12:15 PM.
Chika's lungs jolted back to life. Air surged in, hot and suffocating, feeling both unfamiliar and like a relic of the past, yet it was still air.
His chest expanded painfully, an internal shriek echoing through him as his ribs protested against the unnatural bending, cracking just so. But they were intact now, and the agony shifted to mere recollection... he couldn't bear to dig up those memories.
He lay on the ground.
"When did I fall?"
His hands pressed against concrete that felt grittier than he recalled.
The surface was like sandpaper now, a harsh contrast to the smoothness he remembered. A sharp sting radiating from his palms.
Something wet pooled between his fingers. "Blood? Mine? Or someone else's?"
He strained to sit up, every fiber of his muscles shouting in defiance.
"Get moving, Chika!"
The thought ricocheted in his mind, muffled and distant, like someone yelling from another room.
He forced himself upright. His arms trembled violently, almost buckling beneath him.
He felt as if his bones had turned to glass, every wrong move risking a shattering from within.
Scanning his surroundings, he estimated no more than thirty minutes had passed.
Thirty minutes?? Just thirty!??
Unthinkable!!
He had endured lifetimes in that darkness. He had perished and been reborn. His body had been ripped apart and painstakingly rebuilt cell by cell while some extraterrestrial entity rewrote the very laws of his existence.
Thirty minutes couldn't possibly encapsulate that level of torment.
Yet the sun above suggested otherwise. It was still December, still midday. The same searing heat clung to his skin, making his cheap shirt stick to his back, soaked in sweat that smelled foreign, a mix of copper and something synthetic his body had never produced.
Looking around, the campus around him had transformed.
Where neatly trimmed grass once filled the spaces between concrete paths, wild flora now erupted in disordered splendor.
Weeds towered at waist height, their stems as thick as his fingers, adorned with bulbous blossoms that emitted a soft glow, even under the bright midday sun.
The trees loomed like titans, their trunks expanded to surreal proportions, with bark splitting open to expose wood glistening with sap too radiant to be real.
Roots broke through the concrete like veins bursting through skin, creating fissures that spider-webbed across every paved area.
The side of the Philosophy building was now draped in creeping vines that had materialized less than an hour ago.
The leaves were oversized and vibrantly green, with edges so jagged they seemed capable of drawing blood.
Even the sky appeared altered. Though it remained blue and bright, it felt empty, as if something essential had been sapped from the atmosphere, leaving behind an eerily perfect imitation that almost seemed genuine but fell short of deceiving the eye.
Lifeless bodies lay scattered on the ground.
Chika's gaze instinctively roamed over them, his mind registering details before he could fully process what he was seeing. Twenty. Maybe thirty.
In the immediate vicinity of the Philosophy building, chaos reigned. Some bodies lay face down, limbs sprawled as if they had surrendered entirely. Others curled up tightly, shielding themselves, perhaps instinctively bracing for an awakening they hadn't anticipated.
A few were propped against the walls, their heads at unnatural angles that suggested broken necks.
Paul knelt a few meters away, one hand pressed to the ground for stability, gasping through gritted teeth. Blood oozed from his nose, a crimson line tracing his upper lip before dripping onto the concrete below.
His eyes were open yet unfocused, staring vacantly into the void while he struggled for breath.
Beyond him, Abuchi lay curled on his side, trembling. His hands clutched his ears, and though his mouth moved, no sound escaped, only silent words exchanged with himself, God, or the abyss that had nearly consumed them all.
Chika felt a rawness in his throat. Had he been yelling? He couldn't recall. The awakening had shattered his memories, leaving only haunting impressions of pain that his mind refused to piece together fully.
A student stumbled by, roughly twenty meters away, a tall figure clad in the faded colors of the engineering department.
Someone Chika barely knew, and likely never would. The student's expression was one of utter confusion, eyes wide, mouth flapping like a fish gasping for water. He spun around slowly, taking in the altered campus, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Then came a gut-churning sound.
Grinding.
A mechanical noise, like gears grinding against one another within metal confines that were clearly inadequate.
The sound set Chika's teeth on edge, igniting a primal revulsion that shot straight to his brainstem, bypassing rational thought entirely.
"What's that?" the engineering student whispered, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. "What is that noise?"
Chika followed the student's gaze downward.
The bodies.
Those who remained still when light returned. The "failed awakenings," as the system had once referred to them.
