"Yo, Osaze," Chidi said, leaning against the kitchen counter with the exhaustion of a man who'd seen too much. "What the hell happened to you?"
Osaze was making coffee. Simple. Methodical. "What do you mean?"
"What do I—" Chidi gestured at him, adjusting his tie with one hand. "Look at you! You look like you've been training with monks for a year or something. Your posture is different. You move different. Hell, you even *breathe* different."
Amara nodded from the couch. "He's right. You're... refined."
Kemi looked up from her laptop, studying him. "It's like someone took you apart and put you back together better."
Damian snorted from the window. "The boy went sleep for an hour and came out looking like he's mastered martial arts for a decade."
"It was longer than an hour for me," Osaze said simply.
"How much longer?" Amara asked.
"Long enough."
Chidi shook his head, loosening his tie further. He looked like he hadn't slept properly in days. "Man, can you introduce me to whoever trained you? I need to get on that program."
"You want to die repeatedly for eight months?" Osaze asked, taking a sip of coffee.
Everyone paused.
"...I'm good," Chidi said finally, rubbing his temples. "I'm too tired for that shit anyway."
"Yeah, thought so."
Kemi closed her laptop. "Alright, enough admiring Osaze's new physique. We have a location to check out."
"You sure about this?" Amara asked. "Going into ZER0 territory?"
"It's not their main base," Kemi said. "Just an outpost. If we're lucky, we can get information without starting a war."
"And if we're unlucky?" Chidi asked, already knowing the answer but asking anyway because that was his job.
Osaze set down his coffee cup. "Then we adapt."
The vehicle was a standard civilian transport. Nothing flashy. Nothing that would draw attention.
Chidi drove, looking like every overworked detective in history. Amara sat passenger. Kemi and Osaze in the back.
Damian was somewhere else. Nearby, but not *with* them. Backup, if things went wrong.
The city passed by outside the windows. Neon signs. Holographic advertisements. People going about their lives, unaware of the tensions building beneath the surface.
Osaze felt something shift beside him.
Ìgè materialized.
Not the massive divine form. Not even the medium-sized leopard that usually accompanied him.
This was... small.
A cat. White fur with blue spots and gold lining, but *small*. Domesticated-sized.
The leopard-cat stretched, then padded across the seat and climbed onto Kemi's lap.
Kemi froze. "Uh... Osaze?"
"That's Ìgè," Osaze said.
"I know it's Ìgè. Why is Ìgè a cat?"
The leopard-cat curled up on her lap, purring. It sounded like distant thunder, but... comfortable.
"He can manifest in different sizes now," Osaze explained. "Apparently, you're more comfortable than me."
Kemi tentatively reached down, running her fingers through the divine fur. It was impossibly soft. Warm. And it *hummed* with power.
"This is so weird," she muttered. "I'm petting a deity."
"Spirit," Ìgè corrected, his voice small and almost playful. "God implies I answer prayers. I mostly just eat things."
Chidi glanced in the rearview mirror, deadpan. "Did the cat just talk?"
"Yes."
"Cool. Cool cool cool." Chidi turned back to the road. "Just a normal day. Blood powers. Talking cats. I need a vacation."
Osaze watched Kemi interact with Ìgè, an idea forming.
"Kemi," he said. "Look at this."
He held out his hand, palm up.
Blood pooled in his palm, but it didn't just sit there. It moved. Shaped itself.
A butterfly formed. Delicate wings, intricate patterns, antennae that twitched as if alive.
It fluttered up, landing on Kemi's finger.
Her eyes widened. "Osaze..."
The butterfly's wings opened and closed slowly. Each movement was perfect. Graceful.
Beautiful.
"You learned this?" she whispered.
"From someone," he said simply.
Another form materialized in his other hand. A small bird. It chirped—actually chirped—and hopped onto the seat between them.
Kemi stared at the creatures, then at Osaze.
"You're showing off," she said.
"Maybe a little."
She laughed softly, and the sound made something in his chest warm. The butterfly fluttered to her shoulder, and the bird hopped onto her knee, next to where Ìgè was still purring.
"They're beautiful," Kemi said quietly.
"I wanted you to see," Osaze said. "That it's not just destruction. Not just violence."
She met his eyes. "I know. I've always known."
The bird dissolved back into blood, flowing back to Osaze. The butterfly lasted a moment longer, then followed.
"Show-off," Kemi said again, but she was smiling.
Ìgè rumbled approvingly. "The boy has learned well."
The industrial district was exactly as depressing as expected.
Abandoned factories. Rusted machinery. Graffiti covering every available surface.
But there was life here. People. Just... hidden.
Chidi parked the vehicle two blocks away from the target location.
"Damian's in position," Amara said, checking her wrist communicator. "Rooftop, three buildings west."
"Good." Osaze opened the door. "Let's go."
They walked toward the factory. Kemi had her laptop in a shoulder bag. Chidi and Amara both had weapons, but concealed. Amara's hands were in her jacket pockets, hiding the metal prosthetics beneath. Osaze had nothing visible.
He didn't need anything visible.
