7:43am
23:4:2025
Christopher jolted awake, a scream tearing from his throat, the echoes of hell still ringing in his ears. It was that night again, the anniversary of his…transformation. The night he revisited the fiery depths of his past.
He bolted from the bed, stumbling towards the bathroom, his body convulsing, a wave of nausea washing over him. He reached the toilet just in time, collapsing to his knees as his body revolted, violently ejecting its contents.
It wasn't just food, it was something far more disturbing. He felt like he was decaying from the inside out, his insides turning to sludge. He was literally vomiting up the putrid remnants of his borrowed existence.
He gagged and wretched, bile burning his throat, his vision blurring. Through the haze of his pain, he could see the reflection of his borrowed face in the mirror, but it was changing, distorting, rotting before his very eyes. The stolen youth was slipping away, revealing the ancient horror beneath.
With trembling hands, he reached for the ring, the artifact that anchored him to this stolen life. He pulled it off, the sudden removal sending a jolt of pain through his entire being.
As the ring left his finger, his physical form began to unravel, the handsome features dissolving into a grotesque parody of what they once were. He collapsed on the floor, his body writhing, his screams echoing through the house.
Then, with a final, shuddering spasm, the transformation was complete. He was no longer Christopher, the charming, youthful companion. He was, once again, trapped in the decaying husk of the alleyway boy, the body he had stolen so long ago.
But this body was even worse than he remembered. The rot had progressed, consuming more of him. A rancid stench emanated from the rotting flesh. The disgust and terror were almost too much to bear, then another wave of nausea took over.
He continued to vomit. He could hear a knock on the door.
He fumbled for the ring, desperate to regain his stolen facade. He slipped it back onto his finger, the transformation swift and agonizing, as his body shifted back to Christopher. With the ring in place, he was able to regain some control, though he could still taste the decay in his mouth, feel it clinging to his skin.
The knocking persisted, accompanied by a familiar voice. " Eseosa!," Ehogsa called, "Time for breakfast!"
Christopher could barely stomach the thought of food, the lingering taste of rot making his stomach churn.
"I'm going somewhere," he called back, his voice hoarse and strained. "I'll be back later."
"Where are you going?" Ehogsa asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
"Just to run, somewhere," he replied, trying to sound casual. "I'll be back soon." With that, he quickly left the room and the house. The fresh air was not fresh enough.
Emeka was a whirlwind of controlled fury, his muscles rippling as he moved through the training yard with savage grace. He delivered a series of powerful punches and kicks to the training dummies, sending them flying across the yard, their straw-filled bodies collapsing in disarray.
His enhanced strength and agility, gifts of his altered physiology, were on full display, his movements a testament to the power that now coursed through his veins.
Suddenly, a slow clap broke the rhythmic cadence of his training. Emeka froze, his senses on high alert, his body poised for action. He recognized that distinctive sound.
"Well, well, well," a familiar voice drawled, a British accent . "If it isn't the werewolf prince himself. I heard rumors you were back and I just wanted to confirm it."
Emeka turned to face the speaker, his eyes narrowing. Christopher stood at the edge of the yard, his expression a mixture of amusement and relief.
Emeka extended his hand for a handshake, but Christopher just quickly rushed forward, engulfing him in a tight hug, burying his head in Emeka's chest.
"I can't believe you're alive," Christopher mumbled, his voice choked with emotion. "How is that even possible? What happened?"
Emeka returned the hug, a hint of warmth softening his features. "I'm still trying to figure that out myself," he said, pulling back slightly.
Emeka stepped back, his eyes searching Christopher's face. "Also wanted to thank you for taking care of Tolu" his voice dropped, "I know you two haven't been the bestest of friends but yet you promised to protect her".
"Of course," Christopher responded, "I promised and I couldn't betray what was asked of me". His voice grew serious.
Christopher then said, "It's really nice to see you again," smiling as a way of saying that it was good to see that Emeka . Christopher then left the scene.
