The decision, once made, settled in the vast, humming silence of the Sanctum not as a weight, but as a foundation. The awe-struck paralysis that had gripped Adekunle evaporated, replaced by a current of pure, cold purpose. He looked at Funke, her face etched with a fierce, analytical resolve, and saw not his grieving aunt, but a field commander surveying her arsenal. The world outside was a graveyard, but in this subterranean womb of impossible technology, the seeds of a new beginning were waiting to be planted.
"Alright," Funke said, her voice crisp and devoid of any remaining wonder. She was all business now. "The list is ready. Power cells, water condensers, shelters, medical kit. We can't carry everything, so we focus on the essentials for a rapid extraction. Adekunle, your magic gauntlet said this place can make things. How?"
Adekunle closed his eyes, extending his consciousness through the gauntlet, querying the Sanctum's index. The answer flowed into his mind, seamless and intuitive. "There is a place. The heart of the Sanctum. It's called the Forge." He opened his eyes, a new confidence hardening his expression. "It's not for weapons. It's for creation. For tools." He gestured for her to follow. "This way."
He led them past the silent, watching ranks of angelic armour and the libraries of celestial law, towards the far side of the chamber, to a recessed area he hadn't noticed before. Here, the floor was a mosaic of interlocking geometric patterns that glowed with a faint blue light. At its center was a raised, circular plinth, empty and waiting. This was the Forge. It lacked the fire and fury of a human smithy; there was no soot, no clang of hammer on anvil, only a clean, potent silence that seemed to hold its breath.
"The schematics you chose," Adekunle said, turning to Funke. "The system has them cataloged. I just need to... request them."
Funke had already transferred her prioritized list to a small, smooth data-slate he had materialized for her from a nearby console—a simple task that had still left them both momentarily breathless. She held it up. "Let's start with the power cells. The small, high-density ones. We'll need at least four."
Nodding, Adekunle stepped onto the glowing mosaic. He faced the plinth, holding his gauntleted hand over its smooth surface. Closing his eyes, he pictured the schematics Funke had shown him, focusing on the image of the power cell. He didn't just think about it; he willed it, pushing the concept from his mind, through the gauntlet, and into the fabricator's systems.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, a low chime echoed, and the air above the plinth began to shimmer. Light converged, thin, laser-like beams of blue and white crisscrossing in a complex, three-dimensional dance. Raw energy, drawn from the Sanctum's immense central crystal, was being woven into matter. There was a rising hum, a feeling of immense pressure contained, and slowly, molecule by molecule, four sleek, slate-grey cylinders materialized out of the light, settling onto the plinth with a soft, final click.
Adekunle opened his eyes, sweat beading on his brow. The process had taken less than a minute, but it had demanded an intense, draining focus. He stepped forward and picked one up. It was cool to the touch, surprisingly dense for its size, and it hummed with a barely perceptible vibration of contained power.
Funke let out a low whistle. "Ben would have given a kidney for one of these," she murmured, her voice thick with a mixture of grief and wonder. She took the cell from him, turning it over and over in her hands, her engineer's eyes examining every seamless join. "Incredible. Alright, let's keep going. The water condensers next."
One by one, they brought the tools of their new hope into being. The condensers were elegant, silver devices that unfolded like metallic flowers. The shelters were packages of a shimmering, grey fabric that felt like silk but was as durable as canvas; the gauntlet's knowledge told him it would bend light and dampen their heat and energy signatures, making them all but invisible to most demonic senses. Lastly came the medical synthesizer, a white case filled with auto-injectors, diagnostic scanners, and small vials that the system could fill with healing compounds synthesized from something the archive called 'neutral biomass'—a term Adekunle found deeply unsettling but filed away for later.
With each creation, the effort became slightly easier as he grew more attuned to the Forge. Yet, the sheer miracle of it never lessened. They were equipping themselves not with scavenged scraps from a dead world, but with pristine artifacts from a living one.
While Funke began the practical, necessary work of organizing the gear into two large, surprisingly comfortable backpacks they had also fabricated, Adekunle knew he had one more preparation to make. He walked to the center of the chamber, the Conduit Blade cool and heavy on his hip. He drew it.
The hilt felt warm and familiar in his gauntleted hand, but the blade itself was nothing, just a length of milky crystal. He knew, intellectually, what it was supposed to do, but he had to feel it. He needed it to be as much a part of him as the gauntlet now was.
He pictured a simple practice target, a humanoid shape made of condensed, hardened carbon. He fed the request to the Forge, and moments later, a black, featureless mannequin stood silently on the plinth.
