CLAWS AND LAWS

The library walls trembled as an unseen force surged through the room. Dust spilled from the wooden beams, and the flickering lanterns cast wild shadows on the stone floor. Iyaláyà's laughter—low, guttural, and ancient—echoed in every corner, twisting the air with malice.

Ajoke, Owuye, and Akintola stood their ground, forming a defensive circle around Eyinju Iwe, whose eyes burned with an eerie red glow—proof that Iyaláyà still held her body captive.

"You thought you were clever," Iyaláyà sneered through Eyinju Iwe's lips. Her voice was layered—one part the soft, frightened tone of the librarian's daughter, the other the raw, growling menace of an ancient predator. "You thought you could see through my deception? But knowledge does not grant you victory, mortals!"

With a single motion of her hand, the library exploded into chaos.

Shelves toppled, books burst into flames, and a violent wind howled through the chamber. Akintola grabbed Ajoke's arm, pulling her away just as a rain of burning pages came crashing down. Owuye, with the instincts of a seasoned hunter, rolled beneath a falling bookshelf, barely avoiding its crushing weight.

But Eyinju Iwe's body began to transform.

Her arms twisted, elongating into sharp, bone-like claws. Her back arched as her spine cracked, her form shifting between human and something grotesque. Iyaláyà was shedding the disguise—preparing to fight in her true form.

"We need to separate them," Akintola shouted over the storm. "If Iyaláyà stays inside her, we can't kill her without killing Eyinju!"

"Then we force her out," Owuye growled, drawing his silver dagger—the very one he had hidden away for years, waiting for the right enemy.

Ajoke's mind raced. They didn't have time for a prolonged battle. Agbaje's children were trapped in the Forsaken Mountain, and every second wasted gave Iyaláyà more control over their fate.

"We break the connection," Ajoke said, her voice firm. "She's using Eyinju Iwe as a tether to remain in this world. If we sever that link, she'll be weakened long enough for us to strike!"

Akintola's eyes darted to a nearby table where an ancient book lay open—the same book the old librarian had given them before his death. The pages shimmered with forgotten words, glowing faintly in the dim light.

"It's in here!" Akintola realized. "A ritual to force a possessing spirit out!"

But Iyaláyà lunged.

She moved with unnatural speed, her claws swiping toward Ajoke's throat. Owuye intercepted, slashing his silver dagger across her arm. A horrific screech filled the air as the blade met her skin, burning through like acid.

"You will all die here!" Iyaláyà shrieked. "And your precious Agbaje's children will remain in my grasp—forever!"

Ajoke didn't hesitate. She grabbed the book and began chanting.

Her voice shook, but she pushed through, calling on the ancient words of power. The air crackled. Iyaláyà stumbled.

Akintola and Owuye took their chance—Owuye slashed again, this time across Eyinju's chest, careful not to kill but to weaken the spirit within. Akintola grabbed Eyinju Iwe, pressing his palm against her forehead, forcing the last words of the ritual from his lips.

Then—a scream.

Not Eyinju's. Iyaláyà's.

A dark, spectral force burst from Eyinju Iwe's body, writhing and twisting as if it were being torn apart. The ancient spirit, weakened and exposed, hovered in the air, its true form now visible—a monstrous, red-eyed wolf wreathed in shadows.

Owuye wasted no time. He lunged, his dagger aimed for the creature's throat.

One strike. One final blow.

Iyaláyà howled as the silver pierced her essence. The force of the attack sent shockwaves through the room, and with a final, deafening cry—she was gone.

Eyinju Iwe collapsed into Akintola's arms, gasping for breath. The library fell silent.

But their victory was not complete.

Akintola turned to Ajoke, his face pale. "The book—it says something else. The ritual weakened Iyaláyà, but she is not dead. She retreated."

Ajoke's chest tightened. "Where?"

Owuye exhaled, gripping his dagger. "The Forsaken Mountain. She's going back to finish what she started—with Agbaje's children."

A heavy silence settled between them. The real battle was just beginning.

Ajoke looked at the ancient book in her hands, her fingers tightening around its edges.

"We go after her," she said. "We bring them back."

The fight for Agbaje's children had begun.

 The Reckoning of Blood and Justice

The night sky hung heavy with storm clouds as the ancient bells of Olúmò Rock tolled, their echoes rolling across the land like a call to war. Abeokuta had seen many battles, but tonight, its rulers and warriors gathered for a war unlike any other—a reckoning against the red werewolves and their queen, Iyaláyà.

In the Great Hall of the Ọba, the air was thick with tension.

Seated on the high throne was Ọba Adéwálé, the Lion of Egba, draped in gold and crimson robes. To his left and right sat powerful chiefs and kings from distant lands, their faces carved from stone. The council of elders whispered among themselves, some fearful, others eager for vengeance.