As Tolu was entering her room, she opened the door then she saw a Rubik's Cube skewing up and down up and down up and down then slowly Christopher turns visible His form shimmered into existence, and the small Rubik's Cube spun hypnotically in his hand. He bowed theatrically, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Hello, little witch," he said, his British accent taking on a mocking tone.
Tolu stiffened, her hand instinctively reaching for something, but she had no magic of her own.. What did Christopher want? Why was he here?
Christopher chuckled, sensing her apprehension. "Relax, darling," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I need your help with something. Something… delicate."
He explained to Tolu that something was terribly wrong. The preservation spell that he was using on the body that he jumped onto, the body he now inhabited, was failing. The body was decaying, rotting from the inside out, despite his efforts to maintain it.
"I don't know why," he said, his voice laced with desperation. "I used the best preservation spell I could find, the same one I've used for centuries. The body is supposed to remain mortal, but it's not working. It's like… something is actively fighting against it."
He looked at Tolu, his eyes pleading. "I need your help, Tolu. I need the preservation spell you were trying to use on the body of Emeka. It's the only thing that might work."
Tolu took a deep breath, her mind racing. She didn't trust Christopher, not one bit. But if what he said was true, then he was in serious trouble, and his desperation might be an opportunity.
Without a word, she turned and walked towards her dressing mirror, a large, ornate piece that dominated one wall of her room. She reached out, grasped the frame, and pushed inward.
To Christopher's surprise, the mirror swung open, revealing a hidden doorway, a secret passage that led into a dimly lit chamber. The chamber looked like a combined library and potion room, the walls lined with shelves overflowing with ancient spellbooks, dusty scrolls, and glass vials filled with colorful liquids. A large workbench, cluttered with alchemical equipment and bubbling cauldrons, stood in the center of the room.
Tolu spent what felt like an eternity poring over the ancient scrolls and tomes, her fingers tracing the faded inscriptions, her brow furrowed in concentration. Christopher, meanwhile, lounged on a nearby stool, whistling a jaunty tune, his patience seemingly inexhaustible.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Tolu let out a triumphant gasp. She pulled a small, dusty book from one of the shelves, its leather cover cracked and worn, its pages brittle with age.
"I'm not sure if this will work," she said, her voice hesitant, "given the fact that you're now…part demon." She looked at Christopher, her expression filled with concern.
Christopher met her gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. "If what I'm saying is true," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "then it's worth a chance. It's worth everything."
Tolu nodded, her resolve firming. She handed the book to Christopher, revealing its contents. The pages were filled with elegant, flowing script, written in a language that was both familiar and alien.
"It's written in Arabic," she said. "I can translate it for you, but I don't know if it will be enough. This spell… it's incredibly powerful, but it's also incredibly dangerous. Are you sure you're ready for this?"
Christopher took the book, his fingers reverently tracing the ancient script. He peered at the text, his brow furrowing in concentration as he deciphered the symbols.
"Damn," he muttered, his eyes widening in surprise. "I knew Mama G was a collector, but this Arabic scroll is really old. How did she even get her hands on something like this?"
Tolu shrugged, a hint of amusement in her voice. "That's Mama G for you," she said. "She's full of surprises. She's the best!"
Christopher chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. He continued to study the scroll, his lips moving silently as he translated the text.
"My Arabic's a little rough, but this… this is Born by Fire," he said, his voice taking on a tone of reverence. "It's a ritual that allows someone to be reborn again, through a purification spell of holy fire. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, something like that."
He paused, his expression clouding with concern. "But given the fact that I'm part demon," he continued, "this might be… killing instead of rebirthing me. The holy fire might not react too well with the demonic influence."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Christopher said, his voice filled with determination. "There might be side effects, but there's only one person who can help me with this. I can't waste any more time."
Before Tolu could respond, a wave of intense heat washed over them. Christopher's eyes widened in pain, his skin glowing red hot. Then, with a burst of blinding light, he erupted into flames, the ancient Arabic scroll disintegrating in his grasp.
