All Rights Reserved.
Copyright, 2021 by Kachi Ugo

Epilogue

The world was iced over. Billions were dead. The few pockets of humanity left were being picked off one after the order by the Icycons. All because the children of fire had failed to stop the apocalypse.

Trenton walked across the vast wasteland, dead bodies dotting the landscape like sand on the seashore. If you'd looked upon him from the skies, you might have only seen a ragged human dressed in tattered black robes, trudging the wasteland of the dead. You might not have seen the grief that weighed heavily on him like a ship's anchor.

The grief of a thousand souls.

The grief of the lost.

Trenton paused, grabbed the small canteen hidden in the folds of his tattered robes and took a swig. His last swig of clean water. He'd been on this path for three weeks. This path was perhaps the most important path in humanity's history...because what he was about to do would make the present the past and bring forth another future.

That was if the story of the last Scorcher was real and not a fable.

Trenton was not one to chase down a fable, not when mankind was on the brink of extinction. But the fact that he'd come out here, at the threat of death, was a testament to the height of his desperation. It was proof that he'd gone mad--to believe that a Scorcher, one of the most dreaded faculties of the Children of Fire, had escaped the penetrative gaze of the Icycons. It was beyond mad.

Yet, here Trenton was, believing in a miracle when he knew for a certainty that the age of miracles had passed away when the last Child of Fire had died on the battlefield upon which Trenton stood.

Yet, here I am...

Trenton peeked into his canteen to be sure that he'd indeed ran out of water before he tossed it on the ground and continued on his journey. He had no need for the canteen anymore for he knew that there was no water in this desert as there was no life. Save of course the Scorcher who was said to roam these lands in hiding and self-imposed exile.

I am going to die here...It is only fitting that I join my brothers and die here.

Yet, Trenton was burdened with glorious purpose. To save the entire human race by asking a Scorcher to do what he'd sworn by Sacred Oath not to do. Sacred Oaths were bound by life. The moment the Scorcher broke that Oath, the Scorcher's soul would be consumed by Holy Fire for all eternity. That meant no resurrections. No rewards. Inexistence. It was a the worst kind of punishment a Child of Fire could ever endure. And this was what Trenton sought the Scorcher for.

Many believed Trenton's mission would fail. They said the Scorcher was a traitor and had saved himself when all his brothers and sisters had died on the battlefield fighting the Icycons. Why would he agree to help when the cost was no death now but inexistence?

Trenton did not have a response for that other than the fact that something had to be done. The world couldn't end like this. No, it couldn't.

Trenton walked the barren land for another three days before he collapsed on his knees, delirious from fatigue. With no more water to hydrate him, he was on the verge of death. He'd hoped to run into the Scorcher by now, but then again his mission had been doomed from the beginning. With no exact location of the Scorcher, other than the tale that he roamed the Peak of Thanatos, seeking him out was like seeking out a needle in a hay stack.

Trenton had rolled the dice, and he had failed.

Death... Trenton thought as he stretched out his arms, looked up into the sun, and smiled. He wouldn't face death like a coward. He'd run his race. He'd fought a good fight. He'd laid down his life in the hopes that he could save the world, and although he'd failed, there was no greater way to die.

Then a voice thundered in his mind.

"Why do you seek me, Trenton the Wanderer?"

The voice was like a crashing cymbal. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. IT wa sso loud and powerful that Trenton immediately grasped his ears. but it was no use.

"Tell me, Trenton the Wanderer!" the voice said. "Why have you chosen certain death? Why seek the one who does not want to be found?"

Trenton crumpled on the floor, pressing his hands into his ears, screaming in pain. "It. Hurts!" He shut his eyes in desperation.

Almost immediately, a powerful presence enveloped Trenton. The presence was like hot air, sinking into Trenton's pores and filling him with glory. Immediately, Trenton's fatigue vanished. His thirst vanished. His hunger vanished. The aches in his joints vanished. Trenton felt as he'd felt on the first day of his journey.

Trenton opened his eyes and before him was Salvation. He was resplendent in an armor of Holy Fire. To his right was an atrociously long sword of fire that curled inward at its end. His face was hidden behind a fiery armor plate. Swinging in the air behind him was his cape, a garment of fire.

The Scorcher stood firm, sure, unmovable, untouchable. He was Salvation manifest. He was omnipotence encased in fire. His presence swept across the wasteland, stretching for miles in every direction. He was more than Trenton could have hoped for and more.

"As I live and breathe..." Trenton whispered in reverence and awe. "The tales are true. You are the last Scorcher!"

"Tell me your intents, before I strike you down..." the Scorcher said with a gaze so cold that Trenton exceedingly feared and trembled.

To be continued...

James Patterson meets Avatar: The Last Air Bender in this riveting urban fantasy tale rife with blood, fire, and pillars of smoke!

Peter Crawford has no interest in being a hero. Even as a war brews between two powerful groups, he wants nothing more than to be left alone. So when Rose Hernandez, a member of the mythical Scarlet Sisters, approaches him asking for his help, he refuses.

However, prophecies are set in stone, and even Peter's obstinance can't go against fate. As the war begins to worsen, he must make a decision and come to terms with his destiny. Together with Rose, he must locate the One who might end the bloodshed and save their world.

Kachi Ugo's Storm of War is a pulse-pounding ride into a fascinating, fantasy world. With a cast of charismatic characters and a fast-paced, genre-bending storyline that delivers on every promise, Storm of War promises to enchant, entertain, and enthrall!

_____________________________________________________________________________

If you love Patricia Briggs, Shannon Mayer, Myke Cole, Michelle Madow, KF Breene, Shayne Silvers, Ilona Andrews, or AL Knorr, don't miss any of Kachi Ugo's books!

Available for only 99cents on Amazon.

http://smarturl.it/8n7pdp

pabon:
Enough ginger available my sir. Please continue.

*spreads mat*

pabon my guy. Oya, chapter one na for you!

*clears throat*

Loading...

PS: I need ginger!

DaVichi: The Journal of a Lovestruck Individual

Copyright, 2018
by Kachi Ugo

All rights reserved.

*****Journal Entry 3*****

If you knew of whom I speak, you shall find that my feelings…passions…obsessions are justified.

