Near the edge of Agbija Forest, more than a hundred kilometers west of the village, centered at its heart. There, Akami sat alone on a weathered log, the remnants of a dead fire smoking at his feet. In his hand, he held a stone dagger, its edge scraping methodically against the roasted fur of an Abebe rat.
The rainy season had swelled the land, coaxing these creatures, half the size of a hunting dog, quick and clever, from their burrows. But they were no match for a god who'd walked the earth for over a thousand years.
By his left side rested his machete, a formidable weapon a meter and a half long and a palm wide, its edge crusted with the dried blood of leopards, snakes, and other beasts he'd felled in recent months. Akami worked the stone dagger with precision, slicing a clean cut into the rat's belly. He dug in with his hand, pulling out the innards, and carefully extracted the liver, placing it into a clean calabash. With a flick of his wrist, he shook off the blood, tied the calabash shut with a rope, and tucked it into a sac. He had not been to Ileigi village for over six months and had not seen Ajike since then. However, he hoped since this little gift would help still her fury.
Then he skewered the rat from end to end with a stick, holding it aloft with one hand. Pointing a finger from his other hand, he summoned a thin stream of controlled blue flame, the fire dancing over the meat until, in less than five minutes, it was perfectly cooked.
Akami didn't need to eat. Food and water were mere pleasures for a god like him, not necessities. He took a bite, the warm juices flooding his mouth, and a faint smile curved his lips.
"Thank you, Gaia, for this meal," he murmured, a small prayer to the earth that sustained him still. When he finished, he rose, grabbing his machete, and headed toward a stream not far off.
The waterway was broad and deep, swollen by the rains, its currents weaving through the gates of Oba-Aran kingdom and past Ileigi village. He stepped into the cold water, which reached his waist—higher than usual, but expected in this season.
He began by washing the machete, its hilt carved from Iroko wood, its blade forged of divine steel. This weapon, his companion for over a millennium, had cleaved through foes mightier than any forest beast—evil spirits, Primordials, threats to humanity's dawn. Akami chuckled as he scrubbed the blood from its edge.
"Obegun," he said, calling the name of his blade with a laugh, "you must be upset. You, who once drank the blood of powerful foes, now reduced to killing wild beasts." Expecting no reply, he washed until the steel gleamed anew, then turned to himself, rinsing the dirt and blood from his skin until he stood clean under the warm sun's gaze. "Living such a peaceful life is truly the best," he mused, settling on the stream's edge with a contented smile.
At that moment, a sharp screech split the air, pulling his eyes skyward. A hawk circled above, its wings cutting through the air. It was Asabi, the bird he'd tasked with watching over Ileigi. Extending his arm, Akami called it down, and the hawk landed, its talons gripping his skin. It leaned close, screeching softly into his ear.
Even after Orun's spell had torn his soul, Akami retained some of his gifts, one of which was speaking with birds, and now Asabi's message chilled him. Ileigi had been attacked.
His smile vanished. The sac with the liver, the cooked rat, the quiet moment—all forgotten as he rose swiftly with Obegun in hand, water dripping from his waist. The forest seemed to still, the stream's murmur fading, as the Primordial god of Death turned his gaze eastward, toward the village that held his little Ajike and the echoes of a life he'd chosen to protect.
Akami moved with purpose, his bare feet silent against the sodden earth. A hundred kilometers lay between him and Ileigi, a distance that would take days for a mortal to cross. But he was no mortal. With a breath, he summoned the remnants of his power, diminished though it was since Orun's spell had torn his soul. His body blurred, the world streaking past as he ran, faster than any beast in Agbija, his dreads trailing like a banner behind him. The wind howled in his wake, and the forest bent away from his path, as if bowing to the Primordial God of Death reborn in motion.
As he neared Ileigi, the air grew thick with the scent of smoke and blood, a bitter tang that cut through the damp sweetness of the rain-soaked woods. The village came into view at the forest's heart, its huts scattered like broken shells.
The night over Ileigi village was a jagged wound, the full moon casting its merciless light on a scene of devastation. Akami had covered the hundred kilometers from Agbija Forest's edge in less than forty-five minutes, his divine speed a blur through the rain-soaked trees, driven by Asabi's warning and the dread knotting his chest. Now, as he stood at the village's heart, the air reeked of smoke, blood, and ruin. The ground was a graveyard of shattered lives—corpses strewn like fallen leaves, walls broken into jagged remnants, blood staining the earth in dark, glistening pools.