Suddenly, the corpse nearest the engineering student began to twitch.
At first, it was subtle, fingers curling, shoulders jerking.
Then came larger spams, the entire torso convulsing as if reanimated by unseen forces, puppeting the remains of flesh.
The grinding grew louder.
The skin of the body darkened. It wasn't merely bruising or decay. It challenged the very principles of evolution itself.
Healthy brown gave way to a sickly black, spreading from the chest like ink seeping through paper. The texture shifted; smooth human skin morphing into something rough, scaled, almost reptilian. Ridges emerged and valleys deepened, as flesh was consumed and replaced by a substance resembling carved volcanic rock.
Bones shifted beneath the straining skin. Crack! Pop! Crunch!
Each change emitting distinct sounds, visceral and clear, enough to make Chika's stomach churn.
The visage began to stretch, the jaw receding, extending beyond where the ears would normally reside, the mouth morphing into a horrific slit that divided the face almost entirely.
Skin surrounding the fissure ripped open, yet quickly healing, reshaping with unsettling efficiency.
Teeth burst forth from decayed gums, not merely growing, but erupting like molten rock from a volcanic vent, the teeth blasted through in jagged lines, filling the new maw with razor-sharp points that curled inward toward the throat.
Three rows. Four. Five. Each set overlapping the one below, forming a deadly funnel of bone created solely for one intent: to rip and grasp.
The limbs stretched unnaturally. Elbows bent in disconcerting angles,
Joints cracking with wet pops. Fingers melded together, five becoming three, transforming into claws that scraped against concrete, leaving deep grooves in the stone.
The legs twisted backward at the knees. The creature crouched on all fours, its back arched like a canine's yet strangely disproportionate.
On its forehead, where eyes once were, a tiny star appeared.
A single point, faintly glowing with a sickly yellow light that pulsing like a heart.
The eyes shifted,
Sliding across the skull's surface like bubbles on water, they repositioned to rest on either side of the head.
Prey-like eyes, offering a panoramic view but lacking depth perception. The drawback rendered its movements awkward, jerky, as it tilted its head side to side, attempting to gauge distance with a visual system ill-suited for a predator.
In Chika's line of sight, blue text appeared:
[CORRUPTED IDENTIFIED]
[Name: Shambler
Classification: Fodder Class
Rank: ★ (1-Star)
Threat Level: Low (Individual) | Medium (Swarm)
Speed: Slow
Class: Fodder]
The notification meant nothing. Just a jumble of nonsensical words hanging in the air, completely irrelevant.
It was supposed to be helpful and informative. But honestly, it was utterly useless since they failed to explain what "slow" actually meant or how to defeat it, or why there was a star on its forehead or...
The thing that once resembled a human, once had a name, a family, dreams of graduation and future aspirations now lost forever, pushed itself up from the ground.
For a fleeting moment, it stood upright, wobbling precariously, before collapsing back onto all fours with a sickening splat of contorted flesh against the concrete.
The air filled with a grinding noise.
Dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of bodies scattered across campus were undergoing the same horrific transformation.
Just in the Philosophy building's vicinity, at least twenty former humans were now writhing and morphing, their humanity peeling away like dead skin, revealing something primal and famished beneath.
The student stood frozen in place, mesmerized as the nearest grotesque figure completed its transformation just three meters away.
The creature's mouth gaped open, its jaw unhinging entirely, extending down to almost touch its chest and exposing a throat lined with rows of inward-spiraling teeth like a twisted meat grinder.
Those teeth rotated, grinding against each other, producing a mechanical sound that made Chika's teeth clench in discomfort.
Then it lunged at the student, launching itself upon him.
In an instant, the boy was standing in shock, then the mutated beast's jaws clamped around his head with a sickening crunch.
The bite took everything above his eyebrows, skull, brain, blood, thought, life, shearing through bone with horrifying precision.
The creature's throat worked with brutal efficiency. One convulsive swallow, and the chunk of his head disappeared down the spiral of grinding teeth.
Blood gushed from the student's neck stump.
He stood frozen for three full seconds, arms twitching helplessly by his sides, as final, errant signals sparked through a nervous system devoid of a functioning brain.
Then he collapsed sideways with a heavy thud.
Across the open space, another scream pierced the air. It was unmistakably a woman's voice.
It cut off abruptly in a wet gurgle that echoed with chilling clarity across the campus. Chika's head snapped toward the sound.