She is the paragon of beauty, the very explicative definition of happiness. She is the cynosure of all eyes. Her fair skin can make a new born baby green with envy. Gorgeous even by angelic standards, she gives ‘attractive’ a new and sophisticated meaning.

One of a kind. Yes, she is one of a kind.

She stands tall with thighs thick like as the oak tree. Her hips jut out appealingly like a raging sea wave. Her breasts stand firm and ample like twin mountains, pointy, defying, proud, even rebellious to the downing powers of gravity. Her lips are soft and succulent, cherry red and pleasing to behold. Her voice is like a cool, calm stream, washing my soul with freshness and relief. Oh and when she laughs, it’s like an aphrodisiac. Her laughter come forth with naivety and the purity of a child. It strikes a strong chord in me every time and makes me feel like one who is hooked up to crystal meth.

Space will fail me to talk of her soft personality. Though she possesses the body a model will die for, her most striking trait is the softness of her touch. The sincerity of her words. The reality of her appearance. The surety of her affections. The permanence of her friendship. And the inalterability of her decisions.

Born to clergy parents, yet lacking the religious stiffneckedness that stands like a magnum opus among these folks, she is the very expression of flexibility. Understanding, slow to anger, lovely, passionate, godly—these are but a few words that collect in the character of the one who has stolen my heart.

She is a lover. She is a fighter. She is a survivor. She doesn’t take nonsense, and oh how terrible shall be that day that her anger rears its head in the land of the living. Woe unto the object of her rage: for you shall be better off in the darkness and despicable horrors of the underworld than in the presence of her mighty wrath. Tis because her anger is like a raging tempest. It shall not cease until destruction has been wrought in generous strokes; it shall not still until its trail is abundant in devastation; it shall not put to bed until the deaths it spawns are beyond the count of number.

Could this anger have been the author of my predicament? Or was it something else? Maybe our last few encounters hold a clue to this befuddlement of catastrophic proportion. I shall sit back for the next few days and try to recall, event by event, how she and I have fallen so far apart. I do hope that in this recollection I find a clue to enable me win her back. For even though it’s been months, I still find that my heart fills with warmth every time thoughts of her cross my mind.

To Be Continued.

#Revayah
#TheOverflow
#Romance

Have any thoughts? Comment them below.

DaVichi: The Journal of a Lovestruck Individual

Copyright, 2018
by Kachi Ugo

All rights reserved.

*****Journal Entry 2*****

I think I am seriously flawed.

I can't stop thinking about her. I haven't seen or spoken to her in close to a month and still I feel as though I last saw her shimmering beautiness last night--that's how intently and intensely my heart jugs when I think her name.

It has never been like this for me. I have never held on to a person in this way before. Out of sight and out of mind, they say. But I find another law at work in my members, which is out of sight, very much present in mind. The way I feel for her is like a cancer. It has spread so far and so wide that I am damned to a fate worse than death. For I find that I would very readily choose death than a life without her. I would very readily meet my Maker than meet a man other than me who would stand at her side.

I think I am seriously flawed.

I am scared for myself. I am terrified at what I feel. I feel betrayed by my feelings. How can I not possess control of my bodily functions? How can I not retain the right to pilot the ship of my emotions wherever I so choose? For I am as helpless as a raft under the influence of a hurricane at sea.

She's in my mind like the sky. Wherever I turn, I am considering here coy smile. Whatever matter I discuss with my friends, I am bedazzled by her angelic voice singing sweet soft ballads in my mind. Even though I sit in church before an energetic and commanding preacher, I am engrossed not by a sermon but by her soft spoken nature though she be miles away.

Oh, how wretched am I, for my mind has developed a mind of its own! If I cannot resolve these feelings, I fear what I shall do unto myself. I believe that death is a better fate than a life without her. And oh, how fiercely I hold unto this belief.

To Be Continued.

#Revayah
#TheOverflow
#Romance

Have any thoughts? Comment them below.

AryEmber:
Thanks Grace, I'm guled here too. Good start KachiUgo, I hope this won't end tragically oh!

Hey, AryEmber! Thanks. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. I hope to put up a new entry by Sunday. Cheers!

Jadedgrace98:
KachiUgo, nice intro and beginning. I like the distinct realisation of affection, unlike the love @ first sight. I'll definitely be keeping an eye here.
EvaJael, favch, MZmitchelle, AryEmber

Thanks, Jadedgrace98! I'm glad you liked it.

And so it begins...

DaVichi: The Journal of a Lovestruck Individual

Copyright, 2018
by Kachi Ugo

All rights reserved.

*****Journal Entry 1*****

I feel cheated because now I hold in the enclave of my heart a secret, a burden, which no man should ever possess. It began as an incredibly unremarkable meet. She was a pretty face, but not quite to me. Shocked as I was to see her in my office, I right there and then discounted any future advances towards her for two reasons. One, there was no inner spark on seeing her, which I had come to expect whenever I felt for a lady. Two, I didn't want to have to fight for her, seeing as she probably had a lot of suitors.

And so, my decision made and my face kept away from hers, I went about my business, never for once giving her even as much as a nod in greeting. Until the last few weeks before my termination from the establishment of our shared employ. Her face became more radiant to me. Her words became as honey in my heart. Her laughter soothed my soul like fresh water from a wellspring. She was to me an angel from above.

Her name rang with more verity in my mind, and the very essence of her had possessed my thoughts and would not let loose even to the necessary mundanities of life. She had possessed me; I was left aghast at how much I had changed in the space of a week. Now, I could not bear the thought of not hearing her voice in a day. I had become enslaved to another, I had become amongst men most miserable -- and gladly so, for I knew that what I felt for her was the most beautiful feeling a man could ever have. And oh, how lovely it would be if the feeling were requited.

But alas, it would seem that the feeling is not requited. Oh, fate... How terrible art thy sting? How fierce art thy rebuttal? It is said that hell hath no fury than a woman scorned, but I say hell hath no darkness than the heart of the one in whom love has been awakened only to be bereft and abandoned without succor. Terrible thing, unrequited love. Terrible thing.

To Be Continued.

#Revayah
#TheOverflow
#Romance

Have any thoughts? Comment them below.

Happy New Year!!

How about I do a serial story? It's Romance. Yes, I actually wrote Romance. Not Fantasy, not Science Fiction, not Horror or a fast paced action thriller but Romance. My first (and maybe only) foray into this genre so let's see how it goes. Enjoy!