As they approached the factory area, they passed people on the street. Casual. Normal. Some sitting on crates, others leaning against walls, a few working on old vehicles.
They looked like locals. Workers. People just... existing in the industrial zone.
But Osaze noticed the way their eyes tracked. The subtle hand signals. The coordinated positioning.
These weren't random people.
They were surveillance.
One of them—a woman in a casual jacket, hair tied back—made eye contact with Osaze. Held it for just a moment too long.
Then she pulled out a wrist communicator.
"They know we're here," Osaze said quietly.
"Expected," Amara replied.
They continued to the factory gates. Two figures stood there, dressed in normal street clothes. Jeans. Hoodies. Work boots. Nothing that screamed "gang member."
But their posture gave them away. Alert. Ready.
"Stop right there," one of them said.
Osaze stopped. "We're looking for information."
"Information about what?"
"The people who attacked the crusade," Osaze said carefully. "The shooting at New Dawn Church three days ago. We want to know if anyone here has information on who did it."
The two figures looked at each other.
"Why you wan know?"
"Personal reasons."
"Personal." The figure on the left—a woman—studied them. "You police?"
"Two of us are," Osaze said, gesturing to Chidi and Amara. "But we're not here officially."
"Then why you here?"
"Because someone I care about was killed by that pastor," Osaze said. "And I think the people who attacked him know something about why."
The woman's posture shifted slightly. She pulled out her own communicator.
A brief conversation. Muffled. Then she nodded.
"Alright. Una fit enter. But act like clients."
"Clients?" Kemi asked.
"People wey wan hire us for job."
"We understand," Osaze said.
The gates opened.
---
The interior of the factory was larger than expected. Industrial equipment lined the walls, most of it non-functional. But in the center, there was activity.
People. Weapons. Supplies.
Some wore casual coats. Others dressed in normal street clothes. Nothing uniform. Nothing obvious.
The gate closed behind them with a heavy *clang*.
Osaze felt it immediately. The shift in atmosphere. The tension.
This was a trap.
A figure emerged from the far side of the factory floor. Massive. Easily seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the confidence of someone who knew they were the biggest threat in the room.
He wore a simple jacket over a tank top. No mask. Just a man—except he wasn't just a man.
"So," the figure said, his voice deep and rough. "Una come here dey lie say una wan hire us?"
"We came for information," Osaze said.
"Information." The massive figure laughed. It wasn't a friendly sound. "You think say we be library?"
He cracked his knuckles. "I think say una be spies. Police. Church."
"We're not Church," Osaze said.
"Prove am."
The massive figure lunged.
Fast. Too fast for someone his size.
His fist came at Osaze's head like a freight train.
Osaze caught it.
One hand. Fingers wrapped around the massive fist.
The impact shockwave rippled through the factory. Dust fell from the ceiling.
The massive figure's eyes widened.
Everyone froze.
Osaze's grip tightened. Not crushing. Just... *holding*.
"My father," Osaze said calmly, "was murdered. By a pastor named Ezekiel. I think the people who attacked that pastor know something about why."
The massive figure tried to pull his hand back. It didn't move.
"I'm here to find out what you know," Osaze continued. "Answer my questions quickly, truthfully, and we'll leave. No problems."
"And if we no gree?" the figure growled.
"Then we have problems."
The figure's other hand came up, trying to punch Osaze in the ribs.
Osaze's free hand shot out, catching that fist too.
Now both of the massive figure's hands were trapped.
"Last chance," Osaze said.
"Go fuck yourself."
Osaze sighed.
Then he activated his power.
The massive figure screamed.
Not from pain. Not yet.
From *sensation*.
His body was changing. Expanding. His muscles swelling, his torso distending, his skin stretching.
"Wetin dey happen?!" someone shouted.
The figure's arms bulged. His chest expanded like a balloon. His legs thickened grotesquely.
"Stop this!" he screamed. "Stop—"
His body grew. And grew.
Cancer cells. Exponential growth. Uncontrolled division.
The figure's body was too large now, too *wrong*.
"Osaze," Kemi said quietly. "That's enough."
But Osaze didn't stop.
The figure's body reached critical mass.
And then he *exploded*.
Blood. Tissue. Bone fragments.
It sprayed across the factory floor. Across the walls. Across the other people present.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The massive figure's remains collapsed to the ground in a wet heap.
Osaze stood in the center of it all, covered in blood, expression unchanged.
He raised his hand.
The blood—*all* of the blood—rose with it. Pooling. Coalescing.
Forming shapes.
Daggers. Dozens of them. Sharp. Lethal.
They hovered in the air, each one pointed at a different person. At every individual holding a weapon. At every potential threat.
Some aimed directly at foreheads. Others at eyes. Precise. Intentional.
Ìgè materialized beside Osaze in his small cat form, sitting on a nearby crate. He looked at the people covered in blood and gore.
"Oh, look," Ìgè said, voice dripping with amusement. "That one wet himself."
He pointed with a paw at a man whose pants were visibly soaked.
