The forest whispered around him. Leaves rustled in the dark. Crickets sang low warnings.
Idris Husafi moved with purpose.
He had separated from his group nearly fifteen minutes ago. Every second away was a risk. But if things went well—if the timing was right—this might be his only window to receive the shrine coordinates without the Adesinas knowing. Without anyone knowing.
He hoped Master Hassan had already received them. They couldn't afford delays. Not with that pest, Ajani Adesina, still trailing him like a curious fly.
If that idiot sees anything, Idris thought, he'll run straight to Deji. And if Deji knows, it's over. Everything we've planned… wasted.
No. Idris wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't be the one who ruined it for everyone. Not him.
He moved fast, weaving through dense brush, searching for a place to link into the Izu. It had to be secure. Safe. Out of sight. If a Voro caught him mid-connection, he'd be torn open before he could even respond.
Suddenly, he found it — a massive old ogbono tree, its roots stretched wide, with a low-hanging canopy of thick, interlocked branches. Like a natural umbrella. He leapt to the top of it quickly, positioning himself at the center where the branches intertwined like a cradle.
From here, the forest opened up beneath him.
Night had already claimed most of the canopy, but his divine sight cut through the dark like flame through paper. No signs of Voros. No signs of Ajani.
Perfect.
He steadied his breathing, and slipped into the Divine Realm.
The link sparked to life immediately. The other Husafi members were already present. He was the last to arrive.
Master Hassan's voice echoed in the shared space — clipped, focused.
"Idris, finally. You're late."
"I'm here," Idris said quickly, still catching his breath.
Hassan nodded once, then gestured.
The shrine coordinates appeared as glowing etchings — carved over a ghostly map of the South-East Zone. Five total. Each marked with precise spiritual landmarks Idris could now recognize from his physical location.
Even from the tree, he could spot where two of them likely were.
He burned the layout into memory, then exited the Izu. No time to waste.
He pulled out his personal map and began marking the shrines down. No light — just divine ink, faint and dim. Barely visible.
By the time he finished, he dropped from the tree quietly, landing with a muted thud.
Then he looked up.
Ajani was there.
Covered in blood. Four Voros lay mangled behind him, their limbs still twitching. His breath was ragged, double chakrams still spinning faintly on both wrists.
"What were you doing up there?" Ajani barked.
Before Idris could respond, Ajani closed the gap and slammed him against the tree, one elbow across his neck, a chakram glowing by his throat.
"You were conducting an Izu, weren't you?"
Idris's heart jumped. He knew he should fight back — he could fight back — but panic gripped him tighter than the arm on his throat.
"N-no. I was just… checking the terrain. Trying to understand the forest."
Ajani pressed harder. "And completely missed seven Voros attacking down here? That's the best you've got?"
He was sharp. Too sharp.
"I don't like liars, Idris. Tell me the truth. Now."
Idris's mind spun. No good exit. No backup. And now this Adesina—this pest—was about to blow everything apart.
Ajani's eyes didn't flinch. "Since you're unwilling to talk, then you better listen. When Major Deji reached out to me through an Izu to confirm our location."
He took a breath and tilted his head slightly.
"Of course, I told him you'd gone off on your own. Supposedly aggravated by the delay. How cunning of you."
He leaned in, voice sharp and close. "He didn't like that answer. Told me to follow you. Keep out of sight. Observe everything. Because"—his eyes narrowed—"the Husafis might be plotting something."
Idris's heart thudded against his chest.
So Deji already suspected… one of the Udokas must've warned him. The thought twisted through his mind like smoke. Of course. As expected of the Easterners…
Ajani's gaze flicked downward.
"Judging by that map and the way you were perched like a falcon... you've already received some information, haven't you?"
Idris's throat clenched.
Ajani didn't need confirmation. His tone had shifted—from inquiry to judgment.
"So this was it. A secret Izu. You Husafis are coordinating behind everyone's backs. Sharing vital information, while the rest of us move through this forest blind."