FROM THIS FRIDAY --

"DaVichi: The Journal of a Lovestruck Individual"

- It's a journal based story.
- New journal entries will be posted sporadically--busy schedule et all.
- It's going to be short (probably a maximum of 10 entries). So enjoy it while it lasts.
- It's going to be one heck of a ride so buckle up! And be prepared to be frazzled...oh no, sorry I meant razzle-dazzled!

Love a good love story? Follow.

Sneak peek:

...out of sight and out of mind, they say. But I find another law at work in my members, which is out of sight, very much present in mind. The way I feel for her is like a cancer. It has spread so far and so wide that I am damned to a fate worse than death. For I find that I would very readily choose death than a life without her. I would very readily meet my Maker than meet a man other than me who would stand at her side...

All rights reserved.

Copyright, 2018
By Kachi Ugo

#Revayah
#TheOverflow
#Romance

Speedstar09:
Guy,your intro was precisely awesom...this looks promising

THANKS!

nanadeeva01:
luv it. when re u posting the next episode

Great!

Within a forth-night. Hopefully...

nanadeeva01:
OK

Kachi Ugo laughed when he read this. He thanks you for commenting anyway and wishes you a splendid journey in this world of Prophets, Others, and dead men in caves.

Copyright, 2017
By Kachi Ugo

All rights reserved.


Prologue

~6,000 BC

Verlira lay among the dead, the cold piercing through her bones and killing her faster than the poison running through her veins. The cave was wide, but the fallen, which numbered in the hundreds, crowded in on her. The bodies lay strewn around the cave's snow caked ground. The walls of the cave were overlayed with the blood of war in sickening, almost artful streaks, splashes, and splotches. Even from the spiky ceiling, blood still dripped down to the ground. It was supposed to be a battle. But it was not. It was a massacre. The Others had ridden in upon the night's tide and had butchered everyone of them. They had feasted upon them like locust. They had stabbed her in the chest with a poisoned blade and left her to die.

Verlira raised her palm up into the air and spoke the charm. There was a transient twinkle on the tips of her finger. Less than a minute later, a portal appeared in the midst of the room and a man walked through into the cave of the dead. The man rushed to her side and hefted her into his arms.

"Who did this?" the man asked, breaking with tears. He looked around at the many dead prophets before settling his deep, blue eyes upon her face.

"Tell me, Bashir," Verlira managed to say, "did we win the war?"

Bashir nodded, solemn. "We lost so many. We can't stand another attack."

"Yet, that is what awaits us," Verlira replied. "Maybe not this era. Maybe not next. But surely, the Others will come again and there will be no one left to stop them."

Bashir squeezed her shoulders channelling healing power into her body. Verlira felt the cold vanish from her body. Yet, the poison remained.

"It's no use, Bashir," said Verlira. "I wanted your face to be the last thing I saw before I died."

The tears pulled off Bashir's eyes. He remained silent, only sobbing as he fought to keep from wailing. When he regained his composure, he said, "What will I do?"

Verlira turned away as though she were satisfied with seeing him.

"That, I do not know," she replied. The poison was only seconds from her heart. She sighed, and for the first time that horrorful night, she shed a tear. "I don't envy you, husband. When they return, they will consume the whole world. No, I don't envy you. I feel sorry for what you must do next."

Bashir said in reply, "I can't. I don't know how to."

"You must find a way," Verlira replied, her strenght already leaving her. "He may very well be our only hope." Then she went lax with death.

Bashir rose to his feet. For a full minute he stood silent looking upon his dead wife and the countless dead around him. Then he turned away from his wife and reopened the portal. Before he passed through he sent a volley of fire from his hand into the ground, knowing that the fire would devour everything within the cave right down to the hard ground underneath the pile of bodies and snow. After this he was gone. What he did not know was that the Others had seen and heard the entire exchange and that they, too, would be looking for him.


"Woe unto the world of men. For the Rise of the Prophets is upon them."

---

Jonathan Swift and the Rise of the Prophets is a Fantasy Action Adventure serial by Kachi Ugo. Kachi Ugo absolutely does not know what he's writing in this story. Kachi Ugo absolutely has no idea what happens next. Kachi Ugo wishes that you have a good time reading this story. He promises you that he probably won't finish writing this, but prays that you read it anyhow. Might as well enjoy it whilst it lasts, huh? And, who knows, something great might come out of this. Okay, enough talking (or writing.. .?). Kachi Ugo wishes you well. Bye

5 W's of the Prophets

Woe unto all that is good and fine upon the surface of the earth. For in the end, it shall be consumed in fire.

Woe unto the man that stands between a prophet and his prize. For it is better that he were never born.

Woe unto the man that stands against a prophet. For it is a foolhardy enterprise and will result in great loss on his part.

Woe unto the man that is preyed upon by a prophet. For there is no barren rock within, above, and beneath the earth that he shall not be found.

Woe unto the world of men. For the Rise of the Prophets is upon them.


Jonathan Swift and the Rise of the Prophets

Copyright, 2017.
By Kachi Ugo

All rights reserved.

Copyright, 2017
By Kachi Ugo

All rights reserved.

Seriously guys, all rights reserved!

[NOW AVAILABLE]

Order your physical copy now! Link below:

https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Moons-Wrath-Elijah/dp/1542532124/

Kindle copy:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N24X2Z2

THIS JANUARY 24

…after four blood moons, bad things will happen.

Though the patriarchs of faith are dead, they live on through their descendants. Their traits, strengths, and even weaknesses—all transferred from up the generational line down to the twenty first century. But as these patriarchs live on through their offspring, so do their foes. The same battles are being fought. Only, the stakes are higher now than they were then.

Johnny Akinwale is your average 12 year old boy living with his parents in the slums of Ajegunle. In the day he goes to school; in the night he survives on the streets by wits and sheer force of will. At birth, he was diagnosed with a rare disease which left him perpetually feverish. He was consigned to living a marginalized life and one of great distress and sorrow. However, what the doctors did not know was that the root of Johnny’s fevers was not in science but in an ancient power he possessed as a result of who he was—one same power which runs in his bloodline.

Johnny Akinwale is a descendant of the fiery prophet, Elijah.

