EKPOMA 9:33 PM
Scotto crashed through the third wall.
Not because Tessy had thrown him that far—but because he had chosen to keep going. To observe. To see how far she would push him before he decided to stop being pushed.
Tessy didn't follow.
She turned and walked back to where David stood, his baton raised, his green faith flickering like a candle in a storm. His hands were shaking. His breath was shallow. His eyes were wide.
"That was insane," he said. "You punched him through a wall."
"Three walls."
"THREE WALLS."
"Calm down."
"I CAN'T CALM DOWN—"
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the ruined room like a gunshot. David's head snapped to the side. He staggered, caught himself, and stared at her with something between shock and fury.
"Your turn," she said.
"My—what?"
"Go land a Communion."
David stared at her. Then at the hole in the wall where Scotto had disappeared. Then back at her.
"You're insane."
"So I've been told."
"I can't land a Communion on command. I don't even know how I did it before. It was a fluke. A fluke three times in a row, but still a fluke. Eloghosa said—"
"Eloghosa said he can't teach you one. That's different from you not being able to do one." Tessy crossed her arms, her silver chains catching the dust-filled light. "Buckle up, David. If you don't land a Communion now, I won't help in this fight. I'll let it play out. He'll kill you. Then I'll fight him."
David's blood went cold.
"You're joking."
"I don't joke about violence."
"Tessy—"
"Go."
Scotto stepped through the hole in the wall.
Eight feet of carved darkness. Three red eyes. Sashes moving slowly, deliberately, like they were thinking. His horns caught the dim light. His third eye pulsed once, twice, settling on David.
"The rookie," he said. "The one with the green light."
David squared up.
Five-foot-ten against eight feet. Baton in his left hand. Faith flickering around his knuckles like a dying spark.
He looked ridiculous.
He looked determined.
Scotto tilted his head.
"You're afraid."
"Yeah."
"Good."
David kicked dust into his eyes.
It wasn't a technique. It wasn't Faith-enhanced. It was just dirt, thrown upward, aimed at three bloodred eyes that had probably seen worse.
Scotto blinked.
David moved.
His fist—green light flaring, weak but present—slammed into Scotto's chest. The impact was solid. Real. The baton followed, a two-handed strike aimed at the same spot, Faith channeled into the Sanctite—
The baton shattered.
Not cracked. Not bent. Shattered, like glass, like ice, like something that had been asked to hold more than it could carry. Fragments rained down around David's feet.
Scotto looked down at the point of impact. Then back at David.
"You're a Vanguard," he said, his voice flat, almost disappointed. "And you still don't know how to imbue Faith properly."
David's fists clenched.
"You sure you're really one?" Scotto continued. "Or just... cosplaying?"
The left hook came fast—not Scotto's full speed, not even close, but fast enough that David barely registered it. He ducked, felt the wind of the punch brush his hair, and stumbled backward.
"Tessy—"
She slapped him again.
"Focus."
Another slap.
"Put away your anger."
Another.
"It's making your control sloppy. You're relying on adrenaline. On outside factors you can't control. On fear."
She grabbed his collar and pulled him close, her dark eyes burning.
"That's becoming a bad habit, David. Stop starting. Just be."
She released him.
David stood there, his cheek stinging, his chest heaving.
Scotto watched from across the room, motionless, his three eyes tracking the exchange.
"I won't retaliate," he said. "Not until she shows me her full cards. This..." He gestured at David. "This is interesting."
Tessy stepped back.
"Concentrate," she said. "Be aligned with your Faith. Not fighting it. Not begging it. Not forcing it. Just... aligned."
David closed his eyes.
The green light inside him was still there. It had always been there. But he'd been treating it like a weapon—something to grab, to swing, to throw at problems.
It wasn't a weapon.
It was him.
He stopped trying to control it.
He stopped trying to force it.
He just... breathed.
When he opened his eyes, they were different. Not angry. Not sad. Not terrified. Just... there. The same blank expression Ivie always wore. The same stillness.
Scotto's third eye pulsed.
"Ah," he said. "There you are."
David walked toward him.
Not charged. Not lunged. Walked. His footsteps were even. His breathing was steady. His green aura—no longer flickering, no longer weak—wrapped around him like a second skin.
Scotto moved to meet him.