His cold gaze swept the carnage, taking in the toll with the precision of a god who'd seen death in all its forms. Alade, the cocoa farmer, lay sprawled near a splintered hut, his neck cleaved open, his empty eyes fixed on the sky in a frozen scream. Nearby, a child's small body rested, innards spilling from a gaping wound, a sight that even Akami's ancient heart couldn't wholly steel itself against. He walked forward, his bare feet silent on the bloodied soil, and paused beside Omotola—a woman he'd watched grow from a toddling girl into a mother. Her body was torn apart, limbs twisted unnaturally, her life snuffed out in brutal haste. Akami squatted beside her, touching the damp, crimson earth next to her corpse. He brought the blood to his face, inhaling its faint warmth. "About three hours ago," he said, his voice a frigid whisper, honed by centuries of judgment.
Then his head snapped to the left, his eyes narrowing as a jolt of fear pierced his calm. "Ajike!" The name tore from his throat, raw and jagged, as he dashed toward the village center. There, amid the wreckage, stood a red hut or what remained of it. Its walls cracked and collapsed, its roof a tattered ruin. At its base lay an old woman, her frail form slumped against the broken wall, her grey hair matted and darkened with blood. Her eyes were shut, her face still, as if sleep had claimed her amid the chaos.
Akami strode to her side, his steps slowing as he sank to the ground beside her. He gently lifted her head onto his lap, his broad hands trembling faintly as they caressed her wrinkled, blood-streaked face. "My little Ajike," he sighed, the words heavy with grief and a tenderness that spanned decades. "My poor, poor Ajike." His fingers ran through her hair, smoothing the tangled strands dyed red with her life's essence, his touch a quiet lament for the Blessed one who'd seen him as he truly was.
The village lay silent around them, the flames reduced to smoldering embers, the raiders long gone into the night. Asabi circled overhead, her screeches a mournful dirge, but Akami's world had narrowed to the woman in his arms.
The silence was a fragile thing, broken suddenly by a low, guttural growl that rumbled through the air. Akami's head lifted slowly, his grief interrupted, and he turned his gaze to the left. His cold eyes settled on a creature unlike any he'd seen in his long existence.
It stood tall and lean, its body an outrageous image of woven muscle, taut and lean, as if crafted from raw flesh stripped of fat or mercy. Its long arms dangled nearly to the ground, ending in claws—sharp, pointed, and cruel, capable of slicing a man in two with a single swipe. Its head was an elongated oval, featureless save for a single vertical eye glowing faintly in the center, flanked by two gaping holes for nostrils. Below, its mouth twitched, a maw of sinew and saliva that opened and closed with wet, hungry snaps.
Akami gently eased Ajike's head from his lap, laying her back against the broken wall with care that belied the storm brewing within him. He rose to his feet, his movements deliberate, and strutted toward the creature until he stood just a meter away. It towered over him, three heads taller, forcing him to tilt his chin upward to meet its gaze.
"What are you?" he asked, his voice soft but edged with an ancient authority. "You don't seem to be from 'That place.'"
The creature took a step back, its long limbs twitching as if instinct screamed at it to flee. "Oh?" Akami tilted his head to the side, a faint smirk curling his lips. "You can sense that I am more powerful?" His tone was almost curious, a predator sizing up prey.
"Did you do this? Did you kill these people?" He gestured toward the ruined village, the bodies of Ajike, Alade, Omotola, and the others strewn like broken dolls.
The creature offered no answer. Instead, it threw its head back and unleashed a roar—primal, defiant, and deafening. Akami's patience snapped.
"Oh, shut up!" he barked, his eyes flaring with a sudden, molten glow. In an instant, he moved, his hand shooting out to seize the creature's slavering maw, cutting off its bellow mid-throat. With a surge of strength, he yanked it downward and slammed its head into the ground, the impact cracking the blood-soaked earth beneath.
Dust and debris rose in a cloud, the creature's body twitching under his grip. Akami stood over it, his dreads swaying slightly, the leopard fur around his waist stark against his dark skin. The Primordial God of Death loomed, his calm shattered, replaced by a quiet fury that burned colder than the moon above. "Answer me," he said, his voice low and lethal, "or I'll tear the truth from you piece by piece."