Chapter 3: Celestial Soldier Death Squad

"O boy, you hear? General Musa don show for Eastern Heaven War Zone of Celestial Council."

"General Musa? Which General Musa? Ehn, na General Musa Lawal? Celestial Council really dey take this fight with demon clan for Okeji serious o!"

"No be lie. Thousands of years ago, Okeji be part of Celestial Council. I hear say this time, na special order..."

"Abeg, no talk am."

"Ah, true. Thanks for reminding me, before dem delete this message."

"I also hear say 118th Battalion of 4th Brigade for Eastern Heaven War Zone wan recruit rogue immortals for mission wey only one out of ten thousand fit survive. If you survive, you go become Celestial Soldier straight, no need cross thunder trial again."

"Na wah. To survive no easy at all."

The barracks full like Lagos market on Black Friday, immortals of every colour and clan eyeing each other with suspicion and silent prayers. News spread faster than harmattan fire, every tongue wagging, every face shadowed with fear and hope. For some, the promise of Celestial Soldier status na way out from poverty of lower realms, for others, just one more ticket to death. Even the small boys wey dey sweep compound dey reason whether to try their luck. The tension fit crack like dry kolanut for elder's hand.

For the death squad recruitment office:

"Oga, I tell you say your cultivation no reach. If you wan die, abeg go die somewhere else."

"Okay, okay. Since you stubborn reach, who fit stop you?"

The officer shook head, face full of pity like market woman wey dey see foolish customer. I just grit teeth, fill my form, and enter. Life no be play—if death dey my front, make e come. Na so I cross the line, no looking back.

"Congrats. Out of fifty thousand death squad members, na only you—a small Spirit Elder—survive."

"No bad. Welcome to 358th Regiment of 118th Battalion. You be Celestial Soldier now."

Who I be? I just be one unknown small soldier, number 95274065.

Dem give me new uniform, spirit badge, and old boots—na so identity change sharp sharp. From genius to nobody, from champion to number for barracks roll call. Nobody send whether you sabi fly before, here everybody na the same. If you slack, dem go call you "Oga Zero." But inside me, small pride still dey burn: na only me survive, even if dem no know my name, I no forget am.

For this world, na only memory dey carry your name—if you forget, nobody go remember.