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The car jerked into life and I pulled out of the park. The only thing I could hear was my heart beating fast with the unmistakable feeling that I was being watched.

I wheeled into Trentford Lane where the traffic was less. If I wanted to lose whoever was tailing me, I had to have enough room on the road for myself. There was no way I was going to let anyone follow me home. I pressed hard on the gas and fired down.

I glanced into my rear mirror and saw it for the first time. It was an SUV. This person ought to be an amateur. Who ever went into this business and forgets to conceal himself? An SUV doesn't do for a spy

I was so going to have a nice time playing with this one. I took a turn around Green Lodge Street and took a swift turn into Macaulay Avenue. This was surely going to confuse whoever it was. I watched as the speedometer ran up till I confirmed I was going 100mph. There was a reason why I was referred to as 'Road rabbi' back in the days.


When I was sure I had lost whoever it was, I turned into Maverick road. The air had turned chilly as the breeze from the river was moving into land. I watched the houses pass with reckless abandon. I used to enjoy the view the first time I moved here. It was nothing like the other places I've spent my life. It's not like I had ever had time for sceneries as my job had required me to move very quickly. Come into town, get a hotel and put tracers on the bastard who got unfortunate enough to have angered my boss. Immediately he was dropped, I packed my stuff and exited the town, endeavoring to wipe away any trace that I ever set foot there.

I've seen the worse of cases, killed people from every walk of life. Only one hurts me. I see him everyday in my dreams. His face keeps coming back no matter how hard I tried to erase the memory. I remembered the look on his face before I took the shot. One bullet had done the job. I still have that bullet. It's my reminder that I was once a bloody assassin. No, I wasn't a bloody assassin. I was the bloody assassin. Which other assassin could kill a four-year old and still breathe oxygen like it was normal?

Well, that's what everyone thought. It's what I wanted them to think. That was why I even accepted another job right away and executed with my usual perfection. However, I was done after that. Never again to hold a riffle.

I drove into my compound at last towards the garage. I pushed a button from my car and the garage door slid up slowly. I drove in, the darkness hardly causing me any worries. This was home after all.

Careful to ensure the door was locked, I moved away from my car and towards the back of the garage and pressed the button. A lift takes me upstairs. A stench caught my nostrils, a reminder of the bag of decaying sandwiches I had bought three days back. I make up my mind to dispose of it when I was well rested and refreshed.

The ride up the elevator was fast and in no time, I was in my living room. I sat on my favorite sofa and carefully pulled the shoes from off my feet. I have stinking feet and so wriggled my nose immediately anticipating the smell and it never failed to disappoint.

Just then, I felt something cold on the back of my head.

"It ends today Nathan."

It was the only other voice I loathed, the only other that commanded fear like mine. It was Naomi, my ex-girlfriend and the most wanted assassin in all of Darkaf. She had promised to kill me when she met me again. I guess this is was it then.

***********


This was a writing prompt from the words 'sandwiches' , 'elevator', and 'door'. I hope it was a good one.

When George disentangled himself from the Thorank state, he felt his body was shakiness visibly. The shock of knowing that Dathan could be dead any moment if he lingered was as destabilising as can be.

He cursed under his breath as he jogged towards the woods where he'd seen Harris in the vision. He blames himself for not faulting his dreams where he had seen Harris use the Staff as a walking aid.

How could he have allowed the fact that Cordelia had been gone to overshadow the care for the sword?

The breeze had just stated blowing and as he tore through clusters of grasses, he could feel the cold lounging, waiting till he stopped to begin to take its toll. George though had no thought to stop. Only ones thing mattered now; get to Harris and get the staff from him.

Soon enough, he began to hear Harris roar as he practiced his moves. George wondered the demons that could be controlling Harris. Was this part of the invasion? would they turn one of his against him?

As he neared the clearing in the woods and caught sight of a heavily soaked Harris, he tripped and gave out a shriek as he fell. Harris was by his side in no time, helping him to his feet. He felt a deep seething pain shoot through his ankle all the way to his knees. He had to push Harris away so he could sit down.

Harris too got a seat on the trunk of a fallen tree. George gave Harris a questioning look. If looks could kill, Harris would definitely have lost breath already. Such was the anger in George's eyes.

