Chapter 10 Shadow Follows

The air outside Victory Fire International that night felt heavier than it should, thick with the residue of false anointing and desperate prayers. Manny pushed through the lingering crowd, shoulders hunched, his faded shirt clinging to his sweat-drenched back. The glowing cracks beneath his skin pulsed like angry coals, refusing to cool even as he distanced himself from the bright auditorium. Pastor Victor’s smile still lingered in his mind hiding rivers of black corruption that had nearly made him vomit on the spot.

He walked faster, cutting through the side streets of the area, avoiding the main road where church buses idled like patient predators,the Voice was still rumbling inside him, low and disappointed, like a distant thunder that hadn’t given up on the storm.

You ran again, Emmanuel. That house is a den of vipers,one strike and you could have cleansed it.

“I didn’t run,” Manny muttered under his breath, glancing over his shoulder. “I chose not to become what you want.”

But the power didn’t care for his protests,every time he resisted, it seemed to burn deeper, learning his weaknesses, testing the limits of his control,his arms burning where the cracks had flared during the service. A few people on the street noticed the faint orange glow peeking from his collar and crossed themselves, but he kept moving, head down, toward the familiar decay of Ajegunle.

He didn’t know he was being followed.

Adaora kept her distance, her dark wrapper blending into the shadows as she slipped between market stalls and parked okadas. She had been at the crusade not really by choice. Her aunt had dragged her along, insisting that “the man from the alley video” would be there. When she saw Manny being ushered to the front row, something twisted in her chest. Curiosity. Suspicion. A strange pull she couldn’t name. After he bolted from the stage, she made an excuse and followed him out.

He moved like a man hunted by his own shadow. She watched him pause at a corner, press his forehead against a dirty wall, and breathe like he was drowning and for a second, she almost called out, but something stopped her. The way the air around him seemed to shimmer faintly, like heat rising from a tarred road on a hot afternoon.

Manny continued deeper into the slums. The streets narrowed, garbage piled higher, and the smell of open drains mixed with night food sellers’ pepper soup. His body still hummed with unreleased power. The disappointment from the Voice grawned at him, making his steps heavier. He needed to get home, lock the door, and maybe try to sleep before the memories dragged him back to Kirikiri again.

But the night had other plans.

Near a dimly lit junction close to his area, a small crowd had gathered around three police vehicles. Blue lights flashed lazily. As a man in a crisp traditional agbada clearly important was shouting at two officers while a young boy, no more than sixteen, knelt on the ground with hands tied behind his back. The boy’s face was bloody, one eye swollen shut.

Manny slowed down, intending to pass by quietly. But as he got closer, he saw the black veins.

They were thick on the man in the agbada Chief Inspector Okon, he heard someone whisper,the corruption was deep, like oil sludge running through his entire system. Extortion. Multiple rapes covered up with bribes. A missing girl from two months ago whose family was still searching,the power surged in Manny’s chest before he could stop it.

The Voice whispered, sharp and insistent: Look at him. Justice has been waiting.

Manny clenched his fists and tried to walk faster, but the boy on the ground looked up at that moment,as their eyes met the boy’s gaze was broken, pleading the same look Manny had seen in too many eyes during his old life.

One of the officers shoved the boy’s head down. “Shut up! The chief says you stole his phone, will you confess properly.”

Chief Okon laughed, adjusting his heavy gold chain. “These small boys think they can play with big men. Beat him small, let him talk.”

The heat exploded in Manny’s veins. Before he realized what he was doing, he stepped forward.

“Leave the boy alone,” he said, voice low but carrying that unnatural weight.

The officers turned. One recognized him immediately from the viral videos. “It's you. The glowing man. Mind your business before we add you to him.”

But Chief Okon’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Ah, the miracle boy from the church. Come, come. Can you help us make this thief confess?”

Manny’s scars flared brighter. The power pushed hard, wanting release. He felt it rising like bile truth, judgment, fire all mixed together. He tried to pull back, but the Voice roared louder.

They mock justice in your face. Show them.

He grabbed Chief Okon’s wrist without thinking. The moment skin touched skin, the connection snapped open. Black veins pulsed under Manny’s fingers, and the power flooded out in a raw, uncontrolled burst.

