The tavern was dim, thick with the scent of palm wine and old wood. Obiora the Fat Hand sat comfortably on a stool too small for his frame, chewing lazily on a piece of roasted goat meat.
Then the air changed.
The door creaked open, letting in a gust of cold air that didn't belong to the warm night. Conversations halted. Shadows lengthened.
The Red Claw had arrived.
Obiora barely had time to swallow before a heavy hand gripped his shoulder.
"You're in my light," he muttered, not looking up.
A blade—cold, thin, and precise—pressed against his throat.
"Where is he?" a low voice demanded.
Obiora smacked his lips, his eyes flicking to his unfinished meal. "Gonna need to be more specific than that, friend."
The knife pressed deeper. A drop of blood rolled down his neck.
"Chizoba."
Now Obiora froze. He slowly turned his head, finally taking in the group surrounding him.
Five figures.
Their armor was a mix of crimson-dyed leather and reinforced steel, each of them carrying weapons that gleamed in the dim light. But the one holding the knife?
Captain Udemba.
The man's dark eyes gleamed like obsidian, calculating and patient, like a predator deciding whether the kill was worth the effort.
Obiora swallowed. "Now, now… no need for all this. I'm a businessman. I deal in favors."
Udemba's expression didn't change. "Then I suggest you give me one."
Obiora's fingers twitched. He had a dozen escape plans for moments like this. A hidden dagger. A backdoor exit. A spell-sealed charm under the table.
None of them would work fast enough.
Sighing, he raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. He left this morning. Didn't say much, but I caught him buying rations—long-term stuff. Meant for travel. He ain't sticking around."
"Which direction?"
Obiora hesitated.
The knife turned, pressing against his cheek.
"Which. Direction."
"East," he blurted. "Toward Nsogbu Valley."
For the first time, Udemba's lips curled slightly.
A smile.
A knowing smile.
The other members of the Red Claw glanced at him.
"He's not running," Udemba murmured, mostly to himself. "He's looking for something."
He pulled the blade away from Obiora's face and wiped it clean on the man's tunic.
"Gather the others," he ordered his squad. "We move now."
As they turned to leave, Obiora exhaled shakily, dabbing at the thin cut on his cheek.
"Next time," he muttered, "bring a damn drink if you're gonna threaten me."
The Red Claw didn't look back.
They were already focused on the hunt.
….....
The sun hung low over Nsogbu Valley, casting jagged shadows against the rust-colored cliffs. Chizoba and Omo moved swiftly along the rocky path, their pace urgent but steady. The valley was treacherous, filled with deep crevices and sudden drops. It was a place where few dared to tread, and even fewer returned.
Chizoba had hoped the terrain would slow their pursuers.
It didn't.
The moment he heard the sharp whistle of a signal arrow, he knew.
"They're here," he muttered.
Omo didn't break stride. "Who's 'they'?"
Chizoba gave her a sharp glance. "The Red Claw. They hunt people like me for sport."
Omo's brow furrowed. "You have a real talent for making enemies."
"Not a talent," Chizoba corrected grimly. "A curse."
Then the wind shifted.
Movement.
From the cliffs above, shadows leaped, descending like crimson phantoms. Five figures in red-streaked armor landed in a crescent formation, cutting off their escape.
And then—a sixth.
Udemba the God-Torn.
He stood slightly ahead of the others, his body wrapped in battle-worn armor, the scars of past wars carved deep into his flesh. His spear was slung over his back, but it radiated a terrible presence, like a beast waiting to be unleashed.
His gaze burned with disdain.
"Chizoba," Udemba called, his voice rough, like a blade sharpening against stone. "I thought I smelled cowardice on the wind."
Chizoba's mind raced. He counted them, measured their spacing, judged the terrain. The odds were terrible.
"We need to move," he whispered to Omo, stepping back.
She didn't move. Instead, she crossed her arms. "I say we fight."
Chizoba blinked. "We?"
"Yeah. Unless you were planning on running again."
Chizoba scoffed. "It's not running. It's strategic retreat."
"It's cowardice," Omo shot back, her hands moving over her belt. He heard the faint click of metal locking into place.
She was activating something.
Chizoba exhaled sharply, his eyes flicking to the Red Claw. Seven against two. Even with Omo's tech, even with his skill, this wasn't a battle worth taking.
Udemba laughed, stepping forward. "Listen to your little friend, Chizoba. She still has spirit. Maybe I'll let her live."
His Chi flared—a deep, blood-red aura rippling off his body in jagged waves. The air grew heavier, denser.
Blood of Battle.
The more damage Udemba took, the stronger he would become.
"You don't get it," Chizoba hissed to Omo. "They don't just fight. They hunt. They don't stop."
Omo tilted her head, her visor lowering over her eyes. "Then we break them."
Chizoba felt the weight of the moment settle. His fingers flexed. His Chi stirred.
Udemba twirled his spear. "Enough talk."
The Red Claw attacked.
The first warrior lunged, his blade a streak of red.
Chizoba sidestepped, catching the man's wrist and twisting. A sharp crack—dislocation. With a pivot, Chizoba slammed his heel into the warrior's knee, dropping him.
But there was no time to celebrate.
Another came from behind.
Chizoba barely ducked as an axe whooshed over his head. He rolled, kicking up dust, and launched himself into a slide between the attacker's legs. The moment he was clear, he struck with a precise palm strike to the ribs, sending the fighter stumbling.
Meanwhile—
Omo moved differently.
Her tech hummed. With a press of her fingers, her left gauntlet snapped open, unleashing a burst of kinetic energy that sent one of the Red Claw flying.
Another warrior charged her, a curved sword raised high.