A girl, likely a first-year from her youthful face and the anxious way she navigated the campus, thrashed on the ground while two corrupted figures tore into her limbs.
One held her left arm in its jaws, yanking violently while its claws pinned her shoulder.
With a sound reminiscent of fabric tearing, the arm was ripped free, muscle and sinew giving way and the creature discarded it like trash, lunging for her exposed torso.
The second corrupted focused on her legs, biting through her right thigh just above the knee, its teeth meeting in the center accompanied by the sickening crack of a snapped femur, before it yanked its head sideways.
The leg separated cleanly, blood spraying out in geysers and pooling on the concrete.
The girl was still alive. Her screams echoed in desperation. Her remaining arm clawed futilely at the ground, trying to drag her body away, as the corrupted methodically dug into her chest.
Her ribs cracked, organs spilling out, steam rising from the exposed remains.
To Chika's left, a man grunted sharply, startled...
The corrupted that had slaughtered the engineering student now towered over a new target, a heavyset guy in a torn yellow shirt, someone who had been sprinting toward the Philosophy building for refuge.
With gruesome precision, the creature's arm thrust straight through the man's sternum, its clawed hand visible through his back, gripping something still pulsing.
Slowly, deliberately, the corrupted withdrew its arm.
In its grasp: a heart. Still beating. Thump. Thump. Thump. Three beats. Four. Five.
The creature arched its neck back and dropped the organ into its gaping mouth.
Pandemonium erupted across the campus. Corrupted beings flooded in from every angle, rising from the countless corpses strewn across the grounds, dozens, or perhaps even hundreds, drawn by the slightest movement, sounds, and the unmistakable scent of living flesh.
They surged with unnerving speed during their assaults, dropping to all fours and launching themselves at their targets like predators engineered for one purpose: extermination.
"Slow my foot,"
Paul mumbled, cursing the unreliable system that deemed these fast-moving horrors as "slow."
They aimed for specific body parts with unnerving accuracy. Hearts. Heads. Arms and legs.
Each strike was meticulously directed at zones chosen for optimal lethality or incapacitation. No wasted efforts, just brutal execution performed with cruel precision.
The bodies were piling up swiftly.
Torsos lay decapitated, their neck stumps ragged where jaws had shredded through vertebrae.
Limbless trunks continued to quiver weakly, shock keeping their owners conscious through trauma that should have led to an immediate demise.
Chest cavities were shelled out, ribs splayed like grotesque petals, organs removed with surgical skill.
The corrupted feasted on their victims while they were still breathing. They devoured hearts that continued to throb, consuming limbs even as their former owners bled out mere meters away.
They were effective, methodical, and relentless.
Chika's hand clasped around a rock.
The motion was instinctive and automatic.
His fingers wrapped around a smooth chunk of concrete, weighing perhaps two kilograms, its edges worn yet sturdy. The weight felt real, a tangible anchor in a world that no longer made sense.
He was breathing too quickly, the onset of hyperventilation creeping in. The rock quivered in his grasp, his entire arm shaking so violently he couldn't have kept it steady if his life depended on it.
And it did.
His life absolutely depended on it.
"Move. You have to move. Stand up. Run. Do something."
Those thoughts spiraled through his mind, but his legs refused to obey.
Every muscle in his body tightened, a primal instinct urging him that staying still meant safety.
Freeze, don't move. If you're quiet, the predator won't spot you.
But these predators weren't fooled by motion.
They hunted by the sound of a breath, the beat of a heart, the mere existence of life.
An image flashed in Chika's mind: Franco's pitch, eighteen months past, shrouded in darkness with three figures stepping from the shadows…
"Not now. Not NOW."
…Emeka's voice ringing out, calling his name, pleading for him to stay…
"Move. Move. MOVE."
…the brutal thud of fists striking flesh, Emeka's pained scream as Chika fled…
His hands tightened into fists, the jagged edges of the rock digging into his palm.
That was then. This is now. You abandoned Emeka. You let him face death alone. You can't…
Paul was the first to act.
Chika caught him in his periphery, rising to one knee, then to his feet, his movements precise and deliberate despite the blood dripping from his nose.
Paul's hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving his knife, a small folding blade, about ten centimeters, with a well-worn handle from four years of everyday use.
It was a gift from his father when Paul received his admission letter. An object he cherished more than any other, save for his family.
Now, it is the only thing standing between them and the approaching danger.
