The overgrown tree that had caught him during his desperate leap from the second-floor window swayed slightly in the December heat, its branches creaking with ominous warnings.
Professor Okafor only became aware of his bleeding when a drop of blood trickled down and landed in his eye.
He blinked vigorously, the sting blurring his vision, while one of his hands lost grip on the branch he was desperately clinging to. The rough bark bit into his palm again.
His fingers trembled, not with subtle shakes, but with full-bodied convulsions that only a sixty-eight-year-old man can experience while dangling three meters above unforgiving concrete, unsure if he would make it out alive.
The tree shuddered beneath him, emitting a long, weary creak. It seemed to issue a warning, "old man, think carefully about what you might say for the last time."
He can still feel a sharp ache in his ribs. His shirt hung torn at the shoulder, and each breath came with a jolt of pain that seemed to intensify with every inhale.
He tasted his own blood, not that he cared much for its flavor, but it felt reminiscent of fear. After all, any ordinary person in his situation would be terrified.
He did his best to push thoughts of the creature lurking in his office out of his mind.
The thing that had pursued him is now gone, but not without leaving chaos in its wake. He had heard it wreaking havoc in his office after he had jumped, smashing through four decades' worth of accumulated knowledge with careless brutality.
The sound of his desk crashing over, papers flying everywhere, and books hitting the ground with thuds that made him flinch, even from the precarious safety of his perch in the tree, echoed in his mind.
The photograph of his family, Ifeoma's smiling face, and the bright grins of his children lay crushed beneath clawed feet that knew nothing of the devastation it's creating.
Then silence enveloped the area, suggesting the creature had moved on... But it wasn't a comforting silence. It simply left him alone with the sound of his own heartbeat.
His grip faltered.
"Ah!"
In that brief moment, he felt his heart plummet, he knew that another slip could lead him to crash onto the concrete below.
The branch above creaked, shedding a shower of dust and splintered bark. The pressure in his remaining hand grew excruciating, his tendons feeling as if they might snap any moment.
The wind tossed him again, swinging him out before slamming him back against the trunk hard enough to blur his vision.
His feet scrambled uselessly, grasping only air and panic. He knew he should remain calm... but his body was running purely on instinct, and a power up of the awakening.
Three meters to the concrete below. While that distance wasn't likely to kill a young man, it was more than enough to break the bones of someone his age, that's his thoughts actually,buh with the little power up he got from the awakening, he might just have some scratches in his skull.
His affinity for Earth surged within him, an instinctual reaction to this perilous situation.
He can feel it in his bones, a weight he hadn't experienced just half an hour ago. His fingers sank deep into the wood with a surprising strength, the branch groaning but holding firm.
He didn't feel powerful. It was as if he had borrowed a strength that wasn't entirely his..his own though but he doesn't know it yet.
But he clung on tight...
He glanced up at the window he had jumped from. The shattered glass glinted on the floor like a field of tiny blades. His office was still in disarray, and his journal was lost in the chaos. His attempt to find courage lay buried under the debris.
If anyone survived to dig it out. If this apocalypse left anyone alive to care about the final thoughts of an old professor.
He looked down. The concrete appeared dauntingly far away, despite being just three meters below.
Even transformed, enhanced by whatever the System had done to him, his body wouldn't survive that fall without injury.
At the very least, broken legs. More likely, a shattered pelvis. Almost certainly, internal bleeding.
And then what? Lying on the ground, crippled, waiting for one of those creatures to find him? Bleeding out slowly while chaos unfolded around him?
No. He had to find a way back inside.
He had to locate other survivors, had to avoid dying alone in a tree after fifty-eight years that seemed increasingly squandered with each passing moment.
"Hello?" His voice cracked as he called out, surprising himself with the volume despite his fear. "Is someone there?"
The words burst forth without thought, pure desperation taking shape.
He had heard footsteps inside the building earlier, just before he jumped. Human footsteps.
Survivors. Maybe students, maybe colleagues, anyone who can help him avoid dying out here.