At the center of the hall stood Ajoke, Akintola, and Owuye—worn from battle, yet unbroken. Behind them, Agbaje's children stood tall, their eyes glowing faintly with the unchained power of their bloodline.

The door swung open, and the last arrivals entered.

Balógun Adégbòró, the war general, flanked by his elite hunters, their weapons gleaming with silver.

Ifá priests, their white robes flowing, holding staffs inscribed with ancient symbols.

Sango worshippers, their presence crackling with the unseen force of lightning.

And lastly, the Keepers of the Moonlight, the silent guardians who had watched over the werewolf prophecy for centuries.

Ọba Adéwálé raised his hand, commanding silence. His deep voice carried across the room like thunder.

"The land bleeds. The spirits cry. The time for judgment is upon us."

Owuye stepped forward, his voice steady. "The red werewolves have tormented this land for too long. They killed our people, corrupted our traditions, and fed on the innocent. But now, their end is near."

A murmur spread through the hall. The chiefs nodded in agreement, but some glanced at Ajoke, who stood motionless.

Chief Ọdẹwálé, an elder with piercing eyes, turned toward her. "And what of her? The blood of her family is stained with treachery."

Ajoke lifted her chin. She had spent years dismantling Sade's allies, reclaiming her father's company, and standing against the red werewolves—but justice did not forget.

Ọba Adéwálé's gaze did not waver. "Ajoke, daughter of Ajumobi, what do you say for yourself?"

For the first time, she hesitated. Then, with a steady voice, she spoke.

"I will not beg for mercy. I have done what I must to set things right. But if justice demands my punishment, so be it."

The priests exchanged glances. "Justice is not only for the dead, but for the living," one of them intoned.

Ọba Adéwálé nodded solemnly. "Then justice you shall have. Ajoke, for your role in past betrayals, you are sentenced to the Prison of Orunmila—a magical prison where only truth can set you free. There, your soul will face judgment, not from men, but from the spirits themselves."

Gasps filled the hall. The Prison of Orunmila was no ordinary dungeon. It was an ethereal prison, a place where the guilty relived their sins until they found redemption—or perished in the torment of their own memories.

Ajoke did not resist. She merely closed her eyes and whispered, "Let it be done."

But the night was not yet over.

A loud crash shook the earth.

The warriors turned, gripping their weapons. The sky outside was shifting—darkening—twisting.

A messenger ran in, panting. "The Forsaken Mountain… it is awakening!"

Owuye's expression hardened. "She's making her final move."

Ọba Adéwálé rose to his feet. "Then we make ours. We end this war—tonight."

A great horn was blown. Drums thundered. The warriors of Abeokuta, the chiefs, the hunters, and the supernatural forces—each pledged to one cause—marched toward the Forsaken Mountain.

The battle for justice had begun.

The History of the Prison of Orunmila

Before Abeokuta was founded, before the kingdoms of men rose in power, the gods walked freely among mortals. It was a time when truth and deception waged an eternal war, and the spirits judged all who walked the earth.

In those days, Orunmila, the deity of wisdom and destiny, created a sacred prison—not of stone, but of time itself. This prison was not meant for the common sinner, nor for the wicked who deserved death. Instead, it was built for those who had strayed from justice, those whose destinies had been twisted by their own hands.

Inside this prison, the guilty were not chained, nor beaten, nor tortured. Instead, they were trapped in a realm where their own past followed them like a shadow. Every lie, every betrayal, every blood-stained moment—relived, over and over again, until the soul either broke… or found redemption.

Many had entered. Few had returned.

A Forgotten King's Fate

One of the first to be cast into the prison was Ọba Adégun, a king who had been loved by his people but had betrayed the gods for power. When he was sent into the Prison of Orunmila, he swore he would survive. He lasted seven days before his own sins consumed him, and his name was erased from history.

The world moved on, but the prison remained. Hidden in the space between reality and the divine, it waited for those whom fate could not judge with mortal laws.

Return to the Present

Ajoke felt the shift before she saw it. One moment, she stood in the Great Hall. The next, the world around her cracked like broken glass.

The walls faded, turning into endless darkness. Then—a familiar place formed around her.

She was back at Chief Ajumobi's estate.

The grand house stood before her, untouched by time. The same house where she had watched her father fall, the same halls where she had unknowingly played a role in her family's destruction.

But something was wrong.

She was not alone.

A figure stepped forward from the shadows—a man she had not seen in years. Chief Ajumobi himself.

Ajoke's breath caught. "This… this isn't real."

But her father smiled, his eyes sharp with knowing.

"Welcome home, Ajoke," he said. "Shall we begin?"

The Prison of Orunmila had taken hold. And Ajoke's trial had begun.