Chapter 3: Broken Lineage

2

For S1 season, Umuola chop serious beating—no pity at all. Na so dem carry eighty percent of our spirit energy, the thing pain everybody. No spirit energy, nothing to take do any power work. Even our old strong people, the ones wey dem dey call lions for village, begin fall one by one. People dey cry for compound every day.

For S2 season, na only middle-aged people Umuola fit bring come. Even those ones, dem still short, and many of them no fit last. Now for S3, e worse pass before. Everywhere just full of young faces—boys and girls wey never even grow grey hair. Because spirit energy no dey, Umuola people life don short well well. Most people here na youths, just dey early twenties or thirties, some never even see pepper for life.

To even pronounce "Ife Nche" (spirit sword control) dey hard, talk less of to summon ancient elders make dem join fight. The wahala long. People dey look each other, dey sigh. E dey pain as tradition dey fade before our very eyes.

...

Meanwhile, people from Island Clan dey do their own—dey sing, dey dance, dey show power. The dance sef strange, no resemble anything wey dey this world. Some dey wear white robe wey resemble masquerade cloth, others dey beat drum wey sound like thunder. E resemble those things wey dey show for foreign film. Everybody just dey look dem, dey shake head.

"Umuola, una don finish this time," one Island Clan boy talk, him head like coconut.

"Our King talk say, surrender no dey this time." He puff chest like agbero for motor park. Dem dey move like soldiers, dey form clique.

"Try last small, if not the thing go too boring," another one wave hand, him voice sharp like blade.

"Abeg, una women fit surrender sha." Dem dey laugh, the thing dey enter body.

As dem talk this one, Umuola people vex scatter, but nobody get power to reply. For heart, everybody dey boil, but mouth no gree open. Everybody sabi say Island Clan no ever like Umuola, wahala long since. But as e be now, all man dey on him own, everybody dey bear pain alone.

Competition dey start soon, dem don dey warm up. Na fight to finish—the last person wey remain na the winner. Everybody wey dey here just dey shine power anyhow. Some dey hold golden holy sword, the kind wey dey shine for sun, e be like say dem fit judge everything for this world. Some get magic staff, just one wave, everywhere fit turn to killing ground. Some dey recite ancient incantation, strange power dey dance around their body—omo, the thing heavy.

But me, I just dey hide behind the fine sect leader, dey hold small hope say I go safe. I no even reach meat shield level, na just air dey blow me. If wahala start, na only my shadow go remain. But as e be, no choice. Because Umuola don lose badly for last two seasons, power worker no dey again, even me wey just dey sweep, dem teleport me join—na so my own enter.

"Chijioke, abeg stay for our back."

Na so the beautiful sect leader tell me, she voice soft but sure, e get one kind calm wey dey make person wan trust her.