The alleyways of Azu-Mba, one of the bustling underbellies of Nri-Ulo, were a labyrinth of shadowed corridors, flickering lanterns, and the hushed whispers of merchants selling everything from enchanted ivory to spirit-bound weapons.
Chizoba was running.
Not out of fear. Not out of weakness. But because fighting seven Chi Sculptors at once—all masters in their own right—was an unnecessary waste of effort.
He had borrowed money from Obiora the Fat-Hand, a Chi-imbued loan shark who never forgot a debt. The sum? A few silver pieces—but in Azu-Mba, debt wasn't just about money. It was about power. And letting him go unpaid would be seen as a challenge to Obiora's standing.
That's why these seven killers were on his tail.
They knew who he was.
They knew he had power.
They just didn't know how much.
And that was their first mistake.
"Chizoba! If you keep running, we'll break more than just your legs!" one of the assassins called.
He didn't answer.
The first mistake in battle was acknowledging the enemy's presence too early. That gave them control. Instead, Chizoba focused on his breathing—his heartbeat slowed, his footsteps light against the stone. His sealed power let only a trickle of Chi flow, just enough to enhance his reflexes, his thoughts, his movement.
He took a sharp turn down an alley—too sharp for most humans, but not for a Chi user. His heel dug into the ground, and he kicked off the wall, twisting mid-air to scale a low rooftop.
Below, his pursuers followed, their Chi flaring in distinct colors as they enhanced their legs and followed his path.
Mistake number two.
They assumed he would fight them on their terms.
He landed in a narrow courtyard, where a single hanging lantern flickered weakly. He stopped, turned, and waited.
The first Chi Sculptor—Ekene, a man known for carving weapons out of his own Chi—landed first. His hands glowed, forming twin machetes of golden energy.
"You're cornered."
Chizoba smiled.
"No," he said simply. "You are."
And then he kicked the lantern.
The Chi-infused oil inside ignited instantly, bursting into a blinding wave of fire and smoke. The momentary loss of vision was all he needed.
Two steps forward.
One palm to the throat.
A sharp twist of the wrist.
Ekene collapsed, choking on his own breath, his body limp before he even realized what happened.
Six left.
The next two landed immediately after. One was Chuka, whose Chi sculpted his hands into claws of hardened bone, and the other, Ifeanyi, a Chi-enhanced acrobat who could move faster than most eyes could track.
Chizoba pretended to stumble, a single hand pressed against his stomach, as if exhausted.
Chuka grinned. "Looks like you're done ru—"
Chizoba struck first.
Before the words fully left Chuka's lips, Chizoba's fingers flicked forward, snapping a small metal pin from his sleeve directly into the man's knee.
Chi-sculpted bones? Unbreakable.
Tendons? Delicate.
Chuka screamed, dropping to one leg.
Ifeanyi moved. He dashed forward, twisting in midair, faster than a falling leaf.
Chizoba didn't block. He sidestepped, letting the assassin's own momentum betray him, before grabbing his wrist, twisting it, and slamming him headfirst into the stone wall.
The crack of bone. A short gasp.
Five left.
The last four were smarter. They didn't rush him like fools.
"You're good," said Nnamdi, the leader of the squad. "But you're outnumbered."
Chizoba let his shoulders slump.
"Fine," he sighed. "You got me."
He raised his hands in surrender.
And in that moment—when they thought they had won—he released just a fraction more Chi.
A single burst.
The ground cracked beneath his feet, and the loose debris he had kicked earlier—Chi-infused pebbles and dust—detonated in a controlled explosion.
The air filled with stone and dust.
The assassins coughed, shielding their eyes.
But Chizoba had already moved.
By the time the dust cleared, three bodies lay on the ground, unconscious or dead.
The last one, Nnamdi, stood frozen, a blade pressed against his throat.
Chizoba held it lightly, his Chi just barely enhancing the edge.
"You could've just let the debt go," Chizoba murmured.
Nnamdi swallowed. "It's not about the money."
"I know."
Chizoba tilted the blade slightly—not enough to kill, but enough to draw a thin red line against the man's skin.
Then he stepped back, flicking the weapon to the ground.
"Tell Obiora," he said, "that I'll pay him back when I feel like it."
And with that, Chizoba vanished into the shadows.
….......….
Chizoba's footsteps were silent against the damp earth as he moved through the dense foliage of Nsogbu Valley—a name that literally meant Trouble. The towering cliffs that surrounded the valley gave it an oppressive, almost caged-in feeling, and the mist that slithered along the ground only added to its unwelcoming presence.
He barely had time to breathe after dealing with those loan shark bastards, but staying in Azu-Mba after a stunt like that? Not an option. Nsogbu was remote, hard to track anyone in, and more importantly, filled with things far more dangerous than bounty hunters.
I need a moment to think, he told himself.
He pulled his cloak tighter, his Chi dampened to near nothing, keeping his presence as small as possible. Even sealed, his power had a way of attracting trouble.
Unfortunately, trouble found him first.
The valley opened into an ancient ruin, its cracked stones worn down by centuries of neglect. The remnants of old structures, barely standing, were choked with vines. Here and there, strange mechanical husks—relics of the past—lay half-buried in the earth.