Paul's expression was unchanged, his face a mask of stoicism, the same composed demeanor he wore during exams, during the tough birth of Hope, during every crisis.
Yet his eyes were alive, sweeping the surroundings for threats, measuring distances, processing information with a strategic sharpness that naturally positioned Paul as their leader.
"Move," Paul said, his voice calm and devoid of emotion. Just a straightforward command. "We need to go. Now."
His hand found Abuchi's shoulder, gripping it firmly. Abuchi remained unresponsive, curled on the ground, hands over his ears, ensnared in his own mind where past traumas and current horrors clashed into a turmoil he couldn't grasp.
Paul yanked him to his feet with ease. The action felt automatic, practiced, mirroring the way he would lift Hope from her crib at three AM when she cried.
Abuchi wobbled, barely steadying himself, his expression blank.
Next, Paul shifted his focus to Chika. His other hand clasped Chika's arm just above the elbow.
"Philosophy building," Paul stated in that same detached tone. "Closest shelter. We're headed there. Quick."
A corrupted creature noticed them.
Thirty meters away, gorging on what used to be someone's friend, someone's roommate, someone who had woken that morning expecting a typical Friday.
The creature's head snapped up, blood dribbling from its bloated jaws, its side-mounted eyes zeroing in on them with a hunter's gaze.
It abandoned its meal…
And the corrupted sprang into action.
The System labeled it slow. That assessment was alarmingly and unequivocally inaccurate.
This thing moved with a speed that defied humanity, its reversed legs allowing it to leap forward with astounding force, closing the thirty-meter gap in mere seconds.
Paul pushed Abuchi behind him, the movement smooth and almost rehearsed.
The protective instinct that governed Paul's life, an instinct that made him wake at the faintest whimper from Hope, work extra hours to buy medicine for Precious, and accompany his brothers everywhere despite his fatigue, took over.
He stepped forward, placing himself between the approaching monster and his brothers, knife held low, gripped in reverse.
His expression remained impassive.
Yet, something shifted in his eyes,a grim acceptance of what lay ahead.
"He knows," Chika thought with a sinking feeling. He understands he can't win. He knows this creature is going to kill him. But he's stepping up anyway, because that's just who Paul is.
That's who he's always been. He believes his brothers will escape, survive, and look after his wife and daughter.
The corrupted lunged at him, its clawed limbs stretching outward, mouth wide enough to swallow a basketball.
Thirty meters shrank to fifteen in an instant. Then ten. Then five.
Paul braced for impact.
His grip on the knife tightened.
The creature leaped.
Paul ducked.
It wasn't a clean dodge. The creature's claws raked across his shoulder, tearing through fabric and flesh.
Three burning gashes opened across his back. But now he was beneath it, in its striking range, and he brought his knife up in a swift arc, from hip to sternum.
The blade bit down hard.
Very hard.
He felt the resistance that should have halted him at skin level or perhaps an inch into muscle.
Instead, the knife glided through, as if the corrupted's body offered no resistance. The wound gaped wide, black ichor spraying out, revealing pulsing yellow organs beneath.
There was no time to process the implications.
The corrupted wouldn't allow it, anyway, but the system interface flickered back into view:
[SKILL DISCOVERED: LAYERED CUT]
[Type: Oblivion Element - Offensive
Effect: Attacks ignore surface resistance, allowing weapon strikes to penetrate deeper.
Note: It cannot entirely bypass armor; each strike deepens based on force.]
The corrupted crashed to the ground behind him, and Paul was already turning, his feet sliding on the blood-slick concrete.
Fragments of his martial arts training from three years prior, before Hope's birth and before everything got complicated, returned to him.
He balanced on the balls of his feet.
Knife held low. Eyes focused on the center mass.
The creature recovered immediately.
Its spine twisted at an unthinkable angle. Its head nearly spun 180 degrees, then it launched itself again, faster this time, like it had adapted from the first attack.
Paul raised his left forearm.
The corrupted's claws bit into flesh, tearing through effortlessly, leaving three parallel wounds running from elbow to wrist.
The pain hit instantly, like a searing flare, but Paul had weathered worse. Childbirth had been nothing compared to the agony of watching Precious flatline for thirty-four seconds, it shattered something within him, a wound that never healed. Pain was merely information.
Information that is bluntly telling him you're too slow.
With a surge of determination, his knife hand lunged forward just as the corrupted's bulk swept past him.