Johnny neither knows of this power nor of the fact that it has pitted him against evil forces that are beyond the control of a 12 year old. Nevertheless, this becomes clear to him as he encounters Sagnarok. A lieutenant in the armies of Hell, Sagnarok has been sent to the ancient city of Lagos to trigger the blood moons. Johnny must heed the call to greatness and stop Sagnarok against all odds.

Johnny does not know what the blood moons will cause. Only that after four blood moons, bad things will happen.

Coming Soon!

Subscribe to my mailing list to never miss an update concerning this book or any other book! Subscribe: http://eepurl.com/bBVWOH/.

Up next: Content Reveals! Stay Tuned.

Don't forget to like and share.

For more information: www.kachiugo.com

Contact: kachiugo3@gmail.com
www.kachiugo.com
Twitter: @KachiUgo
FB: Kachi Ugo - Author

The Nivenger
by Kachi Ugo


Copyright, 2016
All rights reserved.

5.

The darkness was absolute, the dark inky void above dominating the heavens. Rain battered the earth, and great puddles of water ravaged the muddy road in a shanty part of Victoria Island. There was not a soul around. Ramshackle squat buildings dotted the landscape, and a cold wind broadly swept the area, proceeding from the nearby ocean. There was a single lamppost on the street, which flood an area with bright golden incandescent light. The winds and rain rose and fell in intensity, becoming very tempestuous most times. Aside from the incredible drum of rain against zinc roofing sheets and bare ground, there was no sound in the area. It looked like a dead zone, the hovels of houses looking eerily dead, though within them were housed the poorest and basest of society.

At exactly 8:00PM, the sublime peace of this street was disturbed by two Black SUVs. They approached each other from opposite sides of the street, stopping driver door to driver door at the bright spot under the lamppost. The SUVs were tinted an impenetrable black and their license plates were hidden behind leather jackets. The SUVs remained running, while parked beside each other. At exactly the same time, the drivers of the two vehicles wound their windows down.

Two men were revealed. One was bigger than the other.

“Good evening, General,” said the smaller man to the bigger man.

The bigger man responded with a pronounced sneer that split his face left and right. He had a big and imposing stature. His face was stripped with deep scars that resembled tribal marks, which accentuated the wicked look he naturally possessed. His face was hairy to the point it obliterated his facial features, and pronounced on his lower beards were bubbles of what appeared to liquor. Rising out of his vehicle into the stingy, salty air was the sharp, pungent smell of sour wine.

The smaller man, though put off by the senior officer’s odor, remained impassive. In fact, he had a pleasant look on his face. This was because he knew whom he spoke to. He knew for whom the man worked for. He knew why he was here. And the dread he contended with predominated his mind such that he had little care for the discomfort of a bad smell.

“What news have you brought me?” asked the senior officer.

The smaller man hesitated. In his mind he recalled the torture people who brought The Colonel bad news had to endure, though they weren’t the cause of these bad news. Pictures of bruised, battered, and mortally injured junior officers rent his mind with a piercing terror. The smaller man looked into his car for a moment to shield the fear that was now hazing his vision from The Colonel.

Some had been killed out rightly. It was as though they were back in the dark ages, when there was no rule of law. Though Nigeria was a democratic state, in the corridors of power, where it all mattered, this was a mere illusion. And the smaller man had seen this first hand.

“There was an attack at the Air Force Base in Ikeja,” replied the smaller man.

“Who?” asked the bigger man.

“The Nivenger.”

“When?”

“About an hour ago.”

The Colonel considered it for a moment. Though he was a General in the Nigerian army, he was secretly known as The Colonel, the one whose death would activate the Lazarus Protocol. The General had picked up the code name, The Colonel, during his tour as a Colonel with a secret JTF that infiltrated a terrorist network in the heart of Iraq. This JTF had involved US, UK, and French special forces operatives as well. However, the Colonel had so outshined his peers and had been solely responsible for saving the team when the mission had gone south and assassinating the terrorist they had gone after.

The mission had been denied by the US and UK and every document on the mission had been redacted. Nevertheless, tales of this Nigerian operative—The Colonel—had spread to almost every military in the world, including Nigeria. Even though he rose in rank, he retained the code name, The Colonel. Though this code name was a closely guarded secret and only a handful of people within the Military knew who The Colonel really was. This was why The Nivenger was going after top military leaders. He was searching for The Colonel.

“Was the Base Commander on duty?” asked The Colonel.

“Yes, sir,” replied the man.

“What did he say?”

“We can’t be sure, sir,” replied the man. “By the time Military Police mobilized on sight, they found him shot to the chest with an arrow.”

The eyes of The Colonel flew wide with rage. “What?” he bellowed, his guttural yell carrying through the smashing rain. The Colonel slammed his hands on his steering wheel, causing the smaller man to cringe back in terror though he was in the safety of his vehicle.

“What happened to the company of soldiers guarding him?” The Colonel roared.

“They were all murdered by The Nivenger,” the smaller man replied instantly, the words seemingly flowing forth, intelligent, from his mouth.

There was a harrowing silence.

“I was told to tell you that he might come after you,” said the smaller man. “You need to take precaution.”

“By who?”

The smaller man cocked his eyebrow. “The people I work for.”

“The DSS?”

The smaller officer nodded.

The Colonel sniggered. “What do you care? You have enough troubles on your hands as it is, detaining those judges. I’m surprised the Nivenger hasn’t already come for them.”

The smaller man smirked. “Where we are keeping the judges, the Nivenger would be too scared to approach.” The man paused. Then he added, “Are you going to inform them?”

“The Cabal?” asked The Colonel. He didn’t wait for a reply, before he said, “No. I’ll handle this one on my own.”

“Are you sure?” asked the smaller man. “Your life is in danger. At least tell the COAS. He’s in town.”

This brought surprise to The Colonel’s face. “How the hell did you know he’s in town?”

The smaller man smirked again. “I’m DSS, remember? Knowing people’s secret is my business.”

“DO you know who The Nivenger is?”

“No,” replied the smaller man, sadly. “But my guess is he’s an NYSC member in Lagos. I’ve sent an agent to infiltrate their ranks. The Nivenger will slip someday, and when he does, the DSS will be there to apprehend him.”

“Will he stand trial?”

The smaller man scoffed. “No. He’ll disappear.”

The two men understood that reference.

