic hung in the air. A small TV mounted in the corner played a news channel, the volume turned low.
On the counter sat a **circular AI device**—sleek, black, about the size of a dinner plate. A ring of blue light pulsed softly around its edge.
As Osaze and Kemi entered, the device's light brightened.
**"Good morning,"** it said, its voice smooth and androgynous. **"Welcome to Akin Pharmacy. How may I assist you today?"**
"Just browsing," Osaze said.
**"Of course. Please let me know if you need assistance."**
Behind the counter stood the clerk.
They were humanoid, but not quite human.
Their skin was a pale blue-gray, smooth and faintly luminescent under the fluorescent lights. They had two normal arms, but a third arm extended from their back, casually holding a remote control.
Their face was angular, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. But it was their eyes that stood out.
They had **two large, normal human eyes** in the usual position.
But above those, on their forehead and temples, were **two smaller eyes**.
And below the main eyes, on their cheekbones, were **two more smaller eyes**.
Six eyes total, arranged in a spider-like pattern.
The main eyes were focused on the TV, watching a talk show. The smaller eyes tracked Osaze and Kemi as they entered, blinking independently.
"Morning," the clerk said, their voice smooth and androgynous. They didn't look away from the TV.
"Morning," Osaze said.
He walked down the aisles, scanning the shelves. His senses were sharper than usual—he could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the back, the faint buzz of the lights, the rustle of Kemi's jacket as she followed him.
And then he smelled it again.
Blood.
Closer this time.
Osaze stopped, his nostrils flaring slightly. He turned, his eyes scanning the pharmacy.
*Where is it coming from?*
His gaze landed on Kemi.
Osaze smirked. "Hey, Kemi."
Kemi looked at him. "What?"
Osaze grabbed a pack of menstrual pads from the shelf and held them up. "Isn't it that time of the month?"
Kemi's face turned red. "WHAT?!"
"You know," Osaze said, still smirking. "Just thought I'd be helpful."
Kemi's fist came out of nowhere.
She punched him square in the face.
Osaze stumbled backward, his glasses flying off, and hit the floor hard.
"YOU'RE AN IDIOT!" Kemi shouted, her voice echoing through the pharmacy.
Behind the counter, the clerk's third arm paused mid-click. All six of their eyes turned toward the commotion. They chuckled softly.
Osaze lay on the floor, holding his nose, laughing. "Ow! Okay, okay, I deserved that."
Kemi glared down at him, her arms crossed. "You're lucky I didn't hit you harder."
The AI device on the counter spoke up. **"Are you alright, sir? Shall I call for medical assistance?"**
"I'm fine," Osaze said, still grinning as he sat up and retrieved his glasses. "Just... underestimated my friend's right hook."
Kemi huffed and walked to the counter.
Osaze stood, rubbing his jaw, and followed.
The clerk's smaller eyes blinked at him in a slow, synchronized pattern. "Rough morning?"
Osaze grinned. "Something like that."
He leaned against the counter. "I need sleeping pills."
The clerk's third arm set down the remote and reached under the counter, pulling out a small box. Their main eyes finally shifted to look at him. "Standard dosage or strong?"
"Strong," Osaze said.
The clerk's smaller eyes blinked again. "Trouble sleeping?"
"Something like that."
The clerk nodded, scanning the box. "That'll be fifteen credits."
Osaze pulled out his card and tapped it against the scanner. The transaction beeped.
"Need anything else?" the clerk asked.
Osaze glanced at the refrigerated section near the back. "Yeah. One of those."
He pointed to a row of bottles on the top shelf—small, sleek, filled with a dark red liquid that fizzed faintly.
The clerk's main eyes studied him. "Carbonated blood? You don't look like a vampire."
"It's for a friend," Osaze said.
The clerk shrugged, their third arm reaching up and grabbing a bottle. They scanned it and slid it across the counter. "Twenty credits."
Osaze paid.
As he picked up the bottle, the clerk leaned forward slightly, their smaller eyes narrowing. "You sure you're okay, kid? You look... tense."
Osaze met their gaze—all six eyes watching him now. "I'm fine."
The clerk didn't look convinced, but they nodded. "Alright. Take care of yourself."
---
In the shadows near the back of the pharmacy, behind a shelf of vitamins and supplements, a figure stood perfectly still.