They circled each other in the ruined room, the dust settling around them like snow.
Scotto struck first—a jab, testing, his fist passing through the air where David had been a heartbeat before. David ducked, pivoted, and drove his elbow into Scotto's ribs. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, but Scotto didn't stumble.
He smiled.
"Better."
He swept his leg low, fast, too fast. David jumped—not high, just enough—and landed on Scotto's extended shin, using it as a springboard to launch himself upward. His knee connected with Scotto's chin.
The eight-foot Phobia's head snapped back.
He caught David mid-air, his massive hand closing around David's ankle, and slammed him into the floor.
The concrete cratered.
David rolled with the impact, came up swinging—left hook, right cross, left hook again—each blow carrying the full weight of his green aura. Scotto blocked, absorbed, sidestepped. He was faster now. Taking David seriously.
"Your Faith is steady," Scotto observed, dodging a kick. "No flicker. No waste. You're not leaking energy anymore."
"Thanks for the feedback."
David's fist connected with Scotto's chest.
The Phobia staggered—just slightly, just for a moment—and his third eye contracted.
"Communion?"
"No." David pressed the advantage, driving Scotto backward with a flurry of strikes. "Just warming up."
Scotto adapted.
Every exchange taught him something. The angle of David's elbow. The weight shift before a kick. The way his green aura brightened when he was about to commit to a strike.
He started predicting.
David threw a right hook. Scotto was already ducking. David followed with a knee. Scotto was already blocking. David feinted left, spun right, and drove his heel into Scotto's temple.
Scotto's head snapped sideways.
He straightened, his three eyes wide.
"You faked the feint."
"I faked the fake."
"That's... irregular."
"I'm an irregular guy."
Scotto laughed.
It was a quiet sound—low, rumbling, genuine. Like thunder heard from far away.
"I like you, David Osayi."
"I'm not sure how to feel about that."
"You don't have to feel anything. Just fight."
They clashed again.
9:35PM
David didn't see the line.
He felt it.
The world narrowed. The dust stopped moving. Scotto's third eye—always tracking, always calculating—seemed to slow. David's hand moved before his brain caught up, his fingers tracing an arc in the air—
CRACK-BOOM.
Green light erupted from his palm, a line of pure truth, and slashed across Scotto's chest.
The Phobia flew backward, crashing through another wall, his sashes streaming behind him.
David stood there, his hand still extended, his green aura blazing.
"One," Tessy said from across the room.
Scotto rose from the rubble.
His chest was marked—a thin green line, still glowing, still burning. He touched it with one massive finger, and his third eye pulsed.
"That hurt," he said. Not angry. Just... noting.
David was already moving.
His leg swept up—not a kick, not a strike, but a drawing, his foot tracing a line in the air.
CRACK-BOOM.
The second Communion was bigger than the first. The green line erupted from his foot like a crescent blade, catching Scotto across the shoulder as he tried to dodge.
He spun mid-air, landed badly, and caught himself on one knee.
"Two," Tessy said.
Scotto stopped retreating.
He planted his feet, his massive frame blocking the hole in the wall, and waited. His third eye was fully dilated now, the eclipse marking spinning slowly.
"Your Faith is accelerating," he said. "Each Communion is larger than the last. More dense. More... true."
David didn't answer.
He crossed the distance in three strides, his right fist pulled back, green light coalescing around his knuckles like a star being born.
CRACK-BOOM.
The punch landed—not on Scotto's chest, not on his shoulder, but on his face. The third eye. The eclipse marking.
Scotto's head snapped back. His body followed, lifted off the ground by the force of the impact, and crashed through two more walls before stopping.
"Three," Tessy said. She was smiling now.
David's left hand had been dormant.
He'd kept it close to his chest, protected, unused. Not because it was injured—because he was saving it.
Scotto pulled himself from the rubble, his face marked with green light, his third eye flickering.
"You're holding back."
"A little."
"Why?"
"Because you're still learning."
David stepped forward, his left hand rising.
CRACK-BOOM.
The fourth Communion was different. Not a line—a palm, open and flat, pressing against Scotto's chest like a brand. The green light didn't cut. It spread, flowing across Scotto's torso like water finding its level.
Scotto gasped—the first sound of genuine surprise he'd made all night.
"What—"
" What is this feeling." David's voice was calm. "Guess i finally had an epiphany."