The Colonel sighed. “Keep in touch,” he said. “I’ll inform the Chief of Army Staff right away.”

The smaller man nodded, and as if choreographed, the two men wound their windows up and drove their separate ways, the small inconsequential street falling back dead.

***

“Hello,” came an angry voice over the phone.

“It’s me sir,” said the Colonel, his handheld on his ear. He was parked in the garage of his Ikoyi residence. It was raining here also, but in his garage there was a commanding silence.

“The Colonel,” said the Chief of Army Staff—COAS. “We are to meet tomorrow. Except this is an emergency I’m going to hang up the phone right now.”

“He might know who I am,” said The Colonel.

There was silence.

“Is it because of the attack on the Air Force base?” asked the COAS.

“They say he came for my name,” replied the Colonel. “He wants to know who I am. If he finds me, there will be only one left before the Lazarus Protocol is activated. I need not remind you what that will entail…”

The COAS gave a loud sigh.

“We have to tell the Cabal,” said The Colonel.

The COAS sniggered. “They already probably know. We need to take action against this vigilante before he does something the entire nation will regret. It’s not just about the Liberian, it is about what happens before the Liberian comes forth.”

“I remember the last time the Liberian came forth,” said the COAS, a sad memory on his tongue.

“The Civil War?” said The Colonel.

“Yes for Nigeria,” replied the COAS. “The Holocaust in Germany, the Chernobyl nuclear disaster in Russia, Nine Eleven in the US, and the list goes on. Anywhere, anytime the Liberian is called major disasters precede.”

“We can’t let this mad man enact the Lazarus Protocol,” whispered The Colonel.

“We need to call in the twins,” suggested the COAS.

The Colonel gasped in abject fright. “That’s insane, excuse me for saying, sir! The Cabal will never sanction such a thing.”

“The twins are our only hope if we want to stop this Nivenger before he enacts the Lazarus Protocol,” said the COAS.

“But contracting them will cost the Cabal a fortune,” said The Colonel. “Even more it will bankrupt them.”

“But they will still be standing,” replied the COAS. “And Nigeria and Nigerians all over the world will still be safe.”

The Colonel said, “Sir, let me deal with The Nivenger. I’m not some senator or out of shape base commander that a man in a mask holding a bow and arrow can kill. I will assign more specially trained soldiers to my residence and will prepare for him. He will never be able to kill me.”

The COAS considered this for a moment before he said, “Okay. But if you fail, I will give the order. I will contract the twins to kill The Nivenger. I will call in Scylla and Charybdis.” And the line went dead.

As the COAS called their names, a terrible chill slid down The Colonel’s spine.

***
The moment Alex Rolland sneaked into his room, the light came on. Alex’s left hand immediately came to his eyes to shield them from the harsh glare of the overhead fluorescent. Then his free right hand skillfully pushed to his behind the bag that contained his gear.

His roommate, Lexie Whitehall, was sitting by his computer near the light switch. He was a tall, bony looking guy in his early twenties with thick rimmed glasses. He wore a white T shirt that hung from his frame and a brown pair of trousers.

Alex looked at him, uncertain. “Uh…” he muttered, wondering what he would say.

Lexie cocked his eyebrow, “Yes?” he said in his thick American accent.

“Look, what do you want me to say?” Alex replied, easily recovering from his previous shock at finding his roommate awake and waiting for him. “I went to the bar.”

Lexie’s eyes fell down to his right hand which was bent around his back. “And what might you be hiding in that bag, Alex … or should I say Nivenger?”

Terror struck at Alex like a loud sounding gong.

He stuttered, his mind fuzzy as he tried to understand what had just happened.

“You can’t fool me, Alex,” said Lexie. “I graduated summa cum lade from Harvard University. I have a PhD in computer science. It is my job to analyze and solve problems. You don’t think you could be moonlighting as a vigilante and your room mate wouldn’t know?”

Alex Rolland still had his mouth agape.

Lexie scoffed. “I see you don’t give me too much credit. I know you’re The Nivenger, Alex. I didn’t suspect until the killing of the senator. Then I put a tracker on you. When you showed up at the airport where Abdulla was killed and now at the air force base where all those soldiers were killed, I pieced it all together.”

Alex Rolland dropped his bag on his bed and drew to full height. “Suppose you’re right. Suppose your ridiculous statements are true. What are you going to do about it?”

Then Lexie smiled. “If I were right, and I am by the way, and you were The Nivenger, I would swear allegiance to you. This country is way too corrupt. The only way we’re going to make progress is through a cleansing. And I want in.”

Alex Rolland said, “You want in? What could you possibly do?”

Lexie gestured at his computer. “Is there something you’re looking for? Somebody you’re trying to find, maybe?”

Alex’s heart leapt in his chest. “The Colonel,” he said immediately.

Lexie nodded. He tapped away at his computer, a series of alpha numeric code running up and down the screen. After a few seconds, he said, “The Colonel is the military code name for a senior officer in the Nigerian Army named General Emeka Okeke. There’s a lot of information on him I can send them to you when—”

“I just need his present location,” said Alex Rolland, shell shocked at the ease with which the tech whiz he had for a roommate had found an information he had labored to get for the past two weeks since he killed Senator Abdulla.

“He’s currently residing at his Ikoyi residence,” Lexie said, taking a piece of paper and scribbling on it. He handed the paper to Alex.

Alex took the paper and looked at the address. After a moment, he looked up at the unassuming guy. “Are you sure about this?”

“About wanting to join you or about the address?” asked Lexie.

“Wanting to join me,” said Alex.

Lexie nodded.

“But first,” Alex said, taking a tall stool and pulling it up to Lexie. Sitting down, he said, “But first, you have to know everything. How I became what I am.”

Lexie nodded.

Alex took a deep breath then said, “My name is Alex Rolland, and I am the Nivenger.”

Beware, O ye corrupt leaders, for the Nivenger is coming for you!

rawswag:
OK I hope he gives us more updates.. and again nice writeup

Thanks! Updating in a few...

rawswag:
kachiugo has abandoned us

No he hasn't! He's working out the plot. Trying to decide the best possible route.

lorelife:
seriously I luv dis piece. plzz feed me more. more mb 2 ur device.

Thanks. More Coming...

This update was sent in the morning. It was removed until I emailed one of the mods, and it's been returned. Probably a glitch in the system. Anyway:

Enjoy!