Taking a deep breath, Adekunle faced the target. He focused his will, channeling the energy that now flowed perpetually through him, down his arm, through the gauntlet, and into the crystalline hilt. A low hum vibrated up his arm, and a blade of pure, white-hot light erupted from the crystal, extending to just over a meter in length. It gave off no heat, but the air around it crackled, and the light it cast threw his sharp, dancing shadow against the far wall of the Sanctum.
It was terrifying. It was beautiful.
He took a practice swing. The blade was weightless, cutting through the air with a soft, lethal hiss. He moved through a series of strikes and parries, motions he didn't know he knew, the knowledge of the blade's use seemingly embedded in the gauntlet itself. It was a dance of deadly grace, efficient and precise. Finally, he lunged, plunging the point of the energy blade into the chest of the carbon mannequin.
There was no resistance. The blade passed through it as if it were smoke. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a fine, glowing line appeared where the blade had entered. The light spread through the target's entire form in a spiderweb of energy before it silently, completely, disintegrated into a fine grey dust that settled on the floor.
Adekunle stood, panting, the energy blade receding back into its crystalline housing. The sheer, effortless destructive power was intoxicating and horrifying. He had just erased something from existence.
"I see you've been busy," Funke's voice cut through his trance.
He turned, sheathing the sword. She had the two backpacks loaded and ready beside her wheelchair. A data-slate rested on her lap. Her expression was unreadable.
"We need to get used to our new tools," he said simply.
"Just make sure you remember it's a tool," she replied, her gaze flicking from the sword to his face. "Not a solution for everything. Now, come here. We need to check the map one last time before we go."
He joined her at the holographic projection plate. The living map of Earth reappeared, and he immediately zoomed in on Nigeria. His blood ran cold.
Tunde's group was in trouble. The dozen blue lights were no longer moving erratically; they were clustered together, stationary, backed up against the edge of a deep ravine. The line of red dots he had seen before was gone. In its place, a tight ring of them had surrounded the humans, cutting off all escape. The circle was tightening.
"They're trapped," Funke stated, her voice grim. "They've been run to ground. How long do they have?"
Adekunle pushed his focus into the map, the gauntlet feeding him data. "Their biosignatures are elevated. Fear, exhaustion. Some are already weak. The demons aren't attacking yet. They're waiting. Toying with them. Maybe waiting for full darkness." He looked at the time display on the slate. It was nearly 10 PM on the surface. Full darkness had already fallen.
"We have to go. Now," he said, the urgency a physical pain in his chest.
They wasted no more time. He shouldered one heavy pack and secured the second to the back of Funke's reinforced wheelchair. He took one last look around the magnificent, humming Sanctum—their sanctuary, their arsenal, their hope. It would be waiting for them.
The journey back up through the tunnels was the complete inverse of their descent. Before, they had been fleeing the unknown, plunging into a mysterious darkness. Now, they were ascending towards a known threat, armed with an impossible new power. The darkness was the same, but they were not. The silence of the earth no longer felt menacing, but like a held breath, waiting for them to act.
When they reached the cavern of pure water, they took a moment to top off their new condensers, the simple act a confirmation of their changed circumstances. Then, they moved on, up the final tunnel.
A faint rectangle of dusty, orange-hued light appeared ahead: the hidden doorway in the wall of the derelict building. The sounds and smells of the fallen world began to trickle in—the acrid tang of chemical haze in the air, the distant, mournful sigh of the wind blowing through skeletal ruins.
Adekunle pushed the wheelchair through the shimmering portal and back into the small, dusty room. The transition was jarring. The air here was thick and stale, the light sickly and weak. Behind them lay a realm of clean air, pure light, and limitless potential. Before them lay a dying world choked with demons.
He turned and watched as the portal in the concrete wall solidified, the humming faded, and it became, once more, just a solid, unremarkable wall. The key to their salvation was hidden once more.
He looked at Funke. She met his gaze, her face set like stone. She held up the data-slate, which now showed a topographical map with a blinking red dot marking their target.
"North-west," she said. "Seventy-two kilometers. No time to waste."
Adekunle nodded. He stepped to the doorway of the small building and looked out. The sun had long set, leaving the shattered landscape bathed in the eerie, perpetual twilight of the poisoned sky. It was a world of ghosts and monsters.
But tonight, something new was walking in it. Not just a survivor. Not just a scavenger. But a hunter, armed with a sword of light and a purpose forged in the heart of a fallen world.