Chapter 57 The Light Incarnate
When Amaka woke up, her head throbbed like a drumline. She sat up slowly, blinking against the morning light that now seemed too sharp, too layered
Then she saw it.
Black sludge.
Sticky, tar-like filth soaked into her bedsheet, hissing faintly with an unnatural odor. The air was thick with the scent of burned plastic and rot. Her breath caught in her throat. It was the residue—the poison—expelled from her body during awakening.
Gagging, she rushed to the bathroom.
Philip stepped in and, without hesitation, burned the bedsheet to ash with a flicker of conjured fire. His expression didn't change—he had seen this before. Awakening wasn't always beautiful. Often, it was violent. Messy. Like the body was rejecting the lies it had believed about its own limits. The smoke curled silently as he turned toward the hallway, sensing her return.
Amaka stepped back into the room, clutching a towel around her body. Her eyes flared slightly as she looked at him—then immediately covered them.
"Philip, I… can't look at you properly. Everything's glowing. The room… you… it's like the world is too loud."
Philip smiled gently.
He knew what she meant.
Ever since his own awakening, the world had changed. He could see the weave of reality—the invisible threads of energy flowing through every space. Mana in blue. Ether in violet. Fire, wind, earth, and water dancing around with sentient curiosity. He could even see a green hue clinging to plants and soil—perhaps the nature element.
But around Amaka, something else had begun to stir.
Light.
Pure light.
He watched as fine streams of light-elemental energy poured into her body from unseen sources, weaving around her like loyal spirits.
She was trying to get used to them. She flinched at the voices—not literal words, but the hum of energy brushing against her senses. The elements wanted her attention. They danced near her skin, gently pulsing.
Suddenly, one stream made contact.
And everything changed.
Her body jerked upright as if struck by lightning. A pulse of pure brilliance erupted from her, casting dancing reflections on the walls, floor, and ceiling. Philip shielded his eyes as the entire room was bathed in blinding white.
Amaka gasped as her body lifted off the ground. Her skin shimmered into pure radiance, her hair glowing like silver flame. Her eyes glowed gold as beams of light laced the walls, creating brilliant reflections on every surface.
For a moment, she was light.
An incarnate.
And then, just as suddenly, she dropped—collapsing back onto the bed with a loud exhale. Her body returned to flesh, but her clothes hadn't survived the transformation.
"Philip, get out!" she yelled, flushing red.
He turned away, grinning slightly as she scrambled into the bathroom again. The room still buzzed with the aftershock of her transformation.
Later, when she returned—dressed and composed—her tone was calmer.
"I've been practicing," she said, a bit breathless. "I think… I can bend light. Around myself."
"You mean—"
"Invisibility," she nodded. "At least partial. And maybe more. I don't know everything yet. I might start reading about the physics of light—reflection, refraction, that kind of thing. Maybe it'll help."
Philip gave a short laugh.
"From physics to metaphysics."
She smiled,
Vatican City – The Hidden Reliquary
Deep beneath the Vatican, far below the Sistine Chapel and its painted glory, there was a room not listed in any tour guide. Its walls were lined with relics too ancient and too powerful to be understood by modern theology. The air was thick with incense, prayer, and secrets. And at the center of this underground sanctum, twelve priests stood in a circle of salt, whispering in Latin, their voices layered in a holy rhythm known only to the Order of the Sacred Flame.
Then it happened.
Every candle in the reliquary flared at once, doubling in height, then dying completely, plunging the chamber into utter darkness.
For three seconds, nothing.
Then a blinding golden light burst from the altar stone at the center—pure, divine, and unfiltered. Every priest staggered backward, some shielding their eyes, some falling to their knees.
Cardinal Mikel stepped forward, jaw clenched beneath his silver beard. He had been the Keeper of the Light Watch for over three decades, and not once had the relics behaved like this.
"The resonance," whispered Father Adriel, voice shaking. "It's not coming from any of the recorded sanctified vessels. This is… external."
Mikel didn't reply at first. He approached the ancient artifact on the altar—a sliver of radiant crystal embedded in a gold cross. It now pulsed violently, the vibrations pushing out small gusts of wind with every beat.
He turned sharply toward the others. "Confirm the location."
Father Emilio stumbled to an archaic console in the corner of the chamber. Unlike the rest of the room, it wasn't old—it was alien. Technology given to them by the Stellar Dominion, long ago.
He pressed his palm into the interface.
Glyphs scrolled across the surface.
"Confirmed," he said after a tense silence. "Sub-Saharan Africa. Nigeria."
A long pause.
Then: "Lagos."
Gasps circled the chamber. One of the priests crossed himself quickly. Another muttered, a potential saint
"Who?" Cardinal Mikel demanded.
The ancient mural behind the altar, previously cracked and faded, now repaired itself with a burst of golden dust. A painted figure—long forgotten—now glowed softly in the dimness: a woman with eyes like suns and a cloak of light, standing atop a fractured world. Her arms were outstretched toward the heavens, and beneath her feet, darkness recoiled like a dying beast.
"It's her," whispered Father Emilio. "The Light Incarnate."
Don't we have people who went to see the new demigod? Let them check it out first
Cardinal Mikel straightened, his expression hardening. "Inform the Pope. Wake the Guardians in Florence. And summon the Paladins of the Crimson Sun."
"But she may not be hostile—" yes but since we have sensed it those parasite of the Devil church must have sensed it too.
"She awakened outside of our blessing, outside the Vatican's covenant. That makes her unpredictable. Dangerous." His voice dropped into something more commanding. The word hung like a blade in the silence. But she can be brought to the fold of the church.