The hall fell silent as Mirabel was dragged back to the altar, her cries echoing against the cold stone walls. Her father's defeat, brutal and swift, had snuffed out the flicker of hope she had clung to. He and the spiritual leaders were hauled away, their chants now replaced by groans of pain.
Binta stood by the throne, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. Mirabel's struggles grew weaker as the shadowy ropes tightened around her wrists and ankles, binding her to the obsidian slab. The cold seared her skin, and a strange numbness spread through her limbs.
Chief Daniel Mina stepped forward, his massive, grotesque form casting an ominous shadow over the room. His glowing red eyes bore into Mirabel, who glared at him through tear-filled eyes, her chest heaving.
"Resistance is futile," he said, his voice a low growl. "You were born for this, Mirabel. The power in your veins was never yours to keep."
"You'll regret this," Mirabel spat, though her voice cracked with fear and exhaustion.
Chief Mina chuckled, a deep, menacing sound that reverberated through the chamber. "Oh, my bride, it is you who will regret defying me."
The robed figures resumed their chanting, the words sharp and guttural, vibrating with dark energy. The symbols etched into the walls glowed with a fiery crimson light, and the air grew thick with the scent of burning herbs and blood.
A golden chalice was brought forward by one of the figures, filled to the brim with a thick, black liquid that seemed to shimmer with an unnatural light. Chief Mina took the chalice in his clawed hand and raised it above his head.
"By the pact forged in blood, by the power of the ancient ones, I claim what is mine," he declared. His voice was amplified, echoing in the vast chamber.
The robed figures responded in unison, their voices a chilling harmony: "The blood is the bond. The bond is eternal."
Mina dipped a claw into the liquid, drawing symbols on Mirabel's forehead, her arms, and her chest. The markings burned into her skin, making her cry out in pain. Her vision blurred as the symbols pulsed with energy, sinking into her flesh like living entities.
"You will carry my mark," Mina said, his tone triumphant. "You will become one with the shadows, a vessel for my power."
Mirabel's heart pounded as the black liquid seeped into her skin, merging with her very essence. She felt her strength draining, replaced by something foreign,cold, dark, and overwhelming.
As the ritual reached its peak, Mina placed his clawed hand over her heart. The air grew still, the chanting stopping abruptly. The only sound was Mirabel's ragged breathing and the hum of the altar beneath her.
"This is the moment of truth," Mina said, leaning closer. "Surrender, Mirabel. Embrace your destiny."
The dagger of black obsidian was brought forward again, its surface glowing faintly. Mina raised it high, then plunged it into the altar beside her. The blade did not pierce her flesh but unleashed a wave of energy that engulfed her body.
Mirabel screamed as her back arched, her entire being consumed by the surge of power. It felt as though her soul was being torn apart and reassembled, her humanity slipping away piece by piece.
The black mist that had filled the room earlier now swirled around her violently, entering her mouth, her nose, her eyes. It filled every part of her, suffocating her until there was nothing left but darkness.
And then, silence.
Mirabel lay motionless on the altar, her body glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. The robed figures watched in awe as Chief Mina stepped closer. He placed a hand on her chest, feeling the faint, steady thrum of her heartbeat.
"She is complete," Mina declared, his voice thick with triumph. "My queen has risen."
The room erupted in cheers, the robed figures chanting her name in a distorted harmony: "Mirabel. Mirabel. Mirabel."
Binta approached the altar cautiously. "Is she one of us now?"
Mina smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming. "She is more than one of us. She is the key to my reign."
Mirabel's eyes snapped open. They no longer held the warmth of humanity; instead, they glowed with a brilliant golden light, piercing and unrelenting. She sat up slowly, her movements fluid and inhuman.
The shadows in the room seemed to bow to her as she rose to her feet, the dark energy radiating from her causing the air to crackle. She turned her gaze to Mina, who extended his clawed hand to her.
"Welcome, my queen," he said.
Mirabel took his hand, her lips curving into a small, enigmatic smile. "It feels powerful," she said, her voice layered with a strange duality.
"You are powerful," Mina said. "Together, we will rule."
The robed figures bowed deeply, their chants growing louder in reverence. Binta watched from the sidelines, her expression a mix of awe and unease.
But as Mina basked in his victory, he failed to notice the subtle shift in Mirabel's expression, the flicker of something deeper, something unyielding.
Deep within her, the power that had been forced upon her began to merge with something primal and ancient, something no ritual could control. The darkness within her did not merely consume; it transformed.
Mirabel turned her golden gaze to the crowd, her smile widening slightly. The energy in the room seemed to shift, the shadows trembling as if sensing her true nature.
Chief Mina stood beside her, triumphant in his belief that he had secured his ultimate weapon.
But he didn't know.
He didn't know that she would be the strongest there ever was.
While at home, Mrs. Ruth sat in the dimly lit parlor, her hands trembling as she clutched a worn photograph of her family. The house was too quiet now, the kind of quiet that made her skin crawl. The laughter and chaos of the wedding preparation felt like a lifetime ago, replaced by an eerie silence that gnawed at her resolve. She had tried to distract herself with chores, but her mind refused to settle.
Something was wrong. Deep in her bones, Mrs. Ruth knew her daughter was in danger.