He pushed.
Scotto flew backward, his body glowing green, his third eye spasming.
"Four," Tessy whispered.
David's right arm opened space.
A wide arc—not a strike, not a block—just a gesture, pushing the air aside, creating room. Scotto stumbled into the gap, off-balance, his sashes tangled.
David's left hand—the dormant one, the saved one—came up.
CRACK-BOOM.
The fifth Communion landed on Scotto's face. Same spot as the third. Same eye. Same eclipse marking.
Scotto's head snapped back. His body went limp for a moment—just a moment—before he caught himself, his hands braced against the floor, his breathing heavy.
"Five," Tessy said. Her voice was strange. Almost reverent.
David stood over Scotto.
The eight-foot Phobia—the Umbral Sovereign, the eater of seven Vanguards, the darkness made flesh—was on his knees. His sashes hung still. His horns were cracked. His third eye was closed.
"One more," Scotto said. His voice was quiet. "Can you do one more?"
David didn't answer.
He raised his right arm—not to strike, but to open. Space. Possibility. Truth.
Then his left arm—the dormant one, the saved one, the one that had been waiting—came up.
CRACK-BOOM.
The sixth Communion was the largest.
It wasn't a line. It wasn't a palm. It was a wave—green light erupting from David's entire body, washing over Scotto, through Scotto, past Scotto. The walls behind him disintegrated. The floor beneath him cratered. The ceiling above him cracked.
Scotto flew.
Not through one wall. Not through two. Through the entire building, out the other side, into the dark Ekpoma night.
David stood in the center of the destruction, his green aura blazing, his breath steady, his eyes calm.
"Six," Tessy said.
Tessy walked toward him, her bare feet silent on the broken floor.
"Can you feel your Faith now, David?"
He looked at his hands. The green light was still there—not flickering, not weak. Steady.
"Yeah," he said. "I can feel it."
"Before, you were relying on adrenaline. On fear. On outside factors." She stopped in front of him. "Now you've tasted Communion—really tasted it—you're closer to the core of your Faith than those who haven't."
She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"The distance between you and them is the distance from heaven to earth."
She smiled.
"You've earned the right to fight beside me, David Osayi."
David looked at the hole in the wall where Scotto had disappeared.
"He's not dead."
"No."
"Get ready our battle just begun."
"Yes."
"And we'll be ready."
Tessy's smile widened.
"Yes, we will."
Three months ago. The Covenant base. Eloghosa's room.
Tessy sat on a chair, her legs crossed, her bare feet swinging. Eloghosa sat across from her, his pink doves perched on the headboard.
"You've hit Communions before," she said. "Why can't you land them steady?"
Eloghosa was quiet for a moment.
"Everyone says you need to be aligned with yourself and your Faith. If that were it, I'd land one every time."
"It's not?"
"Alignment is necessary. But it's an oversimplification." He leaned back. "The real challenge is the perfect blend of Faith—balancing the power that strengthens your fist and the power that strikes your opponent."
He held up a finger.
"You have to account for shifting variables. Your physical condition. Your emotional state. Temperature. Humidity. Faith reserves. Fight duration. Even your opponent's state—their fear, their resolve, their own Faith."
"That's a lot."
"It's everything." He glanced at his doves. "I incorporate them into my mobility, too. That adds another variable. Another layer of complexity."
"So how do you land one at all?"
Eloghosa smiled.
"Ultimately, it comes down to grace. Even for me."
"And Benjamin?"
"Benjamin may hold the higher consecutive record—eight Communions in a single fight." Eloghosa's smile didn't waver. "But my total count is higher. I simply finish fights too fast to build a streak."
Tessy snorted.
"Humble."
"Honest."
Present 9:39PM
Tessy watched David's green aura fade.
"Six," she said to herself. "He's not going to land a seventh, is he?"
She thought of Eloghosa's words.
I finish fights too fast to build a streak.
"Maybe that's not the point," she murmured.
David turned to her, his expression still calm, still centered.
"What?"
"Nothing." She walked toward the hole in the wall. "Come on. Scotto's not dead we have to exorcise him tonight."
David followed.
His green aura was gone now—but it wasn't absent. It was waiting. Resting. Ready.
For the first time since this nightmare began, he felt like he belonged here.