"What the heck do you think you are doing, Harris?"

When Harris spoke, he stuttered, visibly shocked. "I was practising with the staff, I thought you saw that?"

"Oh yes I saw that, but why would you use the staff? Have you grown nuts? Is the staff a play thing to be used by just anyone and that roughly?

" I didn't mean to cause problems. I wanted to... "

" If only you know the magnitude of your actions, Dathan is almost gone because of your stu..."

At this moment, Harris jumped up, losing his usually calm demeanor. "Everyone thinks I'm invalid, that I'm of no use, but this is my realm too, my place and I must take part in its defence."

George felt his adrenaline shoot up immensely and he took Harris by the collar, almost choking him.

"Are you so foolish. If you wanted to so defend your people, why not pick something else, why the staff?" George saw the fear in hiss eyes and immediately decided it was no use harming him, he threw him to the ground and looked around.

"Where's the staff? hand it over immediately."

Harris, standing up gently, wiping the dirt from his clothes, hurried back to where he'd been training, where he'd left the staff when he heard George's voice. He looked at the place where he thought the staff should lay and it wasn't there.

AOB: Happy Independence day! Your month is made of more!

Cc ayodipths, devilmaycry1, and all who care.

I slept off. Woke up like thirty minutes ago

I'll try to update this night. I've found a new motivation factor

George struck the rock with a splitting spell. The shell force alone drove the piece to the far end of the field, hitting the wall with a bang.
He was training as hard as he could. A lot of time had passed, and he still felt unprepared. Cordelia had been practicing with him but had left some minutes ago to catch some rest. However, George wanted more.

He needed to practice more in the Thorank state. From his studies, he could tell that practicing close to the house wasn’t advisable. Just a little blast of power uncontrolled could spell the damnation of people up to a mile away. After all, he was the Thorank King.

George got into the house to get a mat as he wanted to go towards the river where he’d be alone, and the effect of the Thorank power won’t be able to cause any problems.

It took a few minutes to get to the riverside. The wind was blowing softly making his head cool down. It had been threatening to ache again. All of this was causing mental exertion, but he couldn’t stop. Not now.

He spread the mat down close to the riverbed and sat, his limbs folded under him like one practicing meditation.
It took just a few seconds before he was soaked in. He had mastered getting into the state when he liked, and now, he tried working on his concentration. He began to weave the water from the river, trying to make a wall of it. The water did rise, but it wouldn’t form compaction. He’d tried making icy darts from water in the past, and that had worked, but this was proving very difficult. His concentration level had not improved even though he had been at this for two days now, from midday till sundown. He exited the state, disappointed at failing again. Maybe he’d have to try something else. There was nowhere it had been stated that these creatures could be attacked or killed by water. He had just imagined it would work. Call it desperation or not, he needed every help he could get.

He made up his mind he was going to try something else. He had read from the book on Bonding Thoranks that a link could be established between the minds of Thorank people, a passage for information unable to be detected by ordinary folks. He tried establishing contact with Dathan’s mind. If he could just connect with him, there was the possibility he could be brought back. He had a piece of his hair in a bottle containing his blood. George uncapped the bottle and dipped his hand into it.

The moment his hand got into the bottle, he felt his body jerk and his eyes whiten. A single strand of impulse had shot through his frame and had stopped at his head.

He could see Dathan’s weakened form. His body laid lifeless in a darkness no light could reach. He was on a platform of some transparent material, the chaol. George had read about the bricks that encased the heart of his kind. Dathan’s had formed a bed for him. He could hear the noise of water dripping, slowly. A mist was arising from the side of the pavement where his body laid. George approached him. He was cautious though as he didn’t know what to expect. His heart skipped beats as he got to the place where he laid. There were whitish marks, like veins visible from his head down. George looked down at the floor where a pool was forming. It was his essence. It was draining away.
Panic struck him, and he felt his body jerk. So much had been lost already. He wondered if he could do anything to help him.
Dathan! Dathan can you hear me?

