The night smelled of blood.
The full moon cast a silver glow over the kingdom of Ama-Ogbo, but there was nothing serene about the scene unfolding within the palace walls. Shadows moved with lethal precision, blades catching glimmers of moonlight as they cut through the crisp night air. The massacre had begun.
Seiowei's warriors, men who once swore loyalty to the late King Amananaowei, now carried out the will of the tyrant. Their orders were simple: kill the elders. Erase the last remnants of the old kingdom. Ensure there were no voices left to challenge Seiowei's rule.
The Council's Last Gathering
Deep in the heart of the palace, the elders had gathered. Aged, wise, and once revered, they now sat in a circle of flickering torchlight, their faces etched with lines of sorrow and fear. Each of them had served under Amananaowei, guiding him with counsel forged from experience. Now, their wisdom was seen as a threat.
Olotu, the oldest among them, clenched the wooden staff that had been passed down through generations. His once-steady hands trembled. "We are running out of time," he said. "Seiowei has no interest in ruling with balance. He seeks only to destroy."
Beside him, Oyinbin, the high priestess, wiped sweat from her brow. "The spirits warned us. The blood of the righteous will drench the land, and darkness will reign."
A heavy silence fell upon them. Then, the doors burst open.
The Slaughter Begins
The first warrior entered like a storm. Before anyone could react, his blade found its mark, driven deep into the chest of Elder Tamuno. A sickening gurgle followed as Tamuno's body collapsed, his lifeblood pooling beneath him.
Screams erupted. Elders scrambled for escape, but there was none. Seiowei's warriors moved swiftly, striking down the defenseless council members without hesitation. The room became a battlefield of the old against the new, wisdom against brute force.
Olotu swung his staff with surprising strength for his age, knocking one attacker backward. "You will not erase us so easily!" he bellowed. But age was no match for steel. A spear pierced his abdomen, and he fell to his knees, coughing up blood.
Oyinbin raised her trembling hands, chanting an ancient prayer. Her voice was drowned out by the chaos. A warrior silenced her with a brutal slash to the throat. She fell forward, her lifeless eyes staring at the blood-soaked floor.
The slaughter continued, relentless and merciless.
The Palace in Flames
As the massacre unfolded, the rest of the kingdom remained oblivious. The palace, once a beacon of stability, had turned into a house of horrors. Seiowei watched from his throne, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he listened to the distant wails of the dying.
"Burn it," he ordered.
Torches were hurled into the chamber where the elders lay slain. The fire caught quickly, swallowing the walls, consuming the history written in scrolls and carvings. The kingdom's past was reduced to ashes.
A Single Survivor
Not all perished that night.
Elder Ibukun, wounded but alive, crawled through the carnage. Blood coated his hands as he dragged himself across the chamber floor, slipping through a narrow passage unknown to most. He had to escape. Someone had to live to tell the truth.
Outside, the flames reflected in his tear-filled eyes. The city would soon awaken to horror, but they would not know the full extent of Seiowei's cruelty. Not yet. Ibukun staggered into the shadows, disappearing into the night.
But he would return.
And the kingdom would remember.