The sky wept dark tears as Ayọ̀kúnlé and his companions prepared for what was to come.
The darkness on the horizon pulsed and writhed like a living thing. It was no mere storm it was a manifestation of something ancient and malevolent, something that had slumbered beneath the earth for centuries, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
In the great hall of Odanjo's palace, the remaining council members, generals, and village elders gathered. Their faces were drawn and pale, their eyes full of questions they dared not ask aloud.
Ayọ̀kúnlé stood before them, a figure both familiar and transformed. The relics pulsed at his side, and an aura of power clung to him. He was no longer just the cursed prince he was the protector of Odanjo, the last line of defense against annihilation.
"We have won a battle," he said, his voice steady, "but not the war."
He turned to General Ẹ̀bùn, who wore fresh bandages across one arm.
"Gather every able-bodied warrior. Men, women, even the young who can bear arms. We will need every soul."
General Ẹ̀bùn nodded grimly. "It will be done."
Adérónké stepped forward. "And what of the darkness? What are we truly facing, Ayọ̀kúnlé?"
He hesitated. In truth, he did not know the full answer. Only scraps of ancient stories, whispered in fear and reverence, hinted at what lay ahead.
"There is a force," he began, "older than our kingdoms. Older than our gods. It is called Ajogùn the Devourer."
A collective gasp rippled through the hall.
"The Ajogùn was sealed away by our ancestors using the relics we now possess," Ayọ̀kúnlé continued. "But the seal weakened over the centuries, fed by war, hatred, and betrayal. Rányìn, knowingly or not, helped break it further."
He looked each of them in the eye.
"Now, it is awake. And it comes for us."
Silence gripped the hall.
Then a voice, thin and trembling, rose from the gathered crowd.
"How do we fight a god?"
Ayọ̀kúnlé felt the weight of their fear, but he refused to let it crush him. He clenched his fists, feeling the power of the relics thrumming beneath his skin.
"We fight with everything we have," he said. "With fire, with truth, with bone. With our spirits. With our love for this land."
He paused, then added, "And if we fall, we make sure the Ajogùn falls with us."
Preparations began at once.
The city's walls were reinforced with every scrap of stone and wood that could be found. Rituals were performed by the few remaining priests, invoking blessings from the ancient gods. Children were hidden deep in the caverns beneath the city, guarded by elders who could no longer fight.
Ayọ̀kúnlé spent long hours studying ancient texts, searching for any clue, any forgotten weapon against the Devourer. Adérónké never left his side, her presence a balm against the encroaching dread.
One night, as they pored over a crumbling scroll, Tùndé burst into the chamber.
"Something's happening," he panted.
They rushed to the battlements.
In the distance, the darkness had taken shape.
A colossal figure towered against the sky, its form shifting and unstable a writhing mass of limbs, claws, and gaping maws. Eyes like molten gold blinked open across its surface, each gaze sending shudders through the earth.
The Ajogùn.
The ground quaked with each of its steps.
Ayọ̀kúnlé's heart hammered in his chest.
"Steady," he called to the soldiers, who clutched their weapons with white-knuckled grips.
The relics pulsed at his side, responding to the proximity of their ancient foe.
Suddenly, a section of the earth near the city walls split open. From it poured smaller creatures twisted reflections of the Ajogùn's form. Beasts of shadow and malice.
"Hold the line!" General Ẹ̀bùn roared.
The defenders of Odanjo braced themselves.
The first wave hit like a thunderclap.
Ayọ̀kúnlé unleashed the Fire Relic, sending sheets of searing flame across the battlefield. Screeches filled the air as the monsters burned, but for every one destroyed, two more took its place.
Adérónké fought like a spirit of vengeance, her blades singing death.
Tùndé led the archers, raining down arrows tipped with sacred oils.
For hours, the battle raged.
Bodies littered the fields. The air grew thick with smoke and blood.
And all the while, the Ajogùn drew closer.
Near midnight, Ayọ̀kúnlé felt the Bone Relic stir.
It whispered to him again, offering forbidden power—the ability to command the dead, to summon fallen warriors to fight once more.
He hesitated.
To use such power would mean crossing a line he might never return from.
But to refuse could mean the end of everything.
He looked around.
At the exhausted faces of his people.
At Adérónké, bloodied but unbowed.
At the children huddled in the caves.
Ayọ̀kúnlé closed his eyes.
"Forgive me," he whispered.
He pressed his hand to the Bone Relic.
The ground shuddered.
From the fields of the fallen, figures rose.
Warriors of old, clad in spectral armor, took up arms once more. Their faces were blank, but Ayọ̀kúnlé sensed their loyalty, their silent agreement to fight for Odanjo again.
A new wave of defenders charged into the fray, turning the tide.
But the Ajogùn had reached the walls.
It raised one massive arm and struck.
The earth cracked. Towers toppled.
Ayọ̀kúnlé was thrown from his feet, the wind knocked from his lungs.
Through the dust and chaos, he saw it the core of the Ajogùn, a blazing, roiling mass of darkness and light, barely contained.
He understood then.
The relics alone could not destroy it.
He would have to give more.
He would have to give everything.
Clutching the relics to his chest, Ayọ̀kúnlé rose.
He turned to Adérónké, who struggled to reach him through the wreckage.
"Adérónké," he shouted over the din, "protect the people! Get them to the caverns!"
"What are you doing?" she screamed back, her face twisted in fear.
"What I must."
Before she could stop him, Ayọ̀kúnlé sprinted toward the heart of the battlefield.
The Ajogùn saw him coming.
It unleashed a roar that split the heavens.
But Ayọ̀kúnlé did not falter.
He called upon the relics, drawing their powers into himself.
His body burned. His vision blurred.
He became a vessel of flame, truth, and bone.
He leapt.
At the apex of his flight, he hurled the combined might of the relics and his own soul into the core of the Ajogùn.
A blinding explosion tore through the night.
The darkness screamed, a sound of fury and despair.
The ground shook. The walls crumbled.
Then
Silence.
When the dust cleared, the battlefield was empty.
The Ajogùn was gone.
The relics were shattered, their power spent.
And Ayọ̀kúnlé…
Ayọ̀kúnlé lay at the center of a great crater, motionless.
Adérónké ran to him, falling to her knees.
"Ayọ̀kúnlé!" she sobbed, cradling his head.
His eyes fluttered open.
He smiled.
"We… are free," he whispered.
Then, with a sigh, he closed his eyes.
The people of Odanjo mourned their fallen prince.
But they also rebuilt.
Stone by stone, they raised new walls.
Song by song, they sang new hope.
And in the heart of the city, they built a monument a towering statue of Ayọ̀kúnlé, sword raised high, forever guarding his people.
The curse was broken.
The land healed.
And the story of the cursed prince who became a savior was passed down through generations, a legend to light the darkness in all their days to come.
To be continued...