"How embarrassing," Ìgè continued, tail swishing. "Imagine being so scared you piss yourself in front of everyone. I can smell it from here."
"Shut up," the man muttered, face burning with shame.
"What was that?" Ìgè leaned forward. "I couldn't hear you over the sound of your bladder failing."
"Ìgè," Osaze said mildly.
"I'm just saying," the leopard-cat continued, "if you're going to threaten people, at least have the decency to not urinate on yourself when someone calls your bluff."
A few nervous laughs rippled through the crowd. The tension didn't break, but it... shifted.
"Anyone breathes wrong," Osaze said quietly, "gets one of these in the head."
His eyes swept across the room.
"I think it'll make you prettier."
Chidi, Amara, and Kemi stood behind him, staring.
"Yo," Chidi whispered, rubbing his face tiredly. "We should've just let him handle this alone. I didn't need to be here for this."
"Seriously," Amara muttered. "I could be doing paperwork right now."
One of the people raised a shaky hand. "You—you can't do this! We go call police!"
Osaze pointed at Chidi and Amara. "These two *are* police. They're my backup. You attacked first. Self-defense."
He smiled. It wasn't warm.
"Plus, you're criminals. You attacked a church. Shot at people. I kill you, I might get *rewarded*." He tilted his head. "So really, what's stopping me?"
Kemi stepped forward, looking at one of the blood daggers hovering near her. "You learned this?"
"From someone," Osaze said.
She reached out, almost touching it, then pulled back. "It's... efficient."
"That's the point."
Footsteps echoed from the upper level of the factory.
Everyone looked up.
A figure descended the metal stairs. Smaller than the others. But the way they moved—controlled, precise, *authoritative*—made it clear who was in charge.
She wore a casual coat over normal clothes. No mask. Just a woman in her thirties, dark skin, sharp eyes, and an expression that said she'd seen worse than exploding bodies.
"Alright, alright," she said, her voice clear and unmodulated. "Everybody calm down."
She reached the factory floor, surveying the scene. The blood. The remains. The floating daggers.
"It seems," she said, looking at Osaze, "we have a special guest today."
Osaze met her gaze. "You're in charge?"
"For this outpost, yes."
"Good." Osaze gestured to the blood daggers still hovering. "Tell your people to lower their weapons."
"You think you can threaten us?"
"I don't think. I know." Osaze's voice was ice. "Lower your weapons, or I demonstrate again."
The leader raised a hand. "Put them down. All of you."
Slowly, reluctantly, the people lowered their guns.
The blood daggers remained.
"Now," Osaze said. "We can talk."
"You just killed one of my people."
"He attacked first." Osaze's expression didn't change. "I responded. That's how this works."
The leader studied him for a long moment.
"What do you want to know?"
"The attack on the crusade. The shooting at New Dawn Church. Why did your people do it?"
"You have a problem with that pastor?"
"He killed my father."
The leader's posture shifted slightly. "I see."
"You attacked him for a reason. Tell me what it is."
"It's complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it."
The leader shook her head. "I can't just talk about this like that. I need to check with my boss."
"Then check."
She pulled out a wrist communicator. Not standard. Custom. Heavily encrypted, from the look of it.
She pressed a single button, and a holographic display flickered to life.
"ZER0," she said, switching to clear English. "We have a situation."
A voice crackled through. Distorted. Layered. But clear.
"I know."
The leader blinked. "You know?"
"The guy with the blood thing. Evbuomwan."
Osaze stiffened. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone who knows your name."
Kemi's eyes widened. She stepped forward, staring at the communicator.
"Wait," she said. "ZER0? *The* ZER0?"
"Yes."
"Oh my God." Kemi looked like she'd just met a celebrity. "You're—you're a legend. In the hacking community, you're—I can't even—my skills don't compare to—"
"Kemi," Osaze said.
She stopped, but she was still vibrating with barely contained excitement.
"If you want to know the truth," ZER0 said, "lower your weapons."
"Why should I?" Osaze asked.
"Because I was lied to. About Ezekiel. About the Church. About *you*."
The blood daggers hovered, still pointed.
"Lower them," ZER0 said. "Or this conversation ends now."
Osaze looked at Kemi. At Chidi. At Amara.
Chidi shrugged, looking exhausted. "Your call, man. I'm too tired to fight right now anyway."
Osaze let out a slow breath.
The blood daggers dissolved, falling to the ground in wet splashes.
The tension in the room dropped.
"Good," ZER0 said. "Now we can talk properly."
Several people started edging toward exits.
"Where are you going?" the leader asked.
"Boss, that guy just exploded someone," one of them said. "I'm not staying here."
Others murmured agreement, moving toward doors.
The leader sighed. "Fine. Go. Those who want to stay, stay."
About half the room emptied. The ones who remained were either too loyal, too curious, or too stunned to move.
"Alright," ZER0 said through the communicator. "Now that we have space to breathe properly..."
Osaze stepped forward. "Tell me about the Church."
"I will."
"Tell me about Ezekiel."
"I will."
"Tell me why my father really died."
There was a pause.
"I will," ZER0 said. "Right now. Everything."