Omo activated her boots.
A sudden boom of propulsion—she moved faster than sight, appearing at his side and slamming an electrified baton into his ribs.
The man convulsed, his armor sparking, his muscles locking up.
Omo turned. "Three down."
Chizoba exhaled, stepping back-to-back with her. "Four to go."
And Udemba hadn't even moved yet.
Then—he smiled.
"You fight well for a man who chains himself," he said, rolling his shoulders. "But let's see if you can handle a real warrior."
He vanished.
Chizoba barely had time to react. A shadow loomed over him—then a fist, wrapped in crimson Chi, crashed into his stomach.
Pain exploded through his ribs as he was launched backward, smashing through a boulder.
Udemba cracked his knuckles, his body glowing with the essence of war.
"You're going to bleed today, Chizoba."
Pain.
Chizoba coughed, tasting iron in his mouth. His back pressed against the shattered boulder, his vision swimming. Udemba had barely put in effort—just one hit, and it felt like his ribs had nearly caved in.
He barely had time to catch his breath before Udemba was on him again.
The warlord moved like a storm, no wasted motion, no hesitation. He kicked off the ground, his blood-red Chi roaring around him.
Chizoba threw himself sideways as a spear slammed down where he had just been, splitting the earth apart. The shockwave sent dust and debris spiraling into the air.
No gaps. No hesitation. Udemba was relentless.
Chizoba tried to slip past his guard, but Udemba read his movement instantly—a knee lashed out, smashing into Chizoba's ribs and sending him sprawling.
He barely rolled in time to avoid the downward strike of the spear, which cracked the valley floor beneath it.
Udemba grinned.
"What's wrong?" he taunted, eyes gleaming with battle-lust. "Is this all the son of Obinwanne has to offer?"
Chizoba growled, forcing himself up. He could feel his Chi stirring, his instincts telling him to unseal his power.
No.
He wouldn't. Not yet.
He had trained for this.
Udemba came again, swinging his spear in a deadly arc.
Chizoba didn't block. He redirected.
A shift in weight. A pivot of the heel. A perfectly timed deflection—Udemba's strike veered inches off-course, slamming into empty air.
Chizoba struck.
A sharp elbow to the throat.
Udemba staggered—only for a heartbeat. His Blood of Battle surged, the damage only making him stronger.
But Chizoba didn't stop.
He flowed like water, slipping under Udemba's next attack, his movements too precise to catch. Every attack he made struck pressure points, tendons, joints—places where raw power meant nothing if the body wouldn't obey.
Udemba gritted his teeth, his body locking up for a moment.
Chizoba exhaled sharply. That's one opening.
He twisted into a sweeping kick, knocking Udemba's legs from under him.
Boom.
The warlord hit the ground hard.
But even as he fell, he was laughing.
….....
Omo had her own problems.
Two warriors lunged for her at once, their blades flashing under the sun.
Her visor blinked—combat analysis engaged.
She moved.
The first warrior swung high—she ducked.
The second warrior stabbed low—she twisted, her gauntlet catching the blade, redirecting it.
Then she countered.
Her right glove fired—a concussive blast of force sent the first warrior flying back.
The second tried to adjust—but Omo was faster.
She grabbed his wrist, flipped over his arm, and planted a boot to his chest, sending him skidding across the ground.
Her voice crackled through the helmet. "You guys really suck at this."
The last Red Claw fighter hesitated. That was all the time she needed.
With a flick of her wrist, her baton extended into a staff, crackling with energy.
She launched forward, flipping over the warrior's guard, landing behind him—and delivered a thunderous strike to the back of his head.
The man collapsed instantly.
She exhaled. "Four down."
Then—she turned and saw Chizoba struggling.
Her fingers twitched. Decision time.
….....
Udemba rose, his Chi burning like a wildfire.
"You fight well," he admitted. "But you don't fight like a man who wants to win."
Chizoba wiped blood from his mouth, breathing hard. "I fight to survive. That's enough."
Udemba's grin widened. "Not today."
Then—he activated Warrior's Echo.
A pulse of power rippled outward.
Chizoba felt it. A horrifying shift in the air.
Suddenly—Udemba wasn't alone.
His Chi burned with the knowledge of every warrior who had ever died in battle. Their experiences, their techniques, their hatred of defeat—all flowing through him.
He moved differently.
Faster. Sharper.
Chizoba's mind screamed warning after warning, his body barely dodging the first deadly series of strikes.
Udemba was no longer just one fighter.
He was thousands.
Chizoba's heart pounded. If I don't end this now, I won't survive the next three moves.
He had one chance.
Udemba came in for the final blow.
Chizoba ducked under the spear—his palm pressed against Udemba's exposed ribs.
And he whispered:
"Chi Rupture."
Boom.
A shockwave blasted through Udemba's body.
His Chi shattered for an instant—just long enough.
Chizoba moved.
He struck—precise, brutal, unstoppable. A flurry of rapid blows to Udemba's pressure points, shutting down his limbs, twisting his balance, sending him crashing to the ground.
Silence.
Then—Omo whistled.
"Okay, I take it back," she said. "That was kind of cool."
Chizoba exhaled, his entire body aching. He glanced at Udemba's motionless form, then up at the remaining warriors.
"Take him," he ordered, his voice even. "And don't follow me again."
The Red Claw hesitated—then, reluctantly, they dragged Udemba's unconscious form away.
Omo smirked, crossing her arms. "So… we won?"
Chizoba sighed. "For now."
She tilted her head. "You sure you're not a coward?"
Chizoba rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Omo."
And together, they turned deeper into Nsogbu Valley.
…....