The dark sky glowed red.
Ifeanyi was dragged into the inner chambers, flanked tightly by two guards.
"No!" he protested, struggling against their grip. "The world is ending! I should be outside—fighting beside my brother!" He yelled and thrashed in their grasp.
"But the Queen ordered it," one of the guards replied tersely. They tossed him into the chamber and slammed the door shut, locking it from the outside.
"Please! I beg you!" Ifeanyi cried out, pounding against the door.
The guards stood stone-faced.
One of them, still maintaining his stance, finally said, "It's for your own good, young king. If you die alongside your brother, the kingdom will be left without a ruler. Even I would rather be out there. Trust me."
—
The air reeked of ash—blown in from the neighboring lands already ravaged by Chibuzor's wrath. Though he possessed the power to destroy the kingdom in one swift blow, he chose instead to level it village by village. To torment. To build dread. To let the palace simmer in fear.
The ground trembled under the frenzied stampede of fleeing villagers. Children were crushed beneath the chaos—trampled by neighbors, even by their own parents. It was survival of the strongest. The smallest, the slowest, were swallowed by the madness. Flames devoured huts. Structures fell like dried leaves in harmattan.
At the port, Queen Ifunanya labored tirelessly, helping refugees onto Kanu canoes. Thousands gathered there, desperate, but they were still only a small fraction of the kingdom's populace.
The earth cried.
Ani wept.
And above it all, Chibuzor hovered—drunk on power, god-like in stature, invincible.
On the palace grounds stood an army of thousands: a desperate mix of royal guards, orphaned young men, thieves, merchants, and the remnants of destroyed communities. Some held spears and machetes. Others bore bows—trained or not, it didn't matter anymore. They had gathered to defend their homeland.
Around them, catapults stood armed with massive wooden boulders, doused in pitch, ready to be set aflame.
They all waited for the command of their general—King Ifeanyi's uncle, Prince Nkem. Beside him stood Uzo, Ifeanyi's brother, his face carved with sacred warrior marks.
The sounds of destruction faded.
The inferno, the screams—it all fell eerily silent.
Fearful murmurs crept through the ranks. Loud, slow heartbeats seemed to echo in every chest.
"Maybe it's over…" one soldier whispered.
"I wouldn't be so sur—"
A horn blared—deep and ancient—cutting him off. The sound of an elephant's tusk.
Chibuzor stepped forward, just beyond the gates.
Within the walls, Nkem and Uzo waited, eyes locked on him.
"One... two," Chibuzor murmured, counting aloud with a sneer. "No three? Where's the brave prince—oh, forgive me, king? Shouldn't he be here at the front lines?"
He stepped forward.
"I want Ifeanyi outside. I only need him," he shouted. Then, grinning madly, "Maybe Uzo too—for good measure. Bring them, and I'll spare this pitiful army a quick death. Do that, and I'll even rule this land for you.
"But if you don't..." His voice turned cold. "I will torture each of you. Slowly. You see, I'm immortal now. I have all the time in the world. I am six steps from your gates. Every time a bird chirps, I'll take one more. When I reach the sixth…"
He smiled.
"…your time is up."
"He mocks us," Uzo growled, fists clenched.
"I know," Nkem said calmly, "but his power is real. We must be cautious. A solution may yet appear."
He raised his hands.
Priests stepped forward, placing idols before them. They began to chant—low, harmonic, ancient words filling the air with spiritual weight. A rift opened, shimmering between the realms. Hope stirred in the hearts of those who watched.
Then—laughter.
Low. Sinister.
It was Chibuzor.
Or rather, Anukili—speaking through him.
"No, no, no," he chuckled darkly. "We don't need help from your little spirits or gods."
Suddenly, the priests' hymns faltered. Their voices were stolen. Grief hung in the air like smoke.
"I have seized your power," Anukili declared. With a snap of his fingers, the idols burst into flame.
"An abomination," one priest gasped.
"But effective," Anukili said. "You're cut off from the spiritual realm. Chukwu cannot intervene."
"No tricks, boy!" he roared. "Or I'll find Ifeanyi myself!"
Inside the chamber, darkness.
Ifeanyi sat on the floor, legs bouncing with restless energy. He stood, pacing, muttering to himself.
"How to escape… how to escape…"
"There is no escape, young king," said a voice, grim and low.
Ifeanyi froze.
A shaft of sunlight revealed a gaunt man holding a glowing idol—Ogadi, the priest. His mother's trusted spiritual advisor.
"Ogadi?" Ifeanyi asked.
"Yes, my king."
"Please, Ogadi," Ifeanyi begged. "You see through the gods. Even you must know—I'm no use in here. Let me fight. Please, wise one."
Ogadi opened his mouth to speak—but staggered.
The idol in his hand burst into flame.
He dropped it, horrified, as flames licked across its surface and voices—souls—whispered through the chamber.
"No... my magic..." Ogadi whispered in dread.
Ifeanyi stepped forward. "Things have gone astray," he said. "Do something. Before it's all lost."
Ogadi knelt, calling upon Chukwu one last time. No answer came—only a final vision.
"My king," he gasped, "you must go. Now."
"But the guards—"
"Don't worry. I cast a sleep spell on them before my magic died."
He handed Ifeanyi a calabash.
"When you stand before Chibuzor, speak these words aloud: Amadioha. Igwe. Ala. Mmili. Consume and wash the earth of evil. This is your only chance."
Ifeanyi burst from the palace, the calabash clutched to his chest.
The army turned—startled—to see their king running straight toward them. Uzo spotted him from afar and immediately ordered soldiers to block his path, shielding him from Chibuzor's sight.
"Go to him," Nkem said quietly.
Confused, Ifeanyi slowed as familiar soldiers surrounded him. Uzo stepped forward.
"What are you doing? This is dangerous!"
But Ifeanyi didn't listen. He broke through their line, running hard—straight to the gate.
Chibuzor watched him, amused.
"He runs at me with such fire," he said. "No matter."
He beckoned. "Come, then."
Face to face, just a step apart, Ifeanyi held up the calabash and spoke the words:
"Amadioha. Igwe. Ala. Mmili. Consume and wash the earth of evil."
Anukili's smile vanished.
"No!" he shrieked—through Chibuzor's mouth—as the calabash exploded with light.
The dark sky split. A beam of divine fire poured through the clouds. The ground shuddered. Celestial voices filled the air, speaking in forgotten tongues.
Lightning rained down—engulfing Chibuzor.
And Ifeanyi.
Inside the storm, Anukili fought wildly, casting ancient spells to free himself.
But from the heavens came the voices of the gods:
"Anukili, you defied us a century ago and were punished. Yet you returned, committing greater evils still. For this, we banish you—beyond all realms—for five centuries."
The storm ripped at Chibuzor's divine flesh.
But Ifeanyi, too, was caught within it.
Both screamed.
Then, silence.
The army watched, paralyzed, as the storm circled where the two had stood. Uzo's eyes filled with horror. His brother's screams echoed in his soul.
The storm pulsed.
Then exploded.
It swept across the battlefield, over the port, through every corner of the kingdom—obliterating all. Only those who had fled by sea survived.
**END OF VOLUME ONE**
Over time, with the last of humanity, Chukwu began again. He molded life anew—hoping to avoid the evil that had once consumed the earth.
But five hundred years later… another evil stirred.
The land of Ani was not done telling stories.
Not by far.