KU

KachiUgo:
Contact: kachiugo3@gmail.com
www.kachiugo.com
Facebook: Kachi Ugo - Author
Twitter: @KachiUgo


The Nivenger
by Kachi Ugo

Copyright, 2016
All rights reserved.


4.

“Senator Abdulla Rasheed,” I say to the corrupt politician in my deadly low, gruff voice. “YOU HAVE FAILED THIS COUNTRY!”

The senator flinches at the intensity of my voice and the pressing of the edge of my knife against the skin of his throat. I slid the knife a little, drawing blood. Trickles flow down to stain him erstwhile immaculate dress and he whimpers, his eyes shut tight. In the tunnel, the smell of gun powder is choking. I take a brief moment to look at the man’s wife, who is now dead on the ground. I look at his guards who are strewn around like ragged dolls. I look at the small girl who is laid over her mother, shaking her to try and rouse her from death. She too would taste the sting of my blade for all were guilty before my eyes—all!

I turn back to the senator who seems to have taken leave of his dignity and bravado, muttering phrases of prayer, calling the name of Allah.

Enraged at such heretic action, I grab him by the chest and jerk him away from the wall just so I can slam him back with the might of my muscles. The senator retches on impact, spilling blood and tissue from his bowels. I pin him to the tunnel wall again, though this time I point the tip of my blade to the part on his chest that was directly over his heart.

“Don’t pray to Allah, you fool!” I mutter, anger coloring my voice. “What you have done, Allah would make your departure from this life swift and your time in hell an everlasting torture.”

Now Senator Abdulla Rasheed looked at him with the hate of a million tortured souls. He made to speak, but I don’t let him.

First I remind him he can die at any moment by pressing deeper into his chest with the tip of my blade, which causes terror to return to his face. Satisfied by this, I say to him, “Be very careful what you say to me, Senator Abdulla Rasheed. It will very well determine how you and your daughter will die…”

Senator Rasheed seems to freeze at my statement. He looks at his daughter, who is still trying to wake her mother. It is almost a pitiful sight, but I have taught myself never to pity the sinful nor the corrupt.

“What kind of man kills a child?” Senator Rahseed asks, his eyes widened by fear.

At his question, I have a flashback: I am in a small, dank room with about sixteen other people and what looks like a military instructor. There isn’t much to see as the room is very dark. But there is a small window by the side and the diffused light of sunset illuminates the portion of the room where an iron bed is. On this iron bed sits a mother cuddling her three year old child. I can’t remember what happens before this scene or how I get here. Out of the sixteen young looking men, only two of them are black like me. The rest are all Caucasians—they are all hard looking so I assume this is how I look because as I step forward, the mother cringes and begins to cry speaking … Russian? It is then I realize I understand her—she is begging for her daughter to be spared.

The instructor hands me a 9mm Berretta and says to me, “Ubiystvo!” Kill!

Terror strikes me to me boots. I waver.

The instructor takes my hand and stuff the grip of the weapon in it. With impressive, instinctual automaticity my hand clenches around the weapon’s grip and the barrel comes up in less time than an eye blinks.

“Strelyat’ ikh oboikh!”

His instruction rings in my head like a buzz. He wants me to shoot them both. I aim and shoot once. The mother collapses dead, while the child begins to scream, hanging on to her mother as though she is alive. I aim at the child but I cannot bring myself to pull the trigger. I may kill men and women, but I have never killed a child before. How can I kill a child? Where does this heartless cruelty stop?

The instructor pulls his gun and I feel its cold barrel on my clean shaven head. He says in a deadly low voice that never fails to terrify me, “Ubit’ ili byt’ ubitym.” Kill or be killed.

I don’t think again. I aim and shoot.

Anguish erupts in my mind causing the memory to dissolve back to the pit of sorrow from whence it came. I take deep breathes so my anguish won’t overwhelm me.

“I will kill her before your eyes,” I say to the senator, furious that the man questions my resolve. “But first I will make her suffer. I will make her cry for your help but you will be unable to help her. Then I will make you watch as the life drains out of her. Togda ya ub’yu tebya.” Then I will kill you.

Senator Abdulla looks shocked senseless at me.

I take his silence as acquiescence. “Tell me where I can find the Colonel.”

“The Colonel?” asks the Senator. A puzzled look overcomes his face. Before long realization hits him between the eyes.

“You can’t possibly know about…”

“The Lazarus Protocol?” I ask him, watching with as terror and shock mix into a potent whirlpool in his eyes. “I know about the Lazarus Protocol.”

“It’s not possible,” Senator Abdulla replied. He shook his head, saying, “It’s not possible.”

A loud bang at the door into the tunnel brings my attention there. I see that the security operatives are trying to break down the door. I have only a few minutes to finish up with the Senator.

“Tell me where he is!” I roar, and raptured by my feeling of anger I stab the man in the shoulder. Senator Abdulla lets loose a guttural cry of pain. He tries to grab the injury with his hand but I don’t let him. I pin him harder and he fights for control. However he is anything but strong and soon when he realizes he can’t overpower me he quits.

“The next one goes in your daughter’s eye,” I say. Then I push away from him, grab his daughter and place my knife to her right eye. Senator Abdulla tries to advance in my direction, but I retreat further down to the plane’s closed hatch.

Senator Abdulla stops in his tracks, the flashing light illuminating his horror struck eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” the man says.

“I want the Colonel,” I say. “Tell me who he is and where I can find him.”

Senator Abdulla says, “You don’t understand. Enacting the Lazarus Protocol can only lead to bad things. You say you avenge Nigeria? Doing this, raising the dead, will only lead to terrible things for us.”

I smirk at him, though he can’t see it through the hood that conceals my identity. “No! It will lead to freedom! When I find the Librarian, the whole world will know the truth about every corrupt politician and every corrupt leader of industry in this country.”

“You foolish boy,” the man says, suddenly becoming defiant. “How more naïve can you get? No one has seen the Librarian in decades. No one even knows who or what he is. Why do you think that is so? Why do you think only a handful of people know about the Lazarus Protocol?”

I do not answer him. I do not have an answer for him.

The Senator shakes his head in pity. He bows his head in thought for a moment. Then he jerks it back up and gulps loudly. His eyes are so wide with fear I think they would pop out if they got any wider.