Chief Okon gasped. His eyes widened, then rolled back slightly as the truth-forcing began. Words started spilling from his mouth in a choked torrent, loud enough for the small crowd to hear.

“I… I killed her. The girl. She refused me. I buried her behind my village house… The money from the station, I take all, the boys I send to beat traders for tribute… the girls I force…”

The confession poured out like vomit. The officers froze, crowds murmured in shock, phones coming out to record,the boy on the ground stared in terrified awe.

But something was wrong. Manny hadn’t meant to push this hard,the power, frustrated from the church, hungry from his resistance, surged beyond his control. Chief Okon’s body began convulsing,black veins bulged visibly on his face and neck, rising like living worms under his skin. His nose started bleeding. He clawed at his chest, gasping for air as if invisible flames were consuming him from inside.

“Stop… please…” the chief wheezed, dropping to his knees beside the boy.

Manny tried to let go, but his hand felt locked. The glowing cracks on his own arms blazed so brightly they lit up the faces of the nearest people. Heat poured off him in waves. “No… I’m not doing this,” he growled through gritted teeth, fighting the Voice with everything he had. “Let him go!”

Adaora, hidden behind a nearby kiosk, watched with wide eyes. Her heart hammered. She had seen the alley video, but this was different raw, terrifying. Manny wasn’t in control. The chief was dying, literally burning from some invisible force. She stepped forward instinctively, then stopped. Part of her wanted to run. Another part needed to see what happened next.

Chief Okon collapsed fully now, foaming at the mouth. His body jerked violently. One officer finally snapped out of it and raised his baton toward Manny. “Release him! You dey kill oga!”

The baton came down. Manny barely felt the blow on his shoulder. But the impact broke his concentration. He released the chief’s wrist with a gasp. The power recoiled violently back into him, leaving him dizzy and nauseous. Chief Okon lay on the dirty ground, still alive but barely shallow breathing, eyes glassy, black veins slowly fading but leaving dark bruises behind.

The crowd erupted. Some shouted “miracle,” others “demon.” The officers looked torn between arresting Manny and checking on their boss.

Manny staggered back, chest heaving. The boy on the ground was crying now, whispering “thank you” repeatedly. Manny looked at his own hands glowing faintly, trembling. He had almost killed the man. Not in the controlled way he used on the thugs before, but something wilder. Unrestrained. The fire had tasted blood and wanted more.

He turned and ran.

Adaora followed.

She kept pace through the winding alleys, her sandals slapping against the uneven ground. Manny moved like a man possessed, cutting through back paths, jumping over gutters. She lost him once near a cluster of zinc houses but caught sight of his glowing collar again under a streetlight.

Finally, he slowed near an abandoned construction site on the edge of the slum.half-built walls, piles of sand, and rusting iron rods. He leaned against a concrete pillar, sliding down until he sat on the dirt, head in his hands.

Adaora approached carefully, her breathing ragged. She stopped a few meters away, watching him. The glow on his skin was dimming, but she could still see the faint orange lines tracing his arms and neck.

“Manny,” she called softly.

He jerked his head up, eyes wild. “You. How did you?”

“I followed you from the crusade.” She stepped closer, no longer hiding. Her voice lacked the sharp hostility from their first meetings. Instead, there was something raw curiosity mixed with fear and something she didn’t want to name. “I saw what happened back there. With the chief.”

Manny laughed bitterly, a broken sound. “Then you know what I am now. A monster with holy fire. Go report me. Tell them the glowing man is dangerous.”

He expected her to run or curse him. Instead, she sat down on a low stack of blocks a short distance away, keeping some space between them. Her hands twisted in her wrapper.

“I saw him confess,” she said quietly. “All those things… the girl he killed. The bribes. It was true, wasn’t it?”

Manny nodded slowly, staring at the ground. “Everything he said. The power forces truth. But tonight… I couldn’t control how much came out. It almost killed him. If that baton hadn’t hit me…” He trailed off, rubbing his glowing arms as if trying to scrub the light away. “This thing inside me, it’s getting stronger. Every time I fight it, it punishes me. Every time I use it, it demands more.”

Adaora studied his face in the moonlight filtering through the half-roof. The prison-hard lines were still there, but so was exhaustion. Deep, soul-deep weariness. “In the alley that day, with those boys… you stopped yourself. You didn’t kill them. And tonight, you tried to save that boy without wanting to burn the chief.”

