The earth stopped pretending after that night.
By morning, the land around the construction site had changed shape. What used to be flat ground now rose and dipped like something breathing beneath a thin blanket. Cracks ran across the soil, not random—aimed. Always pointing toward where Chukwuemeka slept.
He felt it before he saw it.
His scar burned so badly he could not close his hand. The pain was not warning anymore. It was attention.
"It knows me fully now," he muttered.
Outside, people gathered at a distance, whispering. No one slept well. Dogs howled all night and refused to come back indoors. Chickens tore at their own feathers and died before dawn. The air smelled wet, even though it hadn't rained.
Sadiq stood beside Chukwuemeka, silent.
The boy's eyes were darker now. Not possessed—pulled. Like someone standing at the edge of a deep hole, fighting the urge to jump.
"It keeps saying your name," Sadiq whispered. "Over and over."
Chukwuemeka nodded.
"That means it's afraid."
The ground answered with a violent tremor.
A house near the edge of the site collapsed inward as roots punched through the floor. A man sleeping inside was dragged under before he could scream fully. The soil sealed behind him, smooth and clean, like he was never there.
Panic exploded.
People ran. Some tripped and never stood up again. The earth opened for them specifically, swallowing legs, torsos, heads. Screams cut off sharply, one by one.
Chukwuemeka moved.
He ran straight toward the site, ignoring Sadiq's shout behind him. Every step felt like walking against a pulling tide. Roots snapped at his feet, missing him by inches.
"Show yourself," he shouted.
The ground split.
A section of earth rose upward, slowly, horribly, shaping itself into something wrong. Not a creature. Not a tree.
A form.
Roots twisted together, thickening, stacking, bending into something that looked like a body standing upright. No face. Just knots where eyes should be. A hollow opening where a mouth would go.
The thing leaned forward.
The voice came from everywhere.
You cut me once, it said.
I learned your shape.
Chukwuemeka's knees shook.
Sadiq watched from behind, frozen.
The thing took a step.
Where it touched the ground, soil died. Grass blackened instantly. Stones cracked like eggshells.
"This land is not yours," Chukwuemeka said, forcing his voice steady. "It never was."
You fed me, the voice replied calmly. You fed me again.
The ground behind Chukwuemeka erupted.
Roots burst upward, wrapping around his legs, lifting him into the air. He screamed as they tightened, bones creaking. Memories flooded him violently—faces, screams, the underground world pulling him back.
Come home, the voice whispered. You belong beneath.
Sadiq broke.
He ran forward, screaming Chukwuemeka's name. The moment he crossed the invisible line, the ground froze.
The roots holding Chukwuemeka paused.
The thing turned—slowly—toward Sadiq.
Ah, it said softly. There you are.
Chukwuemeka shouted, "Don't listen to it!"
Sadiq shook, tears pouring down his face.
"It says I can make the pain stop," he cried. "It says you'll die if I don't help it."
The root-figure leaned closer.
You can end this, it told the boy. Give me what I need.
Chukwuemeka felt the truth slam into him.
Not blood.
Not sacrifice.
Choice.
"It needs permission," he gasped. "Sadiq—listen to me—it can't take without being invited."
The ground trembled violently, angry.
LIAR.
Roots slammed into Chukwuemeka's chest, cracking ribs. He screamed, coughing blood. The grip tightened.
Sadiq screamed too.
"No!" he shouted. "Stop hurting him!"
The earth hesitated.
That hesitation cost it.
Chukwuemeka forced his broken hand downward and slammed his bleeding palm against the soil. The pain exploded through him, but he held on, digging his fingers into the dirt.
"You don't own him," he growled. "You never did."
The scar flared white-hot.
The root-figure shrieked.
The ground convulsed. Roots recoiled violently, ripping free from Chukwuemeka and throwing him aside. He hit the ground hard, gasping.
The thing staggered.
Not wounded—but destabilized.
Sadiq stared, stunned.
"It can be stopped," Chukwuemeka whispered. "But not by me alone."
The earth roared.
All around them, roots began rising—not attacking, not reaching—gathering.
Preparing.
Deep underground, something ancient shifted its weight.
Not to strike.
But to rise fully.
And both the boy and the man understood the same terrible truth at the same time:
They had only delayed it.
The real breaking was coming.