The blade plunged into its shoulder, deep, slicing through flesh as if it encountered no resistance. He felt the bone shift beneath the steel.
The corrupted screeched, a sound like metal grinding against metal.
It spun faster than Paul could follow, one clawed hand striking him across the face.
Its temple collided with his jaw. His vision went blank, filled with a bright haze. Warm blood filled his mouth, and he realized his cheek had been torn open, skin hanging in tatters.
He lurched but managed to stay on his feet.
He couldn't afford to fall. If he went down, they were as good as dead.
The creature pressed its advantage, its long limbs allowing it to strike from angles Paul couldn't counter. A blow aimed at his ribs came, and Paul twisted away, taking it on his side instead.
He heard a crack. A sharp pain radiated through his chest with every breath he took.
He fought to close the gap, to re-enter the range where his knife had the upper hand.
But the corrupted was adapting, dancing back, circling him...
"Clever. It's learning."
Another blow came. Paul caught it on his already injury-laden forearm, feeling the claws scrape against bone.
His left arm hung useless at his side,too damaged, too much blood lost.
His knife remained gripped tightly in his right hand.
He feigned a move to the left. The corrupted creature tracked his motion, falling back on instincts it had picked up before.
But Paul went right. His blade bit into the creature's neck.
Delivering a clean cut.
Not enough to sever its head, but sufficient for thick black ichor to spray forth. The corrupted's movements grew erratic and clumsy.
Finish it, finish it, FINISH.
With a swift motion, the creature's leg swept his feet from beneath him.
Paul crashed to the ground. The impact drove the air from his lungs. The knife slipped from his grasp, skidding across the blood-slick floor, halting three meters away.
It might as well have been a mile.
The corrupted loomed over him, swaying slightly, injured but not finished. Ichor pooled from its neck, yet the wound was beginning to knit itself back together, healing, albeit slower than it should, but faster than Paul could act.
He made an effort to push himself up. Pain shot through his broken ribs. His injured arm buckled under his weight. Blood from his face dripped into his eyes, turning his vision a horrid crimson.
Get up. GET UP.
His body refused to respond... though he have a feeling that something is fixing his injuries, only that it's slower than the creature before him..it might take minutes,here a few seconds is all that is needed to decide the victor.
The creature's mouth gaped open, its jaw expanding grotesquely. The sound of its rotating teeth grinding filled his head, a relentless noise that drowned his thoughts.
It crouched low.
Ready to leap, eyeing his throat. One bite. A swift death, if he was fortunate.
Paul kept his eyes open.
He had never excelled at turning away.
He had witnessed every agonizing moment of Hope's difficult birth, the heart monitor of Precious flatlining, his mother's last breaths in Cameroon before moving to Nigeria.
He would not look away this time either.
I'm sorry, he thought. Not directed at God or fate, but to Precious. To Hope. To the brothers behind him whom he had failed to shield.
I'm sorry for my weakness; senior brother was right... I have always been weak.
The corrupted tensed, preparing for its strike aimed at his head.
And then Chika screamed...
Chika's vision splintered.
Two images intertwined, merging the past and present into a blurry haze.
Emeka lay on the ground. Paul knelt beside him.
Danladi loomed overhead, the corrupted readying themselves to strike.
Blood pooled on the concrete. Blood on the pavement.
I ran. I abandoned him. I allowed him to die alone.
The corrupted tensed, poised to leap.
I can't. Not this again. I CAN'T.
Paul's brother. Four years spent together. Alphabetically seated. Sharing meat pies. The phone they bought him after he was mugged.
"You're our brother. We protect our own."
Standing vigil by his door when he fell apart over Emeka. Refusing to leave.
"Always."
Friday night dinners. Week after week. Ordering three plates. Waiting. Always waiting.
If Paul dies...
If Paul dies, I'll have to tell Precious.
I'll have to face Hope and explain that Daddy's gone.
I'll have to confront Abuchi and...
I'll have to live with the knowledge that I ran AGAIN...
Something in Chika shattered.
Not just shattered, but snapped. Like a cable under too much strain finally giving way.
The roar that erupted from his throat felt inhuman.
His body moved.
Not a thought in his mind, no decision made just movement.His legs propelling him forward, arms flailing. The rock still gripped in his fist.
The corrupted sensed him,it begins to shift. Attention moving from Paul to…
Chika collided with it at full speed.
