2025-01-26 07:28:43Obinna stood unmoving, his dark-metal helmet gleaming beneath the storm. The bullhorn atop it made him look like a demon risen from the depths of the underworld. The chieftain of Nnewi charged toward him, his cry of sorrowful rage swallowed by the roaring storm.
With bloodshot eyes and trembling hands gripping his sword, the chieftain swung wildly, desperation and fury driving his attack. But Obinna remained calm. As the blade came down toward him, he sidestepped with practiced ease, bending low to avoid the strike. Before the chieftain could recover from his overcommitted attack, Obinna’s curved blade slashed in brutal, unforgiving precision. The chieftain froze in shock, his sword arm cleanly severed at the shoulder, falling to the ground with a soft thud. Blood poured out in a surge, as if a dam had burst, spraying across the battlefield and splattering onto Obinna's cold, expressionless face. The general didn’t flinch. The chieftain let out a piercing wail, his remaining hand clutching the gory, bloodied stump. His screams were cut short as Obinna’s blade descended once more, this time severing his head with one swift motion. The head rolled to the ground, its lifeless eyes staring upward, the expression frozen in an agonized scream. Rain mixed with the pooling blood as it spread around the body. Obinna stood tall, blood dripping from his face, making him appear monstrous—almost godlike. The remaining warriors of Nnewi faltered, their courage dissolving as they watched their leader fall. Fear rippled through their ranks. Some clutched their weapons tighter; others trembled where they stood. Obinna’s cold gaze swept over them, but he made no move to pursue. There was no need. Among the warriors stood the farmer who had clamored earlier for surrender. His pale face was frozen in terror, his knees shaking violently. The unmistakable warmth running down his legs left him horrified. He thanked the heavens for the rain that hid his shame and prayed desperately to the gods for courage. Behind Obinna, the Orlu soldiers surged past him like a tidal wave. Their war cries rose above the storm as they descended upon the Nnewi warriors with savage efficiency, cutting through them like wolves tearing into lambs. Obinna stayed back and watched, his role already completed. One of the captains stopped by his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. The man stood at 5’11", with a shaved Mohawk-style haircut and a tattoo of a wolf on the right side of his skull. An eyepatch covered his left eye, and a scar ran from the covered socket to the top of his lips, giving him a menacing look. “I’m sorry, brother. I wished they’d surrendered too. This is the will of the gods,” Onyeka said, trying to comfort him. Onyeka knew his brother better than anyone else. Despite Obinna’s strong and ruthless demeanor, he abhorred senseless bloodshed and had hoped the people of Nnewi would surrender to the kingdom of Orlu to avoid unnecessary slaughter. “It doesn’t matter anymore. End this quickly,” Obinna said. Onyeka nodded in acceptance and moved to join the battle. Hiding in the darkness of the trees, a cloaked figure observed the carnage below, their expression unreadable. They ignored the cries of the dying men, their focus solely fixed on Obinna. “So the stories were true,” they muttered. “The general is as strong and ruthless as they say. We have to adjust our plans,” they thought as they slipped back into the shadows. Obinna squinted toward the direction of the retreating cloaked figure. He had felt a presence watching him. Though he shook off the feeling, he remained vigilant as he observed the battle. His eyes narrowed in surprise when he saw a few Nnewi soldiers manage to kill some of his men, but he didn’t care. Victory was inevitable. Blood flowed on the battlefield as the dying cries faded into the storm. --- Akunna ran her fingers through Ikenna’s white hair, a loving smile on her face as he slept peacefully. He had drifted off in the middle of their storytelling, his face serene despite the storm raging outside. She muttered a silent prayer of gratitude to the gods for blessing her with such a wonderful son. Ever since her husband’s death, Ikenna had been her source of strength and pride. His determination to succeed and his ability to bring joy to her life belied his young age. She was lost in thought, reminiscing about happier times, when a sudden chill ran down her spine. The air felt heavy, charged with an ominous energy. The room grew colder, and a deep sense of dread settled over her. Despite the rain outside, she could feel it—blood, death, and carnage hung in the air like a suffocating shroud. Akunna’s heart clenched as a terrible premonition gripped her. Her hand froze mid-motion while still entwined with Ikenna’s hair. The warmth of the hut no longer comforted her. It was as if the gods themselves were holding their breath. “Something is wrong,” she whispered. Slowly, she rose from the mat where Ikenna lay. He stirred briefly but didn’t wake. Akunna glanced at him, her worry deepening as her maternal instincts screamed at her. She whispered a short prayer, asking the gods to shield her son from harm. She walked to the door of her hut, her steps careful and deliberate. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the wooden latch. Hesitating for a moment, she took a deep breath before pushing the door open. Rain pelted her face as she stepped into the storm. The village, usually so lively even in the late hours, was unnervingly silent. The only sounds were the relentless rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. Akunna scanned the village, searching for the source of her dread. For a moment, there was nothing—only empty streets and the soft glow of hearth fires visible through the gaps in neighboring huts. But then, she saw them. At first, they were only faint shapes in the distance, shadows whose movements were veiled by the storm. But as she focused, her breath caught in her throat. Foreign soldiers. Their oil-soaked torches burned unnaturally bright against the rain. They moved like ghosts, their presence almost silent except for the occasional barked orders. Her heart raced as she realized they were positioning themselves strategically, awaiting the command to strike. “If they’re here, it means our men are dead or captured,” she thought grimly, her dread intensifying. She quietly retreated into the hut, her mind racing. Her gaze fell on the still-sleeping Ikenna. The thought of losing him sent a jolt of urgency through her. “I have to get him to safety,” she resolved, kneeling beside him. Gently shaking his shoulder, she whispered, “Ikenna, wake up. We have to go.”
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