He stepped back now, giving Idris a full, unimpressed glance.
"What did you receive?" he asked coldly. "Shrine locations? Fallen movements? Was this entire contract a setup? A strategy to come out looking like the heroes, to what end?"
The questions fell like blades—each one closer to the truth than Idris was prepared for.
"Why are you acting like I'm the only one doing this?" Idris said, voice low but burning. "Every other family's doing the same thing. Major Deji was probably in an Izu with an Udoka. That would explain how quick you were to suspect me."
Ajani's grip didn't loosen. If anything, it grew colder.
"At least they're not hiding it," he said flatly. "But you are. And that tells me one thing—whatever you're doing, you can't afford anyone to know. You can't even afford for anyone to suspect that you conducted an Izu during this contract."
Now it all made sense to Idris what Ajani had just done.
"This Adesina was too sharp. He'd accused me of something that wasn't exactly wrong—questionable at most—but he pushed with such precision, it forced me to lie. And by lying, I handed him the truth. Every question, every stare, it all cornered me… until my own panic exposed my real intentions."
Idris stared at him, frozen somewhere between fear and reluctant admiration.
"Is this how they all are? he wondered. So precise? So intuitive?"
He was impressed. But also cornered.
No clever excuse would work on this man.
There was only one solution.
With a sudden jerk, Idris tore himself from Ajani's hold and sprang sideways, breath tight and ready for a fight.
A metallic hiss sliced through the air as Idris activated his Divine Craft.
From each of his arms, a heavy gauntlet snapped into form — dark metallic fists forged like blunt hammers, their surface engraved with faint Husafi sigils that pulsed dimly with divine energy. The sheer weight of them made the ground crunch beneath his stance.
But that wasn't all.
Behind each knuckle, embedded within the back-hand plate of the hammer fists, curved blades clicked forward—sleek and sharp, like fangs folded into metal. They extended halfway out, just enough to threaten. But with a single command, they could shoot forward—extending fully past the knuckles in a deadly lunge.
Ajani didn't flinch. He lowered into a ready stance, his twin chakrams spinning silently into his hands, silver edges catching what little moonlight peeked through the trees.
As if he'd been expecting this the whole time.
"So my observation was accurate," Ajani said, his voice calm but edged with disappointment. "What a shame."
The air between them stilled.
The forest, heavy with breath and silence, waited.
***
Lesser Hand, Idris Husafi charged exactly like I thought he would.
Heavy. Head-on. No hesitation.
A pure Husafi tactic — power over finesse. I've seen it before.
I shifted back, raising my chakrams. One breath. One step.
He was already in my face.
The first punch scraped the edge of my forearm as I blocked. Even with the angle, the impact ran through my bones like a tremor. That wasn't a regular gauntlet hit. I couldn't afford to let a clean one land — not with what I saw earlier.
Those blades.
They hadn't come out yet. Which meant he was saving them. Probably waiting for me to lower my guard. Probably thought he was being clever.
Predictable.
Another strike came, this one lower — toward my ribs. I spun out of range, deflecting with the inner ring of my left chakram, but still felt the gust of it skim my side.
He was testing me. No. Wearing me down.
He had clearly picked up on the fact that I'd spent divine energy earlier—seven Voros, back to back. I should've managed my output better.
My guard was still holding — but barely.
He drove forward again. Faster. Stronger. Punch, sweep, shoulder slam. A storm of movement. I blocked what I could, dodged the rest. Even caught a knee to the thigh that made my stance buckle.
Tch. He fights like someone who only knows how to win through force. Like someone who's never had to adjust mid-battle.
That gave me an edge.
But not if I stayed in close range.
I needed distance. That was my territory.
I leapt back and flicked both chakrams outward. Let the divine energy guide their curve. The arc wasn't meant to hit him. Just unsettle him. Force him into a response.
He didn't flinch.
Dodged clean.
Smiled.
And then he charged again.
I held my ground. Just for a second. Just long enough.
He doesn't know I've already set it.
Good.
Let him run straight in.
