After learning about what made him different from other vampires—although Mira claimed there might still be a few things about him yet to be discovered, which he would only learn once he got to the vampire world—Uche felt a little more confident.
After telling him everything he needed to know, Mira asked if he was ready to move into the vampire world. He thought about it for a while before giving his answer.
"Not until I get my eye back. I mean, I can't afford to be there and keep seeing strange visions of some heartless human's work."
He explained everything to her: what had happened after one of his eyes had been transplanted into someone else, the strange visions he kept seeing, and how the person who received it was a notorious and heartless serial killer.
Mira found it strange that he could see through the eye that had been transplanted to someone else, so she decided to help him get his eye back. She also made him aware of what could happen in the vampire world if they found out about his strange healing traits and other abilities.
"Does that mean I'll still be hiding even in the vampire world?"
Uche asked, a little sad. After hiding for countless years in the human world, he had thought he would finally have somewhere to call home after learning he was a vampire. But now, he realized he was even different from them—and might have to continue hiding again.
Uche didn't want to go through that anymore.
Mira shook her head.
"No, you don't need to hide. We just have to make sure you don't get hurt so people won't see your healing trait. But don't worry, I'll protect you."
She reassured him with a smile.
Uche returned the smile and said,
"Well, if it's about not getting hurt, I'm pretty good at that."
And that was true—he had lived several years carefully concealing what he was. He had even gone a couple of years without sustaining any injury. So who said he couldn't keep doing that?
"It won't be that easy. Life isn't the same there in the Arcane World—it's pretty much tough," Mira said.
But Uche barely heard her, as a sudden, faint pain struck his empty eye socket.
---
Later that day, after the cops had left the crime scene, Kante didn't waste a second before walking out and boarding a bus.
A few minutes later, he got to his destination—his house. He went inside, changed into a normal T-shirt and jeans, then went out again, this time using his own car instead of a bus.
A couple of hours later, Kante arrived at the outskirts of Lagos City. He got out of his car and walked deeper into the junk-filled, labyrinth-like streets.
Kante explored the street for a few minutes before arriving at an area that seemed cut out of the junk-filled maze. The area was vast and empty—no buildings, no trees, no forest. Just a wide space, littered with piles of junk.
And there was something else.
A single building stood at the far edge, surrounded by heaps of scrap. The building looked like it was about to collapse, barely standing.
Kante approached the building, and a very old man appeared just as he reached the door.
"Oh, what brings yo—"
Before the man could finish his sentence, Kante sent him flying back inside with a strong kick.
Kante scanned the room as he slowly walked toward the old man, who was already coughing up blood.
"Please, don't kill me. Tell me, what do you want?"
The man pleaded, his voice shaky.
The man had wrinkles all over his face, pure grey hair, and thick eyebrows—he looked ancient, to say the least.
Kante bent down to eye level and said,
"That day, when I came to you for help—what did you do to my eye?"
His voice carried both anger and danger.
The man trembled in fear as he shook his head.
"I did nothing. I only removed the bullets and sewed up your body. I did nothing to your eye."
Kante smiled coldly.
"I knew you wouldn't talk."
A punch landed on the man's face, knocking him out instantly, his nose bleeding.
Kante tied him up with a long rope he had brought and propped him against the wall. Then he began exploring the building—and what he found left his mouth open in awe.
The building was nothing like it appeared from the outside. In fact, the exterior was just an illusion. Inside, it was no different from modern city houses.
From the outside, it looked like a shabby wooden shack, barely clinging to life. But the inside was lavish—different sections with a luxurious bedroom, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, and toilet.
There was also a library, a storage room, and a lab, all designed with elegance.
Kante made sure to explore every single section, starting from the dining room. The laboratory was the last place—and his true destination.
He looked around the lab, remembering the first time he had entered this place. It was here he had been brought back to life. A day he would rather forget.
After searching for a while, he finally saw what he was looking for—a computer system standing in front of the operating table at the center of the room.
He walked up to it and found that the man hadn't logged out.
The first thing Kante did was check through the open windows on the screen, trying to see what the old man had been working on.
The first document looked like a report. He read it carefully.
"A Connect?"
Kante muttered, surprised.
Reading further, he discovered the man was reporting on a recent encounter with a Connect who had slipped away from their grasp.
When Kante noticed the date in the report, his heart began to race.
"Isn't that the same day I came to him?"
He opened another document. This one detailed how all evidence of the Connect had been erased—CCTV footage deleted, pictures destroyed, and the steps the higher-ups were taking to cover it up.
"Now this is interesting."
Opening yet another window, he found several CCTV footages of surgeries conducted in the lab.
Going through them, he stumbled upon something that nearly made him claw his own eyes out.
"So he really did it, huh."
The footage showed the old man rushing to his computer in a panic, typing frantically. Moments later, the doorbell rang, and when he checked, he saw a young man with red spiky hair, dull yet piercing eyes, and long eyebrows.
The young man's clothes were bloody, and his sharp eyes were slowly losing vitality.
It was Kante.
He watched the footage with a grim expression.
The old man took him in, treated him, and removed a dozen bullets from his body, all while wondering who this mysterious young man was.
Finally, after putting Kante to sleep, the surgeon's gaze fixed on a single eyeball placed on the table near the computer.
Moments later, he removed Kante's left eye and transplanted the mysterious eyeball into it.
"He transplanted a Connect's eye into mine,"
Kante muttered, putting the pieces together.