They were draped in darkness, their features obscured. Not invisible—just unnoticed. A trick of light and stillness.
They watched as Osaze and Kemi left.
Watched the way Osaze moved—tense, aware, scanning his surroundings.
Watched the way Kemi stayed close to him, protective.
The figure's lips curved into a faint smile.
*Interesting.*
They turned and slipped out the back exit, vanishing into the morning light.
---
Osaze and Kemi walked back to the apartment in silence.
When they arrived, Osaze tossed the bottle of carbonated blood to Damian, who was leaning against the kitchen counter.
Damian caught it effortlessly, glancing at the label. His eyebrows rose. "Carbonated blood? You're spoiling me."
"Don't get used to it," Osaze said.
Damian smirked, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. He sighed, his red eyes brightening slightly. "Not bad. Little too sweet, but not bad."
Osaze nodded, then headed toward his room. "I need some time. Don't bother me for a while."
Kemi stood in the doorway, watching him go. "Osaze?"
"I'm fine," Osaze called back. "I just need to talk to somebody."
He closed the door behind him, locking it.
Kemi bit her lip, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Then she walked back to the living room, where Chidi, Amara, and Damian were gathered around the evidence board.
"Is he alright?" Amara asked.
Kemi shook her head. "I don't know."
---
Inside his room, Osaze sat on the edge of his bed, the box of sleeping pills in his hand.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then he opened it.
The recommended dosage was three pills.
Osaze poured six into his palm.
*I'm not taking a nap,* he thought. *I'm going deep.*
He swallowed them dry, his throat working as they went down.
Then he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
His vision blurred.
His body felt heavy.
And then—
Darkness.
---
When Osaze opened his eyes, he was standing in the ancestral realm.
The ground beneath his feet was smooth and cold, like polished stone. The air shimmered faintly, distorted by the weight of spiritual energy.
And ahead of him, standing in a loose circle, were his ancestors.
**Osazuwa.** The healer, calm and composed, his arms crossed.
**Adesuwa.** The first female warrior, her expression sharp and watchful.
**Eghosa.** The warmonger, grinning, his eyes alight with anticipation.
**Ivie.** The creepy aunt, smiling faintly, her gaze unsettling.
**Omonigho.** The coward, fidgeting nervously.
**Òsómwèngié.** The silent one, standing apart, his expression unreadable.
And in the distance, lounging in a garden that shifted between Japanese pagodas and Chinese bamboo forests, was **Ìgè**—massive, divine, resting.
**Osazuwa stepped forward.**
"We were expecting you," he said. "But not this early."
Osaze's fists clenched. "What the hell was that? What controlled me during the fight?"
The ancestors exchanged glances.
**Adesuwa spoke.** "You want answers. Good. We'll give them to you. But first, you need to understand something."
Osaze waited.
**Osazuwa gestured.** "Yes. We can possess your body and fight for you. If you give us permission, we can lend you our strength, our skills, our experience. You can learn from those fights."
Osaze frowned. "Then what was that? Was it one of you?"
Silence.
**Eghosa laughed—a low, dark sound.** "No, boy. That wasn't one of us."
**Ivie tilted her head.** "That was the Beast."
Osaze's blood ran cold. "The... Beast?"
**Osazuwa nodded.** "One of our ancestors. The most savage, most powerful person in our bloodline. So powerful and so broken that he can take over your body if you give him even the smallest opening."
He gestured toward the distance.
Osaze turned.
And there it was.
The door.
Massive. Black. Bound with iron. Symbols glowing faintly red.
**Osazuwa's voice was grave.** "You remember this door?"
Osaze nodded slowly. "I... I pushed it open. Just a little."
**Adesuwa's eyes narrowed.** "Never touch that door again. Never get close to it. You don't want to see what's behind it. He was bound there for a reason."
Osaze stared at the door, his heart pounding.
**Osazuwa stepped closer.** "You have a choice, Osaze. We can teach you. Train you. Help you survive. But it will be brutal. Painful. You almost died last time."
Osaze's jaw tightened. "I'm not doing that again."
**Osazuwa's expression didn't change.** "Then you can let the Beast take over."
Osaze's eyes widened. "What's the catch?"
**Adesuwa spoke.** "If you use the Beast too much, it becomes anchored. It consumes pieces of your soul and uses them as fuel to kill its enemies."