Let him think this ends now.
He crossed into striking range—just as I planned.
The air snapped with divine pressure.
A perfect circle of glyphs spiraled into being around us—glowing, fluid, alive. My chakram sigil. A 360-degree ring. The moment it activated, I moved. Instantly. Without hesitation—reappearing directly behind him, chakram drawn back in my right hand. With a powerful swing, I slammed it into Idris's back.
Not deep. But it didn't have to be. The hit landed with force, clean into his back. Enough to knock the air out of him. Enough to send him crashing down the forest floor, coughing and disoriented.
This was my window.
I closed the gap—quick, efficient, chakram spinning in my grip for a final blow.
Then—pain.
White-hot, soul-deep pain.
My foot. Something drove through the sole, sharp and precise. My leg buckled instantly.
I screamed. Couldn't help it.
Collapsed. Hit the dirt.
Instinct took over—I reached for my boot, fingers brushing metal.
A blade. Small, curved. Embedded deep.
I yanked it out, biting down a groan. It was designed to hook—jagged. It tore more on its way out than it did going in.
And then I looked up.
Idris.
On his feet again. Chest rising and falling. The number of blades on his divine craft had reduced. One missing—because it was in me.
That bastard.
He had planted the blade when he fell. Timed it, positioned it—like he knew I'd come rushing in.
But how did he make it land so cleanly? Even in a tumble? Even with dirt kicking up everywhere?
I wanted to figure it out. Break it down. But that thought faded as the real problem began.
The pain.
It started in my foot. But then it crept. Up my calf. My thigh. Into the pit of my stomach.
Burning.
Like my veins were rejecting my blood.
Divine poison.
Made for Fallens… but still lethal to us.
I gritted my teeth. My breathing staggered. My vision blurred just slightly. The forest tilted a little to the left.
I tried to steady my breath.
Tried to push myself up.
Failed.
Everything around me started to swim. The trees spun. The dirt pulsed.
And Idris—he walked toward me. Calm. Quiet. Like he had all the time in the world.
I hated how satisfied he looked.
I hated that I'd underestimated him.
My grip loosened on the chakram.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
He got me.And now… darkness was setting in.
I could only hope Major Deji arrived before it was too late.
***
I got him.
It worked.
The blade—planted as I tumbled—was a trick I'd learned some time ago. A tactic I developed during a contract when I was being hunted by a Fallen. Back then, it was crude. Sloppy. The kind of thing you try out of desperation and hope the gods are watching. But this time… this time, it landed clean.
Right into Ajani's foot.
He collapsed exactly where I needed him to.
Manipulating the blade mid-fall, adjusting the divine angle so it would settle perfectly into the soil beneath his next step… that was the hardest part.
Not because of the precision, but because of the energy it demanded. My Divine craft wasn't made to act like a trap. It was forged for direct combat—a weapon of brute force. But with control and will, I bent its purpose beyond design.
That little stunt cost me more divine energy than I'd care to admit.
I'd need to recover. Fast.
But with Ajani unconscious and Major Deji still on his way, I had time. A few minutes to gather myself. To breathe. To lie.
My body still throbbed from the hits I'd taken—his chakrams had found their mark more than once. I'd even coughed up blood earlier.
Perfect. The wounds would sell the story.
Now it was just about playing the part.
I lowered myself beside him, cradling his head like I was trying to keep him awake, like I was desperate for him to live.
"Ajani," I whispered, forcing a tremble into my voice. "Wake up. Please, wake up."
I let my hand tremble a little. Squeezed a tear into the corner of my eye.
If anyone saw me now, I'd be the loyal ally—guilt-ridden, broken, just trying to keep a comrade alive.
They'd ask what happened.
I'd say we were ambushed. I'd say he fought hard. I'd say we got separated and regrouped too late.
And no one would question it.
Not with the seven dead Voros around us. Not with Ajani's own wounds confirming the chaos.
Now… I just had to wait.
Major Deji was coming. And I needed to be ready for his questions.