“I failed,” Manny whispered. “The Voice whatever this is says I was forged in Kirikiri for this. To clean what men spoiled. But I don’t want to be a judge. I just want peace. I want the fire to leave me alone.”

He looked up at her then, really looked. Their eyes held. For the first time, Adaora didn’t see only the dangerous ex-cultist or the strange miracle worker. She saw a man fighting a war inside himself, terrified of what he was becoming.

She swallowed. “I went to the crusade because of you. My aunt forced me, but… I wanted to see. When you walked out, I followed. I don’t know why. Maybe because what you did in that alley changed something in me. I’ve seen pastors, prophets, all of them. But you…” She gestured vaguely at his arms. “This isn’t fake. It’s terrifying. But it feels real.”

Manny gave a tired smile. “Real can still destroy everything.”

They sat in silence for a while. The distant sounds of Ajegunle generator hums, late-night arguments, crying babies—filled the space between them. Adaora shifted closer, just a little.

“What happened to you?” she asked. Not demanding. Gentle. “In prison. I can see it when you zone out. The way you fight this thing is like an old enemy.”

Manny hesitated. The memories of solitary were still fresh from the night before. But something in her tone less accusation, more genuine disturbance made him speak.

“Solitary confinement. Three months in darkness. I broke in there. Begged God to kill me. Instead, this came. The cracks. The Voice. It said I was chosen because of all the evil I did. To balance it.” He touched the glowing lines on his forearm, watching them pulse softly. “Now it won’t let me go. And people like Pastor Victor, like Chief Okon they see me and want to use it. Or destroy it.”

Adaora’s expression softened further. The tension that had crackled with anger in their previous encounter was shifting, becoming something charged and uncertain. She felt drawn to the danger, to the pain, to the strange light in him. It disturbed her how much she wanted to understand.

“You protected your brother the other day without killing those men,” she said. “And tonight, you tried to do the right thing. Maybe this power isn’t just for burning. Maybe you can learn to direct it.”

Manny looked at her, surprise flickering across his face. “Why are you helping me see it like that? Last time you wanted me far from your family.”

“Because I’m scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of what you are. Scared of what I feel watching you. You’re not the monster I thought. You’re… something else. Something that might break the world or save pieces of it.”

The air between them grew thick. Manny felt the pull too the first real human connection that wasn’t fear or worship since the power entered him. Her eyes held his, disturbed but not repelled. Curious. Almost tender.

He reached out slowly, not touching her, but offering his hand palm-up. The faint glow illuminated her face. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else. Especially not people trying to see me.”

Adaora stared at his hand for a long moment. Then she placed hers lightly over it, not fully grasping, just testing. The warmth from his skin was intense but not burning. A small spark jumped between them not painful, but electric.

She pulled back with a sharp breath, eyes wide. “It feels… alive.”

“It is,” Manny said. “And it’s listening to us right now.”

The Voice was quiet for the first time in hours, watchful instead of demanding. As if it too sensed the shift.

They talked longer into the night. Adaora shared fragments of her own life the struggles in Ajegunle, her protective instincts for her siblings, her distrust of the flashy churches. Manny listened without the weight of judgment pressing on him. For a few hours, the fire inside felt less like a weapon and more like something that could be borne.

But as dawn approached, Manny stood up. “You should go home. Being close to me right now… it’s not safe. The chief won’t forget. The pastor is probably already spreading stories.”

Adaora rose too, brushing sand from her wrapper. She looked at him with that new mixture of curiosity and disturbance. “I’m not running anymore, Manny. Not from this. Not from whatever you are becoming.”

The tension lingered as they parted ways her going back toward her compound, him toward his room. It wasn’t friendship yet. It wasn’t romance. But something had shifted in the shadows of that abandoned site. The shadow that followed him had stepped into the light, and neither of them could pretend it hadn’t changed everything.

Manny locked his door behind him as the sun rose, collapsing onto his mattress. The glowing cracks dimmed to a soft ember. For the first time in a long while, the Voice didn’t rebuke him.

It waited.

And somewhere across Ajegunle, Adaora lay awake, staring at her ceiling, feeling the phantom warmth on her palm. Disturbed. Curious.

Drawn.