“You are after the Librarian?” he asks as though just figuring out that part of my plan now. “You want it…”

As he mentions it even I cannot stop the shivers that descend my back. Cold fear covers me like a blanket of ice.

La Biblio Skullptura

“Mad man!” the Senator yells and in the blink of an eye he closes the distance between himself and I. He grabs his daughter and the knife in my hand and I am too shocked to react. Then he withdraws back and stops. He kneels by his daughter, holding the knife outwards.

“What you want to do,” he says, his voice thick with emotions. “It will destroy us. All around the world, Nigerians will be slaughtered like pigs. If the world knows what we did. Our hidden history… If they find out about it.”

“Truth must come to light,” I say, defending my action. In a micro second, I pull out an arrow from my quiver and notch my bow, aiming at the man’s head. “With or without your help, I will find the Colonel, I will flush out the Librarian. Then I will get La Biblio Skullptura, and the whole world will know that Nigeria runs on lies because its very foundation is a lie. What we did? What our founding fathers did? Everyone will know.”

Senator Abdulla shook his head. He produces a tablet from where it is secreted on his person and feeds to his daughter before I can react.

“No!” I yell, but his daughter starts to convulse, spitting out white foam. I watch as the child is stilled by death.

“It is better this way,” Senator Abdulla mutters to his dead daughter, shutting her eyelids.

“You killed your own daughter?” I roar, pain piercing through my heart like hot needles.

Senator Abdulla looks up to me. His eyes are solemn and weary. “What you are about to do, even The Cabal won’t survive it. There are some secrets better left dead.”

“No!” I cry, holding on to the shred of humanity I have left as my anger threatens to send me over. I can already see the terrible things I want to do to the Senator. It was one thing for me to kill the child, but it was another thing for the man to kill his child. “The dead must rise again! The Lazarus Protocol must be enacted. I will find the Book of Skulls. The whole world—every Nigerian will know the truth. Then they will have the choice they never had in the first place.”

Senator Abdulla pointed the knife at his chest. “Then there is nothing left to say. I can’t let my daughter be alive in the world you will create should the content of that Book be made public. We are better dead than alive.” And he stabs his heart.

I roar in anger and let my arrow fly. The arrow goes clean through his head, lodging itself in the midst of his brain. At the same moment, the door into the tunnel gives way and the security operatives flood the tunnel. I pull a special arrow from my quiver and notch my bow again. I aim at the ground beside the dead Senator and let fly.

As the arrow strikes the ground, there is a loud explosion and smoke fills the tunnel. The security operative pause for the smoke to clear. When it does, I am gone.


The Nivenger will return in the next update.

Beware, O ye corrupt leaders, for the Nivenger is coming for you!

Contact: kachiugo3@gmail.com
www.kachiugo.com
Facebook: Kachi Ugo - Author
Twitter: @KachiUgo


The Nivenger
by Kachi Ugo

Copyright, 2016
All rights reserved.


4.

“Senator Abdulla Rasheed,” I say to the corrupt politician in my deadly low, gruff voice. “YOU HAVE FAILED THIS COUNTRY!”

The senator flinches at the intensity of my voice and the pressing of the edge of my knife against the skin of his throat. I slid the knife a little, drawing blood. Trickles flow down to stain him erstwhile immaculate dress and he whimpers, his eyes shut tight. In the tunnel, the smell of gun powder is choking. I take a brief moment to look at the man’s wife, who is now dead on the ground. I look at his guards who are strewn around like ragged dolls. I look at the small girl who is laid over her mother, shaking her to try and rouse her from death. She too would taste the sting of my blade for all were guilty before my eyes—all!

I turn back to the senator who seems to have taken leave of his dignity and bravado, muttering phrases of prayer, calling the name of Allah.

Enraged at such heretic action, I grab him by the chest and jerk him away from the wall just so I can slam him back with the might of my muscles. The senator retches on impact, spilling blood and tissue from his bowels. I pin him to the tunnel wall again, though this time I point the tip of my blade to the part on his chest that was directly over his heart.

“Don’t pray to Allah, you fool!” I mutter, anger coloring my voice. “What you have done, Allah would make your departure from this life swift and your time in hell an everlasting torture.”

Now Senator Abdulla Rasheed looked at him with the hate of a million tortured souls. He made to speak, but I don’t let him.

First I remind him he can die at any moment by pressing deeper into his chest with the tip of my blade, which causes terror to return to his face. Satisfied by this, I say to him, “Be very careful what you say to me, Senator Abdulla Rasheed. It will very well determine how you and your daughter will die…”

Senator Rasheed seems to freeze at my statement. He looks at his daughter, who is still trying to wake her mother. It is almost a pitiful sight, but I have taught myself never to pity the sinful nor the corrupt.

“What kind of man kills a child?” Senator Rahseed asks, his eyes widened by fear.

At his question, I have a flashback: I am in a small, dank room with about sixteen other people and what looks like a military instructor. There isn’t much to see as the room is very dark. But there is a small window by the side and the diffused light of sunset illuminates the portion of the room where an iron bed is. On this iron bed sits a mother cuddling her three year old child. I can’t remember what happens before this scene or how I get here. Out of the sixteen young looking men, only two of them are black like me. The rest are all Caucasians—they are all hard looking so I assume this is how I look because as I step forward, the mother cringes and begins to cry speaking … Russian? It is then I realize I understand her—she is begging for her daughter to be spared.

The instructor hands me a 9mm Berretta and says to me, “Ubiystvo!” Kill!

Terror strikes me to me boots. I waver.

The instructor takes my hand and stuff the grip of the weapon in it. With impressive, instinctual automaticity my hand clenches around the weapon’s grip and the barrel comes up in less time than an eye blinks.

“Strelyat’ ikh oboikh!”

His instruction rings in my head like a buzz. He wants me to shoot them both. I aim and shoot once. The mother collapses dead, while the child begins to scream, hanging on to her mother as though she is alive. I aim at the child but I cannot bring myself to pull the trigger. I may kill men and women, but I have never killed a child before. How can I kill a child? Where does this heartless cruelty stop?

The instructor pulls his gun and I feel its cold barrel on my clean shaven head. He says in a deadly low voice that never fails to terrify me, “Ubit’ ili byt’ ubitym.” Kill or be killed.