Osaze's breath caught. "What?"
**Osazuwa nodded.** "But we are here to help you. So you choose."
Osaze was silent for a long moment.
Then he exhaled. "Teach me."
**Osazuwa smiled faintly.** "Good."
He stepped forward, placing a hand on Osaze's shoulder.
And the world shifted.
---
Osaze found himself in a new space—a sterile, clinical chamber that looked like a fusion of an ancient healing temple and a modern laboratory. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of herbs, vials of liquid, and strange instruments.
**Osazuwa stood before him.** "The first thing you need to learn is how to heal with blood."
Osaze frowned. "I thought I was already healing."
**Osazuwa's expression was serious.** "You are. On instinct. Your body has developed a healing factor just to keep you alive. But you don't control it. You don't understand it. And if you're going to survive what's coming, you need to master it."
He raised his hand, and blood seeped from his palm, coiling in the air like smoke.
"Blood is the foundation of life," Osazuwa said. "It carries oxygen, nutrients, and energy. It builds, repairs, and sustains. But it can also destroy."
He gestured, and the blood solidified into a blade—sharp, gleaming, deadly.
"You will learn to heal," Osazuwa said. "And you will learn to harm."
He lunged.
The blade slashed across Osaze's arm.
Pain exploded through him—sharp, searing, real.
Osaze gasped, stumbling backward. Blood poured from the wound, dripping onto the stone floor.
**Osazuwa's voice was calm.** "Heal it."
Osaze gritted his teeth, his hand pressing against the wound. "How?!"
"Feel your blood," Osazuwa said. "Feel the cells. Command them. Make them repair."
Osaze closed his eyes, focusing.
He could feel it—the warmth of his blood, the pulse of his heart, the frantic movement of cells trying to close the wound.
*Heal,* he thought. *Close. Repair.*
The bleeding slowed.
The wound closed—slowly, painfully, but it closed.
Osaze opened his eyes, breathing hard.
**Osazuwa nodded.** "Good. Again."
He slashed.
And again.
And again.
Hours passed.
Days.
Weeks.
In the ancestral realm, time moved differently. What felt like months to Osaze was only hours in the real world.
He learned to heal cuts. Burns. Broken bones. Shattered ribs.
He learned to do it faster. Instinctively. Without thinking.
And with each wound, each healing, his body began to adapt.
Like some humans are born immune to certain diseases—a genetic quirk, a single strand of DNA that makes them invulnerable—Osaze's body was learning to survive.
The constant damage, the endless healing, was forcing his cells to evolve.
His healing factor wasn't a gift.
It was *adaptation*.
His body was becoming what it needed to be to survive.
---
After weeks of training, Osazuwa finally stopped.
He stepped back, studying Osaze.
"You're healing faster now," Osazuwa said. "Your body is adapting. That's why you're still alive despite the curse."
Osaze looked down at his hands. The wounds from moments ago were already closed, the skin smooth.
**Osazuwa nodded.** "Good. Now you need to learn to heal *others*."
Osaze frowned. "Others?"
"You can heal yourself instinctively," Osazuwa said. "But healing another person requires *control*. You must manipulate *their* blood, not your own."
He summoned a spiritual construct—a human form, translucent and glowing faintly.
Osazuwa slashed the construct's arm.
Blood poured from the wound.
"Heal it," Osazuwa said.
Osaze raised his hand, hesitating.
"Focus," Osazuwa said. "Reach out with your mind. Feel their blood. Command it."
Osaze closed his eyes.
He could feel it—the construct's blood, warm and pulsing.
*Heal,* he thought. *Close. Repair.*
The bleeding slowed.
The wound closed.
Osaze opened his eyes, breathing hard.
**Osazuwa smiled.** "Good. Now watch closely."
---
Osazuwa summoned another construct—this one missing an arm, the stump bleeding.
"Regrowing limbs," Osazuwa said, "is the same principle as healing. But more complex."
He placed his hand over the stump.
Blood began to seep from the wound—not pouring out, but *building*.
Cells divided. Multiplied. Shaped themselves.
Bone formed first—white, solid, growing like a tree branch.
Then muscle wrapped around it, tendons connecting, blood vessels weaving through.
Finally, skin covered the new limb, smooth and whole.
The construct flexed its new arm.