He tried touching him, but his hand just passed like he had no form. He was there. George knew that without a doubt. He wished he knew what to do to help Dathan. Any moment and he’d have lost everything. He noticed that he was twitching slightly. Every few seconds, he would have what looked like seizures. George felt his eyes go watery. It wasn’t lovely the least bit not to be able to do anything. George sat down beside the chaol. He was lost for words, not that he could speak them here anyways but George wished he could express his frustration. He shifted, allowing his leg to flail. His leg made contact with Dathan’s essence, and he got struck by a bolt of power. A scene began playing before him where he saw Harris swinging the staff like he was performing a circus show. He looked like an amateur and kept hitting the staff on the floor. Every moment the staff made contact with the floor, George and Dathan felt an uncontrollable seizure, and George felt even his essence bleed.

Damn! It was Harris all this time! He had the staff and was killing Dathan!

Lol.
@ayodipths

I will continue, surely.

Ayodipths:
ah ah Mr Pabon, i don't like this one you keepin us wait o, sey u dn't knw tha e don reach six (6) years, am gettin tired o.

I didn't even know I had a follower in you @ayodipths

I sometimes get frustrated with those book. I gave my last update to a professional writer and he made me see it still have a lot to improve on. The thing weak me abeg!


I'm not just writing for fun. I want to become an established author. So, pardon me. I'm working on improving.

Waking up to the sound of rain, George sat up. His fingers were numb and scarcely could move. The smell of smoke filled hiss nostrils. He was forced to cough as he was almost choking. The action alone caused great pain as he felt his throat constrict.

There was debris on the floor, scattered around the house with the roof still pouring down some portions of concrete.

What could have happened here?

George found his slippers under a large piece of stone. He bent to pick it up and saw from underneath the bed the gory remains of a man's face. It was already decaying. He covered his nose and tried weaving his way out of the house.

There was so much destruction, he couldn't tell what had happened and why he'd been left on the bed. He was sporting any injuries or illness apart from the headache that was throbbing softly behind his forehead.

Outside, his eyes found it difficult to adjust to the rays of the sun that was illuminating dead and decaying corpses. The colors were distorted and disturbing. Yellow mixed with red and green had the color of the earth in distasteful patterns.

The sons had fallen. Not one, not two but all.

Had the battle been lost? But the sons were still training the last time I checked?

He moved around, trying to look for any evidence of life. There was hardly any. The stench was was beginning to get athim. Still, he rummaged on. He needed answers, answers that could only be zone from one that had witnessed it.

At last, he saw Harris in the distance. He was barely able to move. He was using the staff as a walking aid. This wasn't supposed to be. He ran all the way to meet him. He arrived just in time to catch him from falling.

"Harris! What's the problem? What happened?"

He looked into Harris' eyes as though the answers were there. Harris was visibly pained and took his time before answering. When he opened his mouth, the bitterness was clearly etched in his brows.

"We lost George. We lost!" He began sobbing and George withdrew his hands from him. He allowed Harris slide to the floor and he was forced to join him there.

"Why wasn't I there? What happened to me?"

Harris remained silent for a while, his eyes closed as a though trying to shut off something. A thought perhaps, anger, feeling of disappointment, maybe.

"George, you were losing your mind. You remained in the Thorank state and nothing we tried worked to get you to help."

George's eyebrows were creased in astonishment. How could thud have happened? For a battle he'd been preparing towards for so long long?

He couldn't believe it." Where's Cordelia?"

At the mention of her name, Harris began moaning. He tried to speak but tears streamed down husband eyes. He could only point towards a direction and George felt husband legs shaking as he stood. He ran towards the direction. The heap on the floor said more than words could. She was gone!

He fell to his knees and began pounding the ground.

"No, it can't end this way! No, Cordelia, come back!"

He began scratching at the heap. He was going to unearth her and bring he back to life. He'd look for a way, comb the earth till he found a solution.

He felt a feeble hand grab his shoulder, the hand kept pulling at him but he wouldn't bulge. He had to see Cordelia's face again, if only


"Get up George!"

He was slapped hard on the back and jerked up side suddenly. It was Mr Logan.

"Bloody hell! You're running some serious temperature."

George sat up even as he watch Cordelia come into the room. She carried a tray holding a jug that was emitting some steam. She dropped it on a side table. She came close to her dad and she looked down on him, the sadness clearly manifest on her face.

