2025-07-27 18:40:46
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High school life II
Back in class, Igbe the class clown howled, “here comes the lover boy Agaba, who wished to fight warriors for the hands of Nneka” Laughter rippled round class. Agaba walked straight to his seat as he is used to this things. Then Idibia stood from among his guys and walked towards him. “Agaba, when they told me of your heroic rescue, I never believed it”, he drawled, leaning on his desk, his boys watching them both. “What do you want?”, Agaba asked. “Why fight me, man? Can’t we both be friends”. he threw glances at his gang and his gaze fell back at Agaba. Agaba frowned. “I know, you’re up to something”. “I’m offering peace. We’ve fought for so long you know” Idibia said. Then the form-teacher walked in, and Idibia ended the conversation, “Think about it, man”. After the brief section with the form - teacher, the school bell rang, and as Agaba and Ahmed stormed off the class, they saw Nneka - hugging the same prime boy, she’d once rejected. Agaba’s heart sank.“she’s
High school life
The city's school itself was a modern structure with modern designs, mosaic tiles at the entrance, and windows reflecting the rays of the African sun. Students buzzed through corridors painted in flaking beige, and a yellowish school bell hung like a tired relic at the centre of the school’s compound. The building is made up of three floors: the first floor is for year one students, the second floor is for year two students while the third floor is for year three students, with a big hall located at the bottom (first) floor.Agaba’s reputation wasn’t great. He was a benchwarmer on the school football team, the default last-minute substitute for a defender no one liked. He’d been humiliated twice before - once when some bullies dumped him into a trash bin and the recordings of the incident leaked, another when a short clip of him circulated in the school’s WhatsApp page with the caption: Benchwarmer General. Still, he smiled.One afternoon, as they walked home with the smell of akara
Heir of the Crimson Oath
In the quiet outskirts of Otukpo, past the streets and the scent of roasting corn, lived a family rooted in tradition and faith. Their modest bungalow stood with pride - a single story structure with fluted pillars painted cream and olive, zinc roofing that hummed in the afternoon heat, and an open veranda where family and friends sometimes gather to feel the peace of nature. Inside that home, Ochekawo, a devout police officer with a commanding voice and soft eyes, lived with his wife Ihotu, a chef who owned a humble yet popular restaurant in the neighborhood. She was warmth personified, her hands always busy with cooking or with healing bruises.Their love was more than a marriage. It was a bond sealed by an agreement to protect the ancient oath of Oloche - a sacred covenant passed down Ochekawo’s bloodline. Together, they defied time and custom, and together they bore two children: Ene, a tall, striking young woman with confident shoulders and a mischievous grin, and Agaba Ngbede
The last campaign
Achadu’s power was unmatched - he could channel all seven elements, and his eyes, once brown, now shimmered violet with an octagram inside his pupils. But the gods issued a condition:“You shall live as a servant, not a ruler. Your blood shall guide, not command. No land, no gold, and no ambition. Only service to the people and humanity”. Only one of his descendants would carry the same burden - only one child per generation would inherit the gift. That child would bear the Achadu eyes, and live a nomadic lifestyle, even after their predecessor passed away. While for other wielders, their power will be inherited by all members of the next generation until age 40. After which only the heir will continue to manifest the powers and pass it unto the next generation. With Achadu, and the Eight Wielders now awakened, hope returned to Idoma. The Ochi’doma was pressed by his people to act. He gathered 2,000 men and youths, willing to die for the cause, including the Eight. His war drum,
Blessings from pain
She raised her son in the forest’s edge, in a small clay house surrounded by thick bush and silence, the house was given to her by the village chief. She became a farmer, teaching her son how to till the soil, make ridges, trap bush rats, and grind vegetables over stone bowl. She named him Achadu - a name to remind him of royalty,even if no crown would ever sit on his head. As he grew, the boy became strong. He had his father’s shoulders and his mother’s sharp cheekbones. His skin was dark caramel, his hair coiled tight. And his eyes - though brown like most - held a distant sadness beyond his years. But fate, cruel as ever, did not let joy linger. At eighteen, after returning from a hunting expedition, he found his mother collapsed in their backyard, coughing blood. Her skin turned pale. Within a week, she was gone. He buried her himself - no priest, no chants, no mourners. Just him alone.“Mother”, he screamed by her grave, “Why did the gods take you away from me?, why did you
Tale of the founder of the Eighth bloodline
“To be chosen is not always a gift. Sometimes, it is a burden the soul must bleed for”.The Eighth wielder is the hunter.He was born with the name Achadu. Meaning ‘leader of king makers'. but to the people, he was called something else;“the cursed one”.His mother was Igala. His father, Idoma. A union never permitted by the Empire’s cruel laws.The story of their love was whispered in mud halls and beer parlors like legend - or warning. His father had been an Idoma warrior forcefully drafted into the Attah military, broad-shouldered, with dark-toned skin and eyes like tempered iron. During one of the Igala Empire’s conquests in the west, he had been badly injured. There, in the bloodied fields of Ibadan, he met her. An Igala maiden, pale-brown skinned with coal-dark braids, sister to three mighty Igala warriors, one of whom is the commander of his garrison. She had found him near death and unattended to in the emergency ward of the military fortress treatment facility in Idah, the c
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