Chapter 12 Rage and Regret

Manny stood in the doorway like a man guarding the gates of hell.

Chinedu was on his knees again, tears cutting clean lines through the dust on his face. His voice cracked. “Manny, please. They have beaten my mother. She is at the hospital now with one eye swollen shut. Just touch the leader a little. Make them feel fear. It's only you that can do it!”

The Voice slammed against Manny’s skull like a hammer.

He is your blood. Your brother in everything but name. Burn their sins. Let them taste judgment.

Manny’s fists trembled. Fresh cracks had appeared overnight across both forearms, thin glowing rivers that pulsed with every heartbeat. The heat rolled off him in waves, making the air around his body shimmer. He kept his arms crossed tight, sleeves pulled down.

“I said no, Chinedu,” he whispered, voice raw. “If I start now, I can't stop. The fire… it is eating me. Every time I use it, it grow bigger. I will turn into a monster before I can help anybody."

Chinedu looked up at him, eyes full of betrayal. “So you'll just watch them kill us? After all the years I stood with you?” He stood slowly, wiping his face. “You have power but you are selfish.its true.

”He turned and walked into the night without another word.

Manny slammed the door and slid down against it, pressing his burning forehead to his knees. The Voice laughed, low and bitter.

Weak. Again.

Two hours later, the pounding on his door woke him from a half-sleep filled with flames.

It was Mama Chinedu’s neighbor, a thin woman named Aunty Bola, breathing hard. “Emmanuel! Come quick! They are beating Chinedu like thief. He is in the gutter near the mechanic workshop. They said they are loan people.

”Manny ran.

He found Chinedu curled in dirty water, face battered beyond recognition. Blood mixed with oil on the concrete. One arm bent at a wrong angle. His breathing was shallow, wet gasps that sounded like drowning.

Something inside Manny snapped.

The glowing cracks across his body ignited like ignited gunpowder. Light spilled out, bright enough to turn the dark alley into noon. The Voice didn’t even need to speak it roared through his veins.

He followed the trail like a bloodhound. The attackers hadn’t gone far. Four of them, laughing and sharing cigarette and pure water sachets behind an abandoned container, boasting about how they “settled” the small boy who thought he could dodge payment.

Manny stepped into the open. The leader, a thick-necked man with tribal marks and gold chains, turned first.

“what is this? You want to join your friend in the hospital?.

”Manny didn’t answer. He raised one hand.

The power exploded outward.

Invisible force slammed into the first two men, lifting them off the ground and smashing them against the container wall. Bones cracked audibly. The leader tried to run, but Manny’s eyes locked on him and the man’s legs gave out as black veins suddenly bulged across his face and neck his own hidden sins rushing to the surface for everyone to see. Adultery. Murder. Rituals done in the dead of night.“Confess,” Manny growled. His voice wasn’t fully his anymore. It carried the weight of the Voice.

The man started babbling, tears and mucus pouring down his face as he spilled every evil thing he had ever done. The other two crawled away screaming, their bodies jerking as if electrocuted. One of them caught fire, real fire small flames licking at his clothes from the inside.

Manny took a step closer. The Godspark wanted more. It wanted their lives. It wanted the rot scrubbed from the earth with their blood.

Finish them. Cleanse.

His hand was inches from the leader’s head. The man was choking on his own confessions now, eyes rolled back, black veins pulsing like living worms under his skin.

Then Manny saw Chinedu’s broken face in his mind.

He stopped.

With a scream that tore from deep in his chest, Manny forced the power back. The light retracted violently, new cracks splitting open across his chest and throat. Pain like molten iron flooded him. He fell to one knee, gasping.

The attackers lay twitching on the ground. Alive, but broken. The leader was still whispering sins, foam at his mouth. One man’s arm was badly burned. They would survive. But they would never forget.

Manny stumbled away, blood trickling from his nose, light still leaking from the fresh wounds on his body.

By morning, the second video was everywhere.

Someone had filmed from a nearby rooftop. The glowing figure in the alley. The floating men. The confessions. The fire. The hashtags were already trending: #AjegunleProphet #RealFire #MannyTheJudge.

People who had called him fake before now called him dangerous. Churches sent delegations. One popular bishop posted on Instagram: “This is either genuine move of God or dangerous occult. We must investigate.” Politicians smelled opportunity and threat. A local council chairman sent emissaries offering “protection” in exchange for public endorsement.

Manny sat in his room, door barricaded, staring at his phone as it buzzed nonstop. His body felt like an open furnace. The Voice was quiet for once, satisfied.

But regret tasted like ash in his mouth.

He had saved Chinedu, maybe. But he had fed the fire. And now the whole city could see the monster growing inside him.

Outside, footsteps approached. More than just curious neighbors this time. He heard the engines of expensive cars and the low murmur of important voices.

They had come for him.

And the rot was smiling wider than ever.