George held her hand as she came to sit by his side. This was enough evidence. It had been a dream.

olumoyebo179:
done sir...
The story has derailed to much nah...come update abeg[color=#F8F8F8].[/color]

What's the attachment for?

tunjilomo:
The episode is good, there are some little mistakes, but overall it is good.

You can do well to show the mistakes

Run away, abi?

Anyways, I will try to update today.

#Made of more!

I've edited the last update. I think the reading experience will be better now

George mopped her head with the warm rag he had just soaked in the bucket of hot herbs Mr. Logan had prepared. Her fever didn't seem like it was going to heal. He wondered why it was this way and why they had targeted her. This was certainly not normal. What was normal about someone having a dream and waking up to be affected?

As he glanced at her, her forehead now looking brighter than the remainder of her face, he remembered what she said had happened.

Cordelia had screamed from a dream she had. She had narrated about her invitation to the fortress where the damsels of the realm met to bond. She'd been a member of the ma'im as they were called until she left the realm some years ago. They had wanted to try and discuss ways for her to come back. Cordelia had revealed that she had not exactly liked the ideas but wanted to go anyways so she could explain why she'd left in the first place.

There had been a dance of steep steppers, a game she had been very good in. It was a game that required one to dance across a narrow bridge, not once looking downwards and not spilling the pot water balanced on the head. During her absence, Hydrein had become the champion but she had immediately outperformed her in the dream.

They had also tried eyes on fire, a game where they had to shoot fires towards a target, an eye which was situated far from where they had stood. She had again outperformed everyone. This obviously hadn't gone well with some or one of them. She couldn't tell. She just noticed the frown Hydrien had been sporting.

They had a then sat down to meal. It had been an overstocked barbecue. Every meat she'd longed for and missed had been there. Everyone had been told to serve themselves. This was why she could give no rational explanation how she got poisoned.

She had, after having her portion of baked lamb, started feeling the pains from her inside. She had thought it was just the reactions from having not had that kind of meal in a while. However, the pain lingered and she's had to be rushed to Lady Dinah's care centre where'd seen visions of her entrails rottening at a fast rate. She'd woken up from the dream in pains and had immediately developed a fever.

Though she was hardly conscious, she kept wincing in pains and could hardly stay put. George felt his heart melt. He never wanted to see Cordelia this way. He'd gotten used to the image of a fearless heiress and didn't like this one.

He wished he could could do something. He'd tried already. All the spells he'd learnt in the past didn't worked on her. It wasn't that they weren't potent but that they had been prepared to work on physical issues, one that had the consciousness of the patient involved. This wasn't liked that. Someone had gone great length to impose a dream on her and worked the poison into her sub-onscious. and now she was getting worse with each passing hour.

*In the moment of great grief, you'll find your strength. Your emotions are your strongest weapon*

It had flashed before his eyes, those words. He tried putting the pieces together but the picture wouldn't come. He knew though the answer was there, in those words.

What does it mean for his emotions to be his strongest weapon?

What emotion? He was only sad. Yes, he was vexed also. He was sad that Cordelia was suffering so much. The anger was for those who had done this to her. He wished they were here too taste of his wrath. He would make them pay, the hell he would.

If there was one thing that George notice had changed about him, it was his emotions. They kept flaring. It had never been this way. He'd been more rational. Now, all he thought about was death, evil. Was this the package that was came with young adults? He preferred his former version. Yes, he had been small and of childish mind but then, he wasn't powered by evil thoughts. He had believed that his empathy was what distinguished him from others. He had the ability to love without faults.

Yes, he did get angry at times. Yet, it had never solicited thought of evil, the magnitude of death, against an offender. He needed to get back himself.

Cordelia coughing got him back to the present. He dashed towards the kitchen and returned briskly with a cup of water. He helped her hold the cup as she slowly drained its content. He then helped her lay back down before proceeding to return the cup to the kitchen.

[I] Damn! She was losing so much weight already.[/i]

He began sobbing when was in the kitchen, the door locked and satisfied there was no chance she could hear him. He couldn't afford to see her dead. He had to do something. This was what pained himself the most.