Physics dictated that he should bounce off; the creature outweighed him. Basic momentum.
But instead, he shoved it aside. They crashed to the ground in a chaotic tangle. Rolling. The corrupted's claws swiped at him, grazing his flesh, striking concrete, sending up sparks.
Chika found himself on top, his knees pinning its torso. His weight keeping it down.
The creature thrashed beneath him, nearly throwing him off. Its reversed legs offering unexpected leverage.
He lifted the rock.
Brought it crashing down onto the corrupted's skull.
CRUNCH.
Bone cracking. The monster screamed, an otherworldly sound, like metal grinding against metal, its body convulsing.
He lifted the rock again.
Brought it down.
CRUNCH.
Again.
CRUNCH.
Again.
CRUNCH.
[SKILL DISCOVERED: PAIN SPIKE]
[Type: Chaos Element - Debilitating
Effect: Attacks amplify target's pain receptors exponentially
Note: Does not increase damage, Increases suffering.]
The notification was meaningless.
He kept swinging.
The corrupted's movements grew weaker. Jerky. Yet he didn't stop; neither did he.
That cable inside him had snapped beyond repair. Something deep within had fractured, leaving just this, rock, skull, blood, again, rock, skull, blood, again...
"Chika!"
Paul's voice sounded far away...
"Chika, it's dead! It's DEAD!"
He continued to swing.
"CHIKA!"
Paul's hand clasped his wrist mid-swing.
Halting the rock's descent with sheer force.
Chika struggled against the grip. Desperate to break free. Still needing to strike the creature that had threatened Paul, that had nearly taken Paul's life, the embodiment of everything wrong in this impossible nightmare...
"It's over," Paul said again, his tone more resolute this time, cutting through the confusion that had clouded the moment. "We have to move. Right now. They're coming."
The gravity of his words settled in slowly.
Chika's eyesight began to focus.
In front of them lay the corrupted creature, its head reduced to a mushy mess, unrecognizable, utterly lifeless.
Dark liquid pooled beneath the shattered skull, and his hands were smeared with it, still warm and slick.
The stone slipped from his grasp, landing on the concrete with a dull thud.
Paul steadied him, lifting him to his feet with a gentle grip, despite the urgency of the situation.
Abuchi stood nearby, panting heavily, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the mangled figure, unable to process what he had just seen.
All around them, chaos continued, the sounds of grinding and screams filled the air as the campus morphed into a scene of slaughter.
"Philosophy building," Paul instructed again. "Let's go. Both of you. Now."
They sprang into action.
Paul took the lead, knife clenched tightly in one hand, the other arm supporting Abuchi as he wobbled along on shaky legs.
Chika followed, his mind disengaged, operating on autopilot while he struggled to grasp the chaos that had just unfolded.
Twenty meters to the entrance of the Philosophy building.
Fifteen.
Ten...
A group of corrupted suddenly turned toward them, three in total, starting to charge.
Five meters...
They burst through the door. Paul slammed it shut behind them, bracing his weight against the frame, breathless as if he had just sprinted a marathon... actually considering his still healing injuries.
Darkness enveloped them.
Inside the building, there was no light. The windows were choked with plants, blocking out any visibility. They were submerged in shadows, the distant screams echoing through the walls.
But at least there were walls, barriers separating them from the terror lurking outside. Just thirty seconds of relative safety in a world that had become unrecognizable.
In the pitch black, Chika stared at his hands.
Black ichor, the blood of the corrupted. It was still dripping from his fingers.
He had actually killed something, beaten it to death while a part of him screamed that this wasn't who he was supposed to be, wasn't who he wanted to become.
When it counts, who will you be?
Now he understood.
In that moment of crisis, he had become something primal. Something that could kill without hesitation when his brothers needed him.
The guilt that had weighed him down for eighteen months felt far away, not absent, never truly gone.
Yet it felt off, somehow, lacking the weight of the reality that stood before him.
It was different in some way less significant than what he was facing directly.
Emeka's death. His own cowardice. Mrs. Okonkwo's ability to forgive. All of it felt like it belonged to another world.
Chika was no longer the same person.
This new reality required him to adapt in ways he never imagined.
As he sat in the darkness, hearing Paul's heavy breaths and Abuchi's quiet sobs, Chika realized they would all need to become something darker to get through this.
The real question was whether they could turn into monsters and still find their way back.
.