"Please!" His voice rose higher, his dignity already lost. "Someone! I'm outside! in the second floor! Please!"
Regrettably, there was no response, implying that he might not have been heard, or perhaps they were gone, or simply too occupied to respond.
Okafor's throat constricted. His eyes stung, either from unshed tears or sweat dripping into the cut above his brow. The terrifying thought of plummeting to his death deepened his sense of hopelessness.
He tried again, this time louder, straining to make his voice reach out despite the pain in his ribs with every shout. "Is anyone there? I need help! Please!"
The branch creaked again, but this time it sounded worse, a clean beautiful fracture. His entire body froze, while his heart pounded relentlessly against his ribs, desperate to break free.
"This is it",he thought. This is how cowards meet their end.
Images flashed in his mind.
Amara. Chidi. Nkechi.
A wave of guilt crashed over him, an added burden to what he is already enduring.
Amara Okonkwo's face surfaced vividly in his memory, a brilliant nineteen-year-old whose life was cut short because he failed to speak out against embezzlement.
She would have been his age someday if fate had been kinder. Instead, she is given in marriage in her village, her dreams extinguished, her potential wasted because of his silence.
Chidi Obi, a son raised by a single mother, the first in his family to attend university, now reduced to driving a taxi in Lagos, jaded and defeated.
All because of him.
Nkechi Eze, a village-sponsored student, the hope of an entire community, her destiny still uncertain.
He had sought her out afterward but to no avail. Perhaps she is dead, or somewhere out there suffering due to his choices.
And now he is here, clinging to a fragile branch, desperately wishing for someone younger, stronger, and better to rescue him once more.
The words from the journal he had penned flashed through his memory with striking clarity, every line etched in his mind as if the act of writing had solidified them into permanence:
"If something happens today, and I can't shake the feeling that it will, I want it known that I chose this moment to try. Though it may not be enough, and it feels too late, I will still attempt."
But what had he truly attempted? He had confined himself to his office, isolated and secure. When peril approached, he leapt from a window, abandoning others to confront whatever lurked in the halls.
What bravery was there in that? What redemption lay in surviving while others succumbed?
The branch creaked ominously...
"Help!" His voice erupted, raw and filled with desperation. "Please... I need help!"
Suddenly, he went still, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. He turned his eager gaze toward the window below...
Sounds! He detected footsteps approaching.
Shadows crept closer to the glass. Three figures, he can make them out now, distinct silhouettes moving toward him.
Tears blurred his vision, and he couldn't wipe them away without losing his grip on the branch. His throat burned from his frantic cries.
"I'm here! Outside!" he gasped, clutching the tree. "Please!"
The shadows shifted once more. Then he heard them, their footsteps racing, quickly, moving upstairs.
His breath caught, nearly morphing into a sob.
"They heard me."
A head emerged from the office window. He recognized that face in an instant...
It is him...
"Professor Okafor?!"
Chika, with something black smeared across his face, his glasses askew.
A wave of relief surged through him so powerfully that he nearly lost his hold on the branch. His hands shook uncontrollably, his entire body quivering in response. He leaned his forehead against the rough bark, taking shallow breaths that his bruised ribs would allow.
"Thank you," he murmured, addressing no one in particular. "Thank you. Thank you."
Okafor attempted to raise his head, but his neck protested painfully.
"I can't... the branch... it's going to break," he managed to voice out.
He can hear voices above him, their hurried movements echoing. He caught the sound of something being dragged, a piece of furniture scraping against the ground.
Then, a makeshift rope tumbled down.
It wasn't a real rope, just shirts tied together, the his familiar office curtains pulled tight with hasty knots.
"Grab hold! We'll pull you up!"
Okafor gaped at the distant reach. To grab it, he'd need to relinquish one hand.
An icy knot formed in his stomach, and he felt an unsettling chill snake up his spine.
With another creak, the branch beneath him groaned, splintering further.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"You can do this," he urged himself. "Just give it a shot."
Taking a deep, sharp breath, he released his grip with his right hand.
Pain surged through his arm. His left hand bore the entirety of his weight, feeling as if it would dislocate at any moment. Sweat made his fingers slick and unsteady.