At other times, the solutions had presented themselves to him. He'd known what to do or somehow triggered the solution. Now, when he needed to act the most, he just couldn't do anything. He was helpless. And afraid. Cordelia was going to die. That was the sad reality.

Mr. Logan had barely talked all day, or even eaten. He'd been at the library going through books. George felt for him. He would be doing the exact same thing if he didn't need to be here with Cordelia. Nora would have been the next best alternative but she was attending to an errand for Harris' father. She had been of great use, helping to clean Cordelia up and assist with all the girlish things.

George went outside when he noticed that Cordelia was finally sleeping. The place was quiet. Only the noise of birds chirping through theirs day could be heard and that of leaves rustling in the yard that was now littered from abandon. Just two days. Two days and everything had gotten worse.

Why is the light being sucked from my life? Why won't they allow me just few precious moments of happiness? George couldn't help asking himself. He burst into tears, his emotions no longer able to remain bottled.

He didn't know when he entered the Thorank state. His tears had formed a path for blood to ooze from his eyes, which by the way were shining and ghostly white. He felt himself being dragged to where Cordelia laid. He stooped over her, the index finger of both his hands found her temples and stayed there.

As soon as the dripping blood from his eyes fell on her face, her eyes opened too only they were as white as his too. George felt a surge of current sipping through the connection that had formed between their bodies. It felt like he was drawing away the pains from her and storing them in his body. This took some minutes before it stopped and George fell to the floor.


PS: This is an unedited piece. I'll come back to do some editing

Cc:
Rockhillz
Dranoid
devilmaycry1
spritmask
favyo
Ojusco
Joviegghead
tunjilomo
Teehsticckz

I've edited the last update. You guys can help me out by pointing little errors when you see them. Let's do this'll together.

tunjilomo:
This your story is really interesting. The storyline and plot is amazing and the characters are interesting ones. I like it.

Thanks for reading

Cc
Rockhillz
Dranoid
devilmaycry1
spiritmask
favyo
ojusco
joviegghead

I finally updated ooo...

Chapter 19

There was hardly any word to describe George’s state. He was at a war of emotions. Each entity of his feelings were clashing, with panic for swords. Two, however, were more pressing. He was angry at Dathan for allowing himself to be controlled so easily yet again. This wasn't supposed to be happening to the guy who he'd thought had strong self-will. He cursed at the air for allowing himself to rely on an idiot he only recently met.

He was also afraid. He was more scared that they were losing already. Dathan seemed unreachable. It was two days closer, two days since Dathan had fainted, and he hadn't so much as shown any sign of a change. At this point, even a glimmer of hope would do. The bloke had not so much as stirred

Of what use is he then? His body should be floating on the surface of the ocean already!

He shook his head. He was losing it. You never thought that for a friend. Never. Everyone deserves their chance at life. But damn! What was he to do? Mr. Logan had told him not to blame himself for Dathan’s predicament. Easier said than done. He'd been the one putting all the pressure on him. He should have known. Not everyone can go about carrying the fate of a people. He was born for such. Dathan? The boy only recently stopped making trouble for the realm. The transformation was usually slow. George had rushed him, giving him ideas that weren't achievable.

Damnit! He was beginning to doubt his destiny again. It was becoming unbearable. Just then, he heard sounds which ebbed closer with each passing second. There was a certain rhythm to their approach. He brushed himself standing up.

They came into view at last. It was the Thorank people. Mr. Logan had advised he began training sections for the Thorank people as they had to be part of the battle. It was their duty to defend the realm. Plus, they were the only ones here who had pure magic whisking through their veins.

He hadn't seen anything this colorful, not since he left Manterror's castle. The sons of Thorank had come dressed in their regalia. There were four sons, evident in their wears, each order with its unique colouring.

Each order, he had read, had a unique ability that separated them from others.

George greeted them with a low hissing sound. He could do it so easily now. He'd come to know how it worked. No, there was no work in the real sense. You just opened your mouth, and the sounds came out in line with your thoughts. You'd have to be a Thorank though.

The four leaders of each order came out in front. They stood facing the people. Then, as if rehearsed, they began giving a cry that sounded like the blaring of a horn. The people started moving in different directions and in few minutes, had separated into groups, their colours identifying them. Their leaders stood in front of the lines they'd formed.

