The storm over Manhattan came without warning.
Lightning crawled across the night sky like veins of fire, painting brief glimpses of the city's glittering towers before thunder drowned out its restless hum. Rain struck the glass walls of Chief Roman's penthouse office, racing down in erratic streaks that blurred the lights of the city below.
Inside, all was still except for the faint hum of machines and the sharp rhythm of Roman's breathing.
He stood before the massive projection screen dominating the room — a live feed from the Jos containment facility. The image crackled with static; alarms flickered in the background, warning of containment instability.
But Roman barely noticed. His eyes were locked on the figure in the chamber.
The amour — the ancient relic unearthed from the Nok site — pulsed faintly, as though it breathed. Its bronze surface shimmered under containment lights, veins of deep red light crawling across it like living roots. The headpiece shifted slightly, its eyes glowing dimly, following unseen motion.
Roman whispered to himself, "Beautiful."
The voice that had haunted him for nights came again — soft, unearthly, vibrating not through the speakers but through his mind.
"You seek what you do not understand."
He exhaled, steadying himself. "On the contrary," he murmured, "I understand perfectly. You are what the ancients feared… and what I have long desired."
The reflection in the glass behind him shimmered. For a fleeting moment, it wasn't his own face he saw — but something watching him, patient, predatory.
He straightened, voice rising slightly. "If you can hear me, then you know I'm not your enemy. I'm the one who found you. I freed you from the dirt and silence."
No answer. Only the distant growl of thunder.
Roman pressed on. "They buried you because they feared your power. But I see it for what it is — a gift. Together, we can build something greater than kingdoms. You and I can make gods of men."
The lights flickered. The screens glitched. The storm's reflection merged with the crimson glow of the amour until the entire room seemed to pulse with life.
Then the voice came again, deeper this time, woven into the thunder.
"You unearth the vessel… yet do not kneel before the god within."
Roman's pulse quickened. "Then show yourself," he said quietly.
The image on the projection shifted. The feed distorted — lines of static stretched and tore — and suddenly the screen became a window into something vast and dark. Molten light glowed from deep within, outlining a colossal form of flame and shadow.
The breath caught in Roman's throat. "You're magnificent."
"You name me a tool," the voice thundered, "and call it reverence. You cage what you fear and call it science."
Roman braced himself against the desk. His heart pounded, but his mind burned with purpose. "I don't want to cage you," he said. "I want to understand you — merge our strength. Flesh and god. Science and divinity."
The presence seemed to lean closer.
"Partnership," it whispered mockingly. "A word men use before betrayal."
Lightning flared outside, turning the entire penthouse silver-white for an instant. Roman saw his reflection again — and in that reflection, his eyes gleamed bronze.
He pressed forward. "I can give you a body," he said. "A form to inhabit. Circuits that can bear your flame. You could live again — not as a myth, but as a god reborn."
"And what would you gain, mortal?"
Roman's lips twitched. He almost said everything. But instead, he replied, "A world in order. A civilization shaped by your wisdom and my will."
The voice grew colder, quieter.
"You speak of order, yet your kind births only hunger. Even your blood calls to me."
Roman frowned — and on one of the smaller monitors, an alert flashed: Neural resonance detected – Subject: Amara Roman.
His chest tightened. "No…"
"The vessel recognizes its kin," the entity said. "The bond runs through her. The seal cracks through the daughter."
Roman slammed his fist on the desk. "You will not touch her!"
Thunder rolled through the sky, shaking the windows. The amour's eyes flared brighter on the screen, the red glow filling the room like liquid fire.
"Then trade."
Roman's throat went dry. "Trade?"
"A covenant of power. Give what is yours, and I will spare what is mine."
The meaning unfolded in his mind — simple and absolute. The being demanded something living in return for control.
Roman's breath trembled. "If I give myself," he whispered, "you'll release her?"
The voice's tone softened, almost tender.
"The flesh of ambition feeds the flame. Accept me, and your line will endure in fire."
Outside, lightning struck the Empire State Building, bathing the skyline in blue-white light. For the first time in years, Roman hesitated. The city stretched beneath him like a field of stars — his empire, his triumph — and yet, none of it mattered now except his daughter.
He lowered his head. "What must I do?"
"Break the seal."
His gaze returned to the gem at the amour's chest — glowing faintly, still bound by Dr. Nwankwo's ritual.
Roman whispered, "Then it's done."
He turned to the control console, fingers shaking slightly as he keyed in the override. "System access: Roman. Clearance A-Prime. Authorization: override all safeties."
Alarms howled. "Warning: resonance field collapse imminent."
Roman didn't flinch. "Do it," he commanded.
The feed surged — static, light, distortion. The containment chamber exploded in a burst of crimson energy. The glass walls spidered and shattered outward.
And then — impossibly — the amour turned toward him through the feed, as though the two were face to face.
For a long second, everything fell silent.
Then the voice filled the room — not through speakers, but through his own heartbeat.
"Covenant accepted."
Pain ignited through his chest. Roman dropped to his knees, clutching at his shirt. His veins burned molten gold beneath his skin. Symbols flashed across his vision, ancient and alive.
In the reflection of the glass wall, his body twisted — and another form rose behind him: darker, taller, its eyes glowing bronze.
Roman gasped, his voice breaking. "What… are you doing?"
The voice, calm now, whispered from within.
"Becoming you."
Outside, the storm split the sky wide open, and for a moment, the lights of Manhattan dimmed — as though the city itself bowed to something newly awakened.