**Osazuwa looked at Osaze.** "Do you understand?"
Osaze nodded slowly. "It's like... controlled cancer. Forcing cells to divide and grow. But guiding them. Shaping them."
**Osazuwa's eyes glinted.** "Exactly. Cancer destroys because it has no direction. But if you *guide* the growth, *shape* it, *control* it—you can rebuild what was lost."
He summoned another construct, this one whole.
"Now I'll show you the other side."
---
Osazuwa placed his hand on the construct's chest.
The construct's skin began to bulge.
Tumors grew beneath the surface—fast, aggressive, consuming.
But they didn't stop.
The growths expanded, swelling larger and larger, distorting the construct's body.
And then—
The construct *burst*.
Blood and tissue exploded outward, splattering across the floor.
Osaze flinched, his stomach turning.
**Osazuwa's voice was calm.** "That is uncontrolled cell division. Exponential growth. The body cannot sustain it. It collapses under its own mass."
He looked at Osaze. "Do you recognize this affliction?"
Osaze nodded, his voice quiet. "Cancer. We call it that in modern medicine. But... I've never seen it happen so fast."
Osazuwa nodded. "In the physical world, it takes time. But you can accelerate it. Force the cells to divide at an exponential rate using spiritual power."
He summoned another construct.
"Watch."
This time, the construct's skin began to crack, peeling away in patches. Blood oozed from the wounds, thick and dark.
"Leprosy," Osazuwa said. "You force the blood to abandon the extremities. The tissue dies. The body rots while still alive."
The construct crumbled.
He summoned another.
Blood began to pool beneath the skin, darkening, spreading like a stain.
"Blood poisoning," Osazuwa said. "You introduce spiritual corruption into the bloodstream.
The body's immune system attacks itself. Fever.
Organ failure.
Death."
The construct convulsed, then fell still.
Osazuwa turned to Osaze. "Do you understand the mechanism?"
Osaze nodded slowly. "You're using spiritual power to force genetic triggers.
The body already has the potential for these diseases—you're just... activating it. Making it manifest."
Osazuwa smiled faintly. "Good. The spiritual becomes physical. The command becomes reality."
He stepped closer, his expression darkening.
"Your body already has the potential for these diseases. Cancer cells exist in everyone—your immune system just keeps them in check.
Leprosy, blood poisoning, genetic disorders—they're all possibilities within the flesh."
He paused.
"What you're doing is using spiritual power to force those triggers. You're telling the body: 'Stop defending. Start destroying.'"
Osaze stared at him.
Osazuwa's voice was quiet. "Do you understand now? A healer who knows how to save life... also knows how to unmake it. Efficiently. Precisely. Without mercy."
Osaze's throat tightened.
"You've... you've done this before. Haven't you?"
Osazuwa was silent for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Yes. Many times. I was a healer. But when war came, I became something else."
He looked at Osaze, his expression calm but cold.
"A healer is one of the most dangerous people alive. Because we know exactly where to cut."
Osazuwa summoned a final construct.
"Now," he said. "Show me."
Osaze raised his hand, hesitating.
"Focus," Osazuwa said.
"Think of the cells. The process. The mechanism."
Osaze closed his eyes.
He reached out with his mind, feeling the construct's blood. He could sense the cells—dividing, replicating, balanced.
Divide, he thought. Don't stop. Keep dividing.
The construct's chest bulged.
Tumors grew beneath the surface, expanding rapidly.
The construct's body swelled, distorting, until—
It burst.
Osazuwa nodded. "Good. Again."
Hours turned into days.
Days turned into weeks.
Osaze learned to inflict disease with precision.
Cancer. Blood poisoning. Leprosy. Internal hemorrhaging.
He learned to make the body destroy itself.
And he learned to heal others—closing wounds, regrowing limbs, saving lives.
It was brutal.
It was terrifying.
But he learned.
After what felt like months of training, Osazuwa finally stopped.
Osaze stood before him, breathing hard, his body covered in sweat. His muscles ached. His spirit felt raw.
But he was stronger.
Osazuwa studied him. "You have talent. Your spiritual power is high. But..."
He frowned.
"Your body is weak. Why?"
Osaze didn't answer.
Osazuwa stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Your blood is weak. But your spiritual power is immense. You should be tearing yourself apart just by using this much energy. But you're not. Why?"
He circled Osaze, studying him like a puzzle.