One of the leaders, with entirely bald head, approached George. He had a tattoo on his head painted red. He took a stance. Flapping his robes, he stirred the wind and began rotating his hand, like he was rolling something invisible. To George’s amazement, the wind turned into his path. He spun on, the way you'd spin clay to make vessels. He did this for a while and then drew it, whatever it was, close to himself. George noticed that his chest was contrasting. He was taking a deep breath. Then he released his breath into the wind as he pushed it away.

The fire that ensued was unlike any George had seen anywhere. Its edges were rimmed with blue flames but inside was red-hot. George clapped as the man bowed his way back to his line.

Another elder stepped forward. He wore green sleeveless robes. He had green bands tattooed on his upper muscles. He too gathered the wind, but his style was different. He kept dancing around with his hands and feet moving as though following a rhythm. After he had picked enough of the wind to cause a mini-tsunami, he brought it close to his mouth and in one swift motion, gulped everything down his throat.

As if that was not shocking enough, he began to grow in size. Surprisingly, his robes too grew with him. When at last he stopped, what George saw was an exact representation of a giant. He was in his own eyes as a mouse before an elephant, not that he'd seen an elephant before, but from what he'd heard, they were pretty huge. The exact words he remembered were that they stood like a wall. This guy was even taller.

George was pretty impressed. He imagined these sons tearing apart the flying creatures that were threatening to stop their existence.

An affirmative nod from George saw the elder, his belt reading Vianix, take a deep breath. He then exhaled, the air visible as a burst of wind. He swiftly deflated until he returned to size. He too made a bow and went back to his order.

The representative of the third sons, the elder, came next. He had a white robe and wore sandals that revealed flat toes. There was nothing out of the normal about him. He looked gentle even. George wondered if this one would even last ten minutes when the great battle began.

As if on cue, he began moving his hand like one swimming his way through a body of water. He then closes his eyes and waited. One of the sons from his order, a hefty guy with a build that would have rivalled the best of Manterror's men, stepped forward . He took his stand and then with a swiftness George wouldn't have ever imagined he had, he ran towards the guy who had his eyes closed. The moment he came close to within two feet, he was flung back like an invisible wall with hands had forced him back.

George was ecstatic. He wondered why they'd lose at all if these men were present. The fourth sons hadn't even given their demonstration. He smiled as the guy leading them came forward. He had yellow robes on. His head was bald and had a circle tattoo on his head.
He too, like the first son, manoeuvred the wind. He built it high till it danced around his waist. Then, with the accuracy of the time, he climbed onto it and rode away. He used his legs like a paddle and could make himself go higher. He could fly.

George thought he was going to explode from all the excitement, and from the look on Mr. Logan's face, he was sure there was mutual agreement . George, feeling very happy, led the men to the open field they had just behind the house where he allowed them take drills and perfect their skills


He and Mr. Logan walked back to the house very excited. For the first time in days, there was a glimmer of hope. Just then a scream broke out from home. It was a high-pitching scream, the like that only Cordelia could produce.

...

rockhillz:
Mr pabon....why do we like this nahhh

by december "CALL OF THE WIND" will be celebrating HER 6 years anniversary.......just imagine pikin way dem born that time.......


i don forget where i stop self,i have to start from page 1 but believe me i was captivated...imagine me reading thru out yesterday night......but biko come and finish this masterpiece



Mr pabon...it is one month plus oooo.....i see nothing

Jesu! Six years! Abeg I must write something this night. I will finish this book before September ends.

Six years! God abeg o!

#Madeofmore

I wanted to ask a question. Do you know anyone here, I mean from Nairaland, who has made it big from writing?

I wanted to ask a question. Do you know anyone here, I mean from Nairaland, who has made it big from writing?

I wanted to ask a question. Do you know anyone here, I mean from Nairaland, who has made it big from writing?

I wanted to ask a question. Do you know anyone here, I mean from Nairaland, who has made it big from writing?

Dranoid:
Welcome back.

I really hope it's for good as you said. And please try and summarize the story in a post or something so that we'll remember the characters and the plot. Thank you

Cheers.

That's what I'm going to do. Even for myself, I need to get back the whole plot so I can fit perfectly into the head of my character.