In a matter of seconds, the fire subsided, leaving behind only a faint scent of sulfur and the lingering echoes of a demonic scream. Christopher was gone. He teleported away, leaving Tolu alone in the secret chamber, her mind reeling from the sudden turn of events.
Christopher reappeared in his own room, his body wracked with pain. He staggered to the bed, collapsing onto the mattress, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He knew he couldn't keep this secret any longer. Not from Ehogsa.
He found her in the garden, tending to her herbs, her brow furrowed in concentration. He took her by the arm, gently but firmly, and steered her towards the house.
"Ehogsa , I need to tell you something," he said, his voice low and urgent. "But you have to promise me, you can't tell anyone. Not even Onome."
He led her to her room, closing the door behind them. He lit the purple candle, the fragrant smoke filling the air, creating a zone of soundproof protection.
"What's going on?" Ehogsa asked, her eyes wide with apprehension. "You're scaring me."
Christopher took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to reveal.
He recounted everything: how he was killed by Tolu, how he went to hell, how he unknowingly siphoned energy and jumped into the body of a dying boy in the alleyway, how he was now back to life with magic and all that. He explained how the body he now inhabited was decaying, and how the preservation spell he had used was failing.
"I found this spell," he said, gesturing to the spot where the Arabic scroll had been, "but I know the only person powerful enough to help me with it is you. But you have to promise me, you can't let anyone find out that I have magic. If they find out, it's over for everyone."
Ehogsa listened in stunned silence, her face paling with each revelation. She couldn't believe her ears. Christopher, her little brother who had been ordina to her for centuries. He wasn't human at all. He was a demon, wielding magic, hiding in plain sight.
She was beyond shocked, she didn't even know how to react. She was confused, because everyone thought Christopher was human for like the past 200 years. She didn't know whether to be happy, sad, or angry at Christopher for not telling her sooner.
After a long, tense silence, she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "Okay," she said, her eyes searching his. "I'll help you. But you have to promise me, no more secrets. Tell me everything, from now on."
Christopher nodded, relief washing over him. "I promise," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.
"We'll do it during the full moon night," Ehogsa said, her expression hardening. "When everyone is asleep. We'll find a way to sneak out without Esse knowing."
Christopher only smiled ." Thank you ." He said. As Eghosa left the room. Soon he erupted into flames and vanished.
The hiss of the shower filled the air, steam swirling around the figure of Omooba as he washed the grime of the day from his body. He was lost in thought, the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily on his shoulders.
Suddenly, a burst of flame erupted behind him, a flash of heat and light that momentarily blinded him. His senses immediately flared, his body tensing, his mind racing. He was a warrior, trained to react instantly to any threat.
He whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Standing behind him, illuminated by the flickering shower light, was Christopher.
"What the fuck?" Omooba exclaimed, his voice sharp with anger and surprise. He instinctively covered his genitals, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation.
Christopher simply smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You know, I bathed you until you were three," he said, his British accent laced with playful mockery. "I'm even surprised you still have a penis. I thought your father would have castrated you to make you a better soldier."
He tossed a towel towards Omooba, who caught it with a grunt and quickly tied it around his waist, his expression still guarded.
"I thought you said you were traveling," Omooba said, his voice laced with suspicion. "What made you come back?" He sounded a bit angry there.
Christopher just laughed, the sound echoing through the steamy bathroom. "Well, the journey isn't going as planned," he said, his tone turning somber. "So I'm coming to see the people I care about before things finally go south."
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the flesh of his forearms. They were no longer smooth and unblemished but marred by a network of dark veins, a telltale sign of decay.
Omooba gasped, his eyes widening in horror. "How is that possible?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief. "You're immortal."
Christopher just shrugged, a sad smile playing on his lips. "Not anymore, it seems," he said. "I would have died 200 years ago, maybe nature's just taking its course."
He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't worry," he added, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "I'll make sure when I die, you'll be the first person I haunt."
They both laughed, the sound echoing through the bathroom. But beneath the laughter, there was a hint of sadness in Christopher's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the mortality that was now creeping upon him.