"You don't feel pain when you use your power, do you? No wheezing. No burning in your chest. Not like a normal sickle cell patient."
Osaze shook his head.
Osazuwa's expression darkened. "Because your body is healing itself. Automatically. Without you even realizing it."
He paused, then turned and walked to a wall in his domain.
He placed his hand on a door—simple, wooden, unremarkable.
And pushed it open.
Inside was a massive library.
Shelves stretched endlessly in all directions, filled with books. Each one glowed faintly, pulsing with soft light.
Osaze stared. "What... what is this?"
Osazuwa smiled. "Your memory. Everything you've ever seen, heard, learned, or forgotten. It's all here."
He walked inside, his hand trailing along the spines of the books. "While you're in the ancestral realm, your mind is connected to this place. We can access it. Learn from it."
Osaze followed him, his eyes wide. "You can see my memories?"
"Not just see," Osazuwa said. He pulled a book from the shelf—"Introduction to Human Anatomy"—and opened it. His eyes scanned the pages rapidly. "I can read them. Study them. Learn from them."
He grabbed another book. And another. Soon, he was holding six books at once, flipping through them simultaneously.
Osaze blinked. "How are you—"
"We're in the spirit realm," Osazuwa said, not looking up. "There are almost no limits here. Unless you try to break the balance."
He paused, pulling another book from the shelf—"Infectious Diseases and Treatments."
His eyes scanned rapidly, taking in the pages. Then he paused, frowning.
"These diseases..." He flipped faster, his expression darkening. "Some of these are new. Alien-human hybrids. Cross-species infections from interbreeding."
He looked up at Osaze. "Your people are breeding with aliens?"
Osaze nodded. "Yeah. It's been happening for decades. Some diseases evolved because of it."
Osazuwa's frown deepened. He flipped back through the book, scanning the treatments. "But these... you have cures for these. Simple herbal remedies would work for most of them. And some of these complications..." He shook his head. "They don't need to exist. Your medicine is advanced enough to prevent them entirely. So why are people still dying?"
Osaze rubbed the back of his neck. "Not everyone has access to medicine. Or clean water. Or—"
Osazuwa looked at him, his expression darkening. "Your world has the knowledge to save lives. But you hoard it behind walls of money and power."
He set the books down, his jaw tight. "No wonder the government controls every part of life now. People have forgotten how to ask critical questions and explore on their own or look for the counsel or guidance of their elders or ancestors."
Osaze didn't answer.
Osazuwa was silent for a long moment, staring at the books.
Then he looked at Osaze. "Lie down. I need to check something."
Osaze obeyed, lying flat on the ground.
Osazuwa closed his eyes, his hand glowing faintly. He muttered an incantation—old words, ancient and heavy.
And then he looked into Osaze's soul.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
The soul was bright, powerful, vast.
But wrapped around it—coiled tight like chains—was the curse.
Dark. Pulsing. Alive.
Osazuwa pulled his hand back, his face grim.
"This is not good."
He pulled Osaze to his feet and called out.
"Everyone. We need to talk. Now."
The ancestors gathered.
Osazuwa raised his hand, and a projection appeared—a shimmering image of Osaze's soul, floating in the air.
And there, wrapped around it like chains, was the curse.
The ancestors stared in silence.
Adesuwa spoke first. "What is that?"
Osazuwa's voice was grim. "This isn't just sickle cell. This is a deliberate curse. Someone placed this on him."
Eghosa's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Osazuwa shook his head. "I don't know."
He studied the projection closely, his fingers tracing the edges of the curse.
"This curse has been here for a long time," he said quietly. "Looking at the way it's woven into his soul... the degradation, the integration... I'd estimate it's been here as long as HE has existed."
He paused, his expression grim. "This wasn't placed on him after birth. It was placed on him BEFORE. While he was still forming. And it's been growing with him ever since."
Adesuwa's eyes widened. "You mean it's part of him?"
Osazuwa nodded. "It's bound to him so deeply that removing it would be like removing his organs. It's not just a curse—it's woven into his very existence."
Ivie's voice was soft, unsettling. "Then whoever did this... they wanted to make sure he could never be free."
Osazuwa's jaw tightened. "Whoever did this... they were terrified of what he could become."
The projection flickered.
The curse pulsed.
And the ancestors fell silent.