Chapter 58 :The Light Incarnate (continued)
Unknown Location – The Maw Beneath Ibadan
Far below the crumbling ruins of an abandoned colonial chapel outside Ibadan, a spiral staircase carved from black obsidian led into the Maw—a hollow, throat-like cavern that pulsed with heat and blood-colored fog. No one knew who built it. It had existed long before modern Nigeria, before even the kingdoms, hidden in the soil like a buried wound.
At the bottom, lit only by crimson torches, thirteen figures in horned masks sat in a circle of bone. In the center of their ring was a basin filled with still, black water. It began to tremble.
One by one, their heads turned toward it.
The water boiled.
Then it burst into flame.
A screaming sound—raw, not human—echoed from the depths of the bowl as the fire turned white, then blinding gold. One masked figure recoiled, clutching their chest. Another began speaking in tongues, limbs twitching with seizure-like movements.
The High Priest rose.
His mask was fashioned from the skull of a child-sized demon, teeth still intact, the inside smeared with dried blood. His robes were stitched from human skin, blackened and ritual-marked.
He stepped forward, watching the golden flames with hatred in his voice.
"A Saint... is rising."
The others hissed.
"No," one growled. Another one . The last one was drowned in her cradle. The one before, burned alive . We crushed the third beneath the church she prayed in."
A young acolyte knelt beside him. "Where, master?"
The High Priest extended a dagger over the bowl and cut his palm. Blood dripped into the fire, hissing as it struck. Then, the fire folded inward and became an image.
A young woman, radiant, her form blurred by golden brilliance. Her eyes glowed, her skin pulsed with living light.
She floated mid-air, surrounded by beams lancing across a small room.
"She has incarnated," the High Priest whispered, awe and loathing mixing in his voice. "And with it, the Veil has thinned. The Light dares rise on Nigerian soil."
He turned to the masked figures.
"This cannot be allowed. If she completes her Ascension, the Balance tips. The Saints are churches living weapon against us
The others bowed low.
"What is your command, Grand Scourge?"
The High Priest raised both arms. From the shadows, a hunched figure crawled forward, cloaked in rotting cloth and black mist. Its face was a mass of stitched flesh and eyes—nine, each blinking independently.
It spoke in a whisper that choked the flame for a moment.
"Send the Gutterborn."
A chill fell over the Maw.
The Gutterborn were abominations, bred from corrupted children and fallen spirits. Shapeshifters. Eaters of light. Killers of saints.
"She has not fully Awakened," said the High Priest. "She is vulnerable. That made the chamber shudder.
He turned to the flame again, now shrinking.
"We will offer her death as tribute," he continued. "And perhaps… the Chains Below will loosen."
They began to chant, a dark hymn in a language older than man. The chamber dimmed as black ichor trickled from the ceiling. Somewhere in the shadows, the Gutterborn began to slither free.