Mirabel's absence weighed heavily on her. Her calls went unanswered, her messages ignored. Femi had promised updates, but there had been none. And then there were the bruises; those strange, dark marks that had appeared on Mrs. Ruth's arms in the days leading up to the wedding.
She looked down at her hands now, the bruises spreading like ink stains across her skin. They pulsed faintly, as though alive, tearing at her flesh with a searing pain. Every time she touched them, they burned, and tiny cracks formed along the surface of her skin.
"Mirabel," she whispered, her voice cracking with grief and fear.
Mrs. Ruth had tried to dismiss the marks as stress, perhaps an allergic reaction, but they felt unnatural. They throbbed with a rhythm that didn't feel like her own, as if something foreign was coursing through her veins. Each time the bruises spread, her reflection in the mirror seemed less familiar. Her once warm brown eyes had begun to take on a faint yellow hue, and her cheeks appeared sunken.
"I'm not crazy," she muttered to herself, pacing the room. "Something is happening, and it has to be connected to her."
She clutched the photograph tighter, her fingers trembling. Her husband, Obianuju, had left days ago in search of Mirabel, promising to bring their daughter home. He had been silent since. No calls, no messages, nothing. The weight of uncertainty pressed on her chest like a boulder.
"Where are you, Obianuju?" she whispered. "Where are you, Mirabel?"
Mrs. Ruth wasn't a woman to sit idly by. She had always been the backbone of her family, the one who kept everything together when things fell apart. She decided then and there that waiting was no longer an option. She needed answers.
The Search Begins
Pulling on a shawl to cover her trembling shoulders, Mrs. Ruth stepped into the night. The air was cold and thick with an unnatural stillness. She didn't know where she was going, but her feet seemed to carry her of their own accord.
She walked through the empty streets, her mind racing with fragments of memories. Her late mother's cryptic warnings about the family's past, the stories of strange happenings, it all began to piece together like a grim puzzle.
Ruth's pace quickened as an unshakable sense of urgency gripped her. She felt something stirring deep within her, a faint pull, as though her body was being drawn toward something, or someone.
The bruises on her arms began to ache again, the pain sharp and insistent. She paused, gripping a touch light for support as she gasped for air. Her vision blurred, and a wave of nausea hit her. She pulled back the sleeve of her shawl and winced.
The bruises had spread further, climbing up her neck and shoulders. The cracks in her skin had deepened, and tiny rivulets of blood seeped from the edges. She pressed her palm against her arm, but the moment her fingers touched the wounds, she recoiled in shock.
Her skin was cold too cold, as if it were no longer her own.
"What's happening to me?" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
Despite the pain, Mrs. Ruth pressed on. She couldn't give up. Not when her daughter's life depended on it.
Her steps led her to an old church on the outskirts of town, its crumbling walls and broken stained glass giving it a haunting appearance. Something about the place felt significant, though she couldn't explain why.
She pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the creak echoing in the cavernous space. The interior was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the shattered windows. The air smelled of mildew and age, but there was something else, a faint metallic tang that made her stomach churn.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling.
No answer.
Mrs. Ruth moved deeper into the church, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Her fingers trailed along the edges of the pews, her mind racing.
A faint whisper broke the silence.
She froze, her breath hitching. "Who's there?"
The whisper came again, this time louder, though the words were unintelligible. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, filling the space around her.
Mrs. Ruth clenched her fists, forcing herself to remain calm. "I'm not afraid of you," she said, though her voice wavered.
Suddenly, the whisper turned into a roar, and the bruises on her arms burned with an intensity that made her cry out in pain. She fell to her knees, clutching her arms as the cracks widened, and her skin seemed to ripple unnaturally.
A vision flashed before her eyes :a black stone throne, robed figures chanting, and Mirabel lying on an altar. She saw the monstrous figure of Chief Mina, his claws dripping with dark energy, and her daughter's terrified face as shadows consumed her.
"No!" Mrs. Ruth screamed, the vision fading as quickly as it had come.
She knelt there, trembling and gasping for air. Her mind reeled from what she had seen, but it only steeled her resolve.
"Mirabel," she whispered, her voice filled with determination. "I might not know where you are but I'm coming for you."
As Mrs. Ruth struggled to stand, she felt a strange energy coursing through her veins. It wasn't like the dark, oppressive force she had seen in her vision, it was something else. Something… ancient.
The bruises on her arms pulsed, but instead of pain, she felt a surge of strength. Her skin glowed faintly, the cracks mending themselves as golden light seeped from within. Her reflection in a broken shard of stained glass caught her eye, and she gasped.
Her eyes were no longer her own. They glowed with a faint, golden hue, just like the energy radiating from her wounds.
"What is this?" she whispered, touching her face.
The whispers returned, softer now, almost comforting. They seemed to guide her, urging her to keep moving, to find her family.
"I don't know what you are," she said aloud, addressing the unseen force. "But if you can help me, I'll accept it."
The whispers swirled around her, carrying with them a single word: Obianuju.
Mrs. Ruth's heart ached at the mention of her husband's name. She clenched her fists, the golden light flaring brighter.
"I will find you," she vowed. "Both of you. No matter what it takes."
With renewed strength, Mrs. Ruth stepped out of the church and into the night. Her journey was only beginning, but one thing was clear: she was no longer the same.
And whatever had awakened within her, it wasn't going to stop until her family was whole again.