Chapter 88: Waiting in the Silence
Philip sat alone in the ruins of his family's home, rage and worry roiling beneath the surface of his still form. The front wall of the sitting room had been blown apart during the fight with the Gutterborn. The roof sagged dangerously in places, casting long shadows in the dim light of the crescent moon above.
But Philip noticed none of it. His sharp gaze was fixed on his unconscious brother, whose body now rested atop hastily laid blankets.
His sister lay beside him her small frame wrapped in a soft cloak of light conjured from Philip's power, helping to shield her from the night chill.
She was deeper in sleep than he liked.
Her body had almost no mana left drained completely in the desperate battle earlier. And yet, in that drained state, she had somehow stood against the Gutterborn long enough to protect their brother.
Philip could see traces of light mana faint silver threads slowly weaving their way toward her, drawn from the very world itself. But at night, without the sun to aid the process, the flow was sluggish.
It would take hours perhaps more.
He clenched his fists. I should've been here sooner.
But guilt would help no one. Now was the time to act, not drown in regret.
He had already scanned the area multiple times. His senses extended for nearly a kilometer in all directions.
The neighboring buildings had not fared much better. Several homes were half-collapsed, blood spattered on the walls. The neighbors most unawakened had not survived the Gutterborn's attack. Their bodies lay twisted beneath the rubble or sprawled across the street, faces locked in masks of terror.
Philip had memorized each one.
He would not forget.
But his parents… no sign.
That was what gnawed at him most. No bodies. No blood. No scent. It was as though they had vanished before the battle. His brother might know something when he woke but the young man's wounds had been deep.
At least now, after the healing elixirs, his breathing had stabilized. The shallow rise and fall of his chest was stronger. His face, previously pale as death, had regained some color.
Now it was a waiting game.
Philip moved silently through the debris, gathering shattered wood and clearing jagged stone. He laid out what little bedding remained intact, fashioning a crude but warm resting space for his brother and sister amid the broken remains of the sitting room.
Over them, he wove a thin barrier of mana translucent, strong, layered. It would shield them from stray mana, from pests, even from the lingering filth of the Gutterborn's corruption. Nothing would touch them while he watched.
Satisfied for now, he sat cross-legged nearby.
He inhaled, then exhaled slowly.
He needed to center himself calm the boiling anger threatening to cloud his mind. The pull to fly straight to Ibadan and begin the slaughter was almost overwhelming, but he couldn't leave not until he knew for certain what had happened to his parents.
And not until his brother and sister were safe.
So he closed his eyes and entered meditation.
Mana spiraled around him, faint and bright lightning and spirit energy mingling with the deep pulse of the earth below. He guided it through his body, cycling it slowly, refining it. With each breath, his mind cleared, sharpening like a blade on stone.
The house was silent.
Beyond the ruins, the night was still. The city slept uneasily. Word of the Gutterborn attack and of a raging demigod had already spread like wildfire among Lagos' awakened circles. Philip could sense the distant presence of scouts watching the area from afar afraid to approach.
He ignored them.
His focus remained on his family.
Time passed minutes stretching into hours.
A faint groan stirred him from his trance. His eyes opened instantly, cold and alert.
His brother stirred beneath the blankets, face twisted in pain.
Philip was at his side in a blink.
"Easy," he murmured, voice low but calm. "You're safe."
The young man's eyes fluttered open bloodshot, filled with confusion. He looked around, gaze landing on Philip. His mouth moved weakly.
"Brother…?"
Philip's hand rested gently on his shoulder. "I'm here. Rest. You're alive."