Chapter 7 First Miracle

Manny showed up at the workshop the next morning even though every part of him wanted to hide in his room forever, his body felt wrong, the glowing cracks had spread even more during the night, crawling from his shoulders down to his wrists and now creeping toward his neck. He kept pulling his collar up and wearing the longest sleeves he had, but the heat was impossible to ignore. It felt like low fire burning just beneath his skin.

Mr. Segun didn’t say anything about the videos or the growing rumors,he just pointed at a broken-down danfo that needed a new clutch and walked away,the other mechanics gave Manny more space than usual,nobody joked with him,nobody asked questions. And it was better that way.

He buried himself in the work. Grease on his hands. The smell of oil, the familiar weight of tools, for a couple of hours, it almost felt normal, he tried not to think about the alley or Adaora's tears, or the way the power had forced her secrets out like it owned her.

But the streets never let a man forget.

Around noon, when the sun was beating down mercilessly, he heard a woman shouting outside the workshop.

“Please! Help me! Anybody!”

Manny wiped his face with a dirty rag and stepped out, a thin woman in a faded wrapper was running toward them, carrying a small boy in her arms, the child looked no more than four or five years old and his body was limp,his skin hot and dry, his breathing shallow, and the woman’s eyes were wild with desperation.

“They say you are the one,” she cried, looking straight at Manny. “The prophet from the video. Please… My son has been sick for weeks. The hospital said it’s malaria and typhoid. They gave him medicine but he’s getting worse and he’s dying. Please, touch him. Pray for him!”

Manny stepped back quickly, hands raised. “Madam, I’m not a pastor. I’m just a mechanic. I can’t”

But the woman was already on her knees in the dirty workshop yard, holding the boy out like an offering, tears streaming down her face. A small crowd was already forming. Phones started coming out.

“Please,” she begged. “I have nothing. My husband left, I sell pure water on the road,this boy is all I have, please if you have this power they are talking about… use it.”

Manny’s throat went dry,the glowing marks on his arms started burning hotter, the Voice stirred, low and interested.

He didn’t want this, but the woman was crying so hard, and the boy’s breathing sounded like it was fading. Something in Manny’s chest moved before he could stop himself. He stepped forward and placed one rough, grease-stained hand on the boy’s burning forehead.

The moment his skin touched the child, it happened.

A rush of heat exploded from Manny’s palm,not destructive this time but different,warm and almost gentle. The glowing cracks on his arm flared bright orange, visible even through his shirt. The boy’s body jerked once, then went still.

For a few terrifying seconds, nothing happened.

Then the child gasped loudly, like someone coming up from underwater,as his eyes opened,color started returning to his ashen face,the feverish heat on his skin cooled rapidly under Manny’s hand.

The mother screamed.

“My son! He’s breathing well! Look at his eyes!”

The boy looked around, confused but awake,he reached for his mother with weak hands. “Mama…”

The small crowd that had gathered exploded. People started shouting,some fell on their knees as others lifted their phones higher, filming everything.

“Miracle!”

“God is alive!”

“The Ex-Con Prophet!”

“Touch me too!”

Manny snatched his hand away like he had been burned and new cracks of light appeared across the back of his hand, joining the others. The pain was now sharp, like someone was carving into his bones with a hot iron he staggered backward, breathing hard.

“What did I just do?” he whispered.

The mother was crying and laughing at the same time, hugging her son tightly. “Thank you! God bless you, sir! Thank you!”

But the crowd was growing fast as more people from the street were rushing over. A blind old man was being led forward by his grandson. A woman with a swollen belly was pushing through,everyone wanted something, because everyone believed he could give it to them.

The heat inside Manny’s body kept rising. His scars burned worse,he could feel the power pushing again, wanting to come out, wanting to judge and heal and destroy all at once.

Then the Voice spoke clearly for the first time, not a whisper and not distant thunder. A deep, powerful voice that filled his entire head like it belonged there.

You were forged for this.

Manny clutched his head, eyes wide with terror. “No. No, I didn’t ask for this!”

You were broken in Kirikiri so you could carry my fire,this city is rotten,you will clean it and one soul at a time.

The pain in his scars became almost unbearable,he dropped to one knee in the workshop yard as more people pressed closer, shouting his name, begging for miracles.

Manny looked at his hands,the glowing cracks were brighter than ever, pulsing like living flames under his skin,the mother was still thanking him, but he could already see the black veins of hidden sin on some of the people in the crowd, corruption, lies, anger and secrets.

He felt sick.

This was not freedom.

This was something else entirely.

And it was only getting started.

He tried to stand and back away, but the crowd had him surrounded now and phones were everywhere,more videos were being recorded. His name was being shouted like a prayer.

“Prophet Manny!”

“Man of God!”

Manny closed his eyes tight as another wave of burning pain tore through his body.

The Voice spoke one last time, calm and absolute:

Accept it. Or it will consume you.

He didn’t know how much longer he could fight.