I don’t think again. I aim and shoot.

Anguish erupts in my mind causing the memory to dissolve back to the pit of sorrow from whence it came. I take deep breathes so my anguish won’t overwhelm me.

“I will kill her before your eyes,” I say to the senator, furious that the man questions my resolve. “But first I will make her suffer. I will make her cry for your help but you will be unable to help her. Then I will make you watch as the life drains out of her. Togda ya ub’yu tebya.” Then I will kill you.

Senator Abdulla looks shocked senseless at me.

I take his silence as acquiescence. “Tell me where I can find the Colonel.”

“The Colonel?” asks the Senator. A puzzled look overcomes his face. Before long realization hits him between the eyes.

“You can’t possibly know about…”

“The Lazarus Protocol?” I ask him, watching with as terror and shock mix into a potent whirlpool in his eyes. “I know about the Lazarus Protocol.”

“It’s not possible,” Senator Abdulla replied. He shook his head, saying, “It’s not possible.”

A loud bang at the door into the tunnel brings my attention there. I see that the security operatives are trying to break down the door. I have only a few minutes to finish up with the Senator.

“Tell me where he is!” I roar, and raptured by my feeling of anger I stab the man in the shoulder. Senator Abdulla lets loose a guttural cry of pain. He tries to grab the injury with his hand but I don’t let him. I pin him harder and he fights for control. However he is anything but strong and soon when he realizes he can’t overpower me he quits.

“The next one goes in your daughter’s eye,” I say. Then I push away from him, grab his daughter and place my knife to her right eye. Senator Abdulla tries to advance in my direction, but I retreat further down to the plane’s closed hatch.

Senator Abdulla stops in his tracks, the flashing light illuminating his horror struck eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” the man says.

“I want the Colonel,” I say. “Tell me who he is and where I can find him.”

Senator Abdulla says, “You don’t understand. Enacting the Lazarus Protocol can only lead to bad things. You say you avenge Nigeria? Doing this, raising the dead, will only lead to terrible things for us.”

I smirk at him, though he can’t see it through the hood that conceals my identity. “No! It will lead to freedom! When I find the Librarian, the whole world will know the truth about every corrupt politician and every corrupt leader of industry in this country.”

“You foolish boy,” the man says, suddenly becoming defiant. “How more naïve can you get? No one has seen the Librarian in decades. No one even knows who or what he is. Why do you think that is so? Why do you think only a handful of people know about the Lazarus Protocol?”

I do not answer him. I do not have an answer for him.

The Senator shakes his head in pity. He bows his head in thought for a moment. Then he jerks it back up and gulps loudly. His eyes are so wide with fear I think they would pop out if they got any wider.

“You are after the Librarian?” he asks as though just figuring out that part of my plan now. “You want it…”

As he mentions it even I cannot stop the shivers that descend my back. Cold fear covers me like a blanket of ice.

La Biblio Skullptura

“Mad man!” the Senator yells and in the blink of an eye he closes the distance between himself and I. He grabs his daughter and the knife in my hand and I am too shocked to react. Then he withdraws back and stops. He kneels by his daughter, holding the knife outwards.

“What you want to do,” he says, his voice thick with emotions. “It will destroy us. All around the world, Nigerians will be slaughtered like pigs. If the world knows what we did. Our hidden history… If they find out about it.”

“Truth must come to light,” I say, defending my action. In a micro second, I pull out an arrow from my quiver and notch my bow, aiming at the man’s head. “With or without your help, I will find the Colonel, I will flush out the Librarian. Then I will get La Biblio Skullptura, and the whole world will know that Nigeria runs on lies because its very foundation is a lie. What we did? What our founding fathers did? Everyone will know.”

Senator Abdulla shook his head. He produces a tablet from where it is secreted on his person and feeds to his daughter before I can react.

“No!” I yell, but his daughter starts to convulse, spitting out white foam. I watch as the child is stilled by death.

“It is better this way,” Senator Abdulla mutters to his dead daughter, shutting her eyelids.

“You killed your own daughter?” I roar, pain piercing through my heart like hot needles.

Senator Abdulla looks up to me. His eyes are solemn and weary. “What you are about to do, even The Cabal won’t survive it. There are some secrets better left dead.”

“No!” I cry, holding on to the shred of humanity I have left as my anger threatens to send me over. I can already see the terrible things I want to do to the Senator. It was one thing for me to kill the child, but it was another thing for the man to kill his child. “The dead must rise again! The Lazarus Protocol must be enacted. I will find the Book of Skulls. The whole world—every Nigerian will know the truth. Then they will have the choice they never had in the first place.”

Senator Abdulla pointed the knife at his chest. “Then there is nothing left to say. I can’t let my daughter be alive in the world you will create should the content of that Book be made public. We are better dead than alive.” And he stabs his heart.

I roar in anger and let my arrow fly. The arrow goes clean through his head, lodging itself in the midst of his brain. At the same moment, the door into the tunnel gives way and the security operatives flood the tunnel. I pull a special arrow from my quiver and notch my bow again. I aim at the ground beside the dead Senator and let fly.

As the arrow strikes the ground, there is a loud explosion and smoke fills the tunnel. The security operative pause for the smoke to clear. When it does, I am gone.


The Nivenger will return in the next update.

Beware, O ye corrupt leaders, for the Nivenger is coming for you!

lorelife:
u are gud. am waiting 4 d next update

Thanks! Updating in a few minutes...

Beware, O ye corrupt Leaders, for the Nivenger is coming for you!

Update coming soon...

ritvin:
D Nivenger ll make a great script and I just started reading it. I ll make sure I read up d rest before d week runs out

OK! It's not finished tho...

rawswag:
thank you sir still anticipating ur update.... BTW is d nivenger a corper

Yes. I'm on it.

Is the Nivenger a corper...? Well, I think so. Though I'm not sure. You see, the story forms as I write, and as it forms I write. So we know one thing: He wears the white top of a corper, at least, when he goes "nivenging". Whether he is truly a corper or not, I'm yet to find out.

Nevertheless, if I were to hazard a guess, I'd say yeah, he's a corper.

ritvin:
mine Is ritavina9@yahoo.com.a script writer. Would really love to adapt it.

Wow, that's nice. I wonder how my stories would look on the big screen. Hey, so what book exactly do you want? I have a lot out.