Yet, his right hand clasped the rope.
"I've got it!" he yelled, his voice wavering, but relief flooded through him.
"On the count of three!" came the voice. "One! Two! Three!"
He let go of the branch...
He plummeted slightly, weightless for a brief instant before the rope yanked tight, nearly wrenched from its socket. His feet scrambled against the wall, searching for something solid to grasp.
The rope jerked upward in bursts, each tug stronger than the last, driven by frantic hands that were gaining power but not full control.
With every pull, it felt as though his shoulder might break free. Each tug shot pain through his already bruised ribs.
Then, hands seized him, yanking him through the window before dragging him inside.
The moment his feet hit the floor, his knees buckled. Chika and Paul caught him under the arms, lowering him gently.
He gasped for air, short and frantic, his chest heaving.
But he was alive, inside, and safe.
For now...
Three faces loomed over him, bloodstained and wide-eyed, trying to appear brave.
Chika, Paul, Abuchi.
The one in the center, the first to call out his name. His glasses were askew, his light skin marred with black ichor, perhaps his own, guilt etched across every line of his face even amid the chaos.
That is Chika Offor, the student with whom he had just discussed moral courage only hours before.
Standing beside him is Paul, tall and unwavering, his face and shirt stained with blood,this black ichor and a tear at the shoulder. Always serious, always composed, he clutched a small knife glistening with dark fluid.
Next to him, Abuchi trembles struggling to mask his fear, clenching a bloodied chair leg a weapon he didn't know how to wield.
These were the three friends Okafor had glimpsed from his window just before everything shattered. The three who had somehow survived in a world that had fallen apart, by who, by mere chance or perhaps fate, had made their way to the second floor and pulled him from the edge of despair when hope seemed lost.
Okafor opened his mouth, intent on thanking them, eager to recount what had transpired, to inquire about the campus, other survivors, and whether they had any news of his wife Ifeoma or the Philosophy department's fate amid the chaos.
But instead, a soft chuckle escaped him, followed by whimpering, then awkward laughs that burst forth uncontrollably, shaking him to the core and startling his friends more than any other disturbing image they had faced.
"Professor?" Chika inquired, concern etched in his voice. "Are you… hurt?"
"Where… you… uh..." Chika faltered, unable to finish his thought.
Okafor's dark complexion flushed a deep purple despite his usual demeanor, as embarrassment settled over him, causing him to emit small, awkward coughs. "I was chased by that thing, so I... had to jump..." he stammered, feeling more vulnerable than ever.
Then all at once, the weight of guilt, terror, and the brush with death crashed over him.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, too small for the room. "I'm… so sorry."
Paul knelt beside him, hands surprisingly gentle for someone who had clearly just been in a fight.
"Can you stand?"
Okafor wasn't sure, but he nodded anyway.
With their help, he got to his feet, his legs wobbling like they belonged to an older man. Blood flowed freely from his shoulder, and every breath sent pain ricocheting through his ribs.
But he stood.
Abuchi peered into the hallway, gripping the bloodstained chair leg, his fingers twitching with anxiety.
"We can't stay here," Paul asserted. "Professor… you'll have to walk. Slowly."
"I can try," Okafor rasped.
Try.
That word echoed again in his mind.
They led him to the door, each step feeling like a tentative promise his body was unwilling to uphold.
He glances back at his disheveled office, his journal, scattered notes, a shattered family photograph. He hesitated but then, with shaky steps, returned to retrieve the journal and the broken picture, cradling them like fragile memories.
Fourty years consumed in less than thirty minutes.
He turned to face forward again, leaning on his students for support.
Maybe this isn't redemption.
But it was better than perishing in a tree.
And for now… that is enough.
The hallway ahead flickered with dim, seeping lights.
Blood marred the walls, and bodies laying contorted in ways that should never occur.
A distant grinding sound echoed ominously, signaling that danger hadn't vanished but merely shifted.
Together, the four of them stepped into the darkness, moving toward a safety that remained uncertain.