Chizoba frowned.
Something about these machines felt off.
The design was unlike anything in Nri-Ulo or Orun-Saa. It was too intricate, too unnatural, almost as if it belonged to a world before the gods even ruled.
And that's when he heard it.
A metallic clunk, followed by a hiss of steam.
Chizoba barely had time to turn before a flying metal disk shot toward his head.
Instinct took over.
He shifted just slightly, angling his body precisely so that the projectile missed him by a breath. It embedded itself into the stone behind him, whirling violently before sparking out.
He glanced at it. Some kind of throwing weapon, powered by technology rather than Ase or Chi.
Which meant—
"Oi! Who the hell are you?!"
Chizoba turned slowly.
Standing atop a crumbled pillar, a woman in an armored suit glared down at him, her stance aggressive, a strange rifle-like weapon slung over her back. Her eyes were sharp, her short-cropped curls barely shifting in the wind, and there was a stubborn tilt to her chin that screamed don't test me.
She wasn't using Chi.
She wasn't using Ase.
But she moved like a predator, like someone who had survived battles meant to kill her.
And right now, she was looking at him like he was the problem.
"I asked you a question!" she snapped.
Chizoba sighed, running a hand down his face. "I just got here. Why the hell are you attacking me?"
"I don't like strangers sneaking into my territory."
"Your territory?" His brow raised slightly. "I didn't know scavengers could own land."
That got a reaction. Her grip on her weapon tightened, and he saw the way her eyes darkened slightly.
"You must have a death wish."
Chizoba exhaled slowly. Great. He had just escaped one fight, and now he was about to get into another.
"Look," he said, his tone edged but not hostile, "I don't care about whatever junk you're picking through. I'm just passing through the valley. You can go back to—"
"That's funny," she cut him off. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trespassing."
This woman was insane.
Chizoba clenched his jaw. He could already tell—she was the stubborn type. The type that didn't let things go.
He sighed. "Fine. If you want me gone, I'll go. Just point me in the direction where I don't have to deal with you."
She smirked. "Now, why would I do that? You just insulted me, and I think I deserve an apology."
Chizoba scoffed. "Not happening."
Her smirk widened.
"Then I guess you're staying right here. With me."
Chizoba rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long day.
Chizoba exhaled sharply, taking a measured step back. His instincts told him that this woman wasn't bluffing—if he said the wrong thing, she'd probably pull that weapon on him again.
The problem?
He wasn't about to back down either.
"Look," he said, tone edged but not quite hostile, "I don't have time for this. If you want to pick a fight over nothing, find someone else."
Omo tilted her head, clearly amused by his irritation.
"You talk big for someone standing in my ruins."
"Yours?" Chizoba crossed his arms. "I didn't see your name carved into the walls. And as far as I can tell, this place has been abandoned for centuries."
Omo's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then maybe you should ask before walking into someone's backyard uninvited."
Chizoba's jaw tensed. This woman—who even was she?
He had dealt with plenty of warriors before. Chi-wielders, Ase-bearers, high priests, and mercenaries. But Omo was something different. She had the confidence of a fighter, but no divine presence, no spiritual aura. Instead, there was something almost mechanical about the way she moved—practiced, precise, like a weapon honed through use rather than divine blessing.
More than that, she was too comfortable here, like someone who had lived among these ruins for a long time.
He huffed. "Fine. Let's pretend this is your backyard. What exactly are you doing out here?"
"Surviving," she said simply. "Unlike you, I don't rely on a god's scraps to do it."
That made Chizoba's eyebrow twitch. Ase-lost.
He had heard of people like her before. Individuals who had been cut off from the gods' blessings—either by fate or by force.
Most of them lived bitter, miserable lives.
But Omo wasn't miserable.
She was thriving.
Chizoba could see it now—the reinforced plating on her bodysuit, the way her weapon looked too well-maintained to be ordinary scrap, the silent hum of machinery embedded in her gear. She wasn't just scavenging these ruins.
She had built herself from them.
He sighed. "Great. A tech-rat with an attitude problem. Exactly what I needed today."
Omo grinned. "And I get a lost little chi-boy wandering into my territory. Guess neither of us is having a good day."
Chizoba hated how amused she sounded.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright, fine. Just tell me what it takes for you to let me pass so we can both go our separate ways."
She tilted her head, pretending to think. Then she smirked.
"Beat me in a fight."
Chizoba stared at her.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," she said, cracking her knuckles. "I don't let just anyone waltz through here. If you want to pass, you have to prove you can handle whatever comes next. That's the rule."
"That's a stupid rule."
"Take it up with the local management," she shot back, grinning.
Chizoba exhaled slowly. He could walk away, but something told him that if he did, she'd just follow him and make this even more annoying.
"Fine," he muttered. "But don't cry when this is over."
Omo grinned wider, stepping back and loosening her stance.
"Funny. I was about to say the same thing."
Chizoba moved first, closing the distance between them in a single breath. His footwork was sharp, precise—the form of a Chi-sculptor, a martial artist trained in weaving movement and energy into one.
But Omo was already moving.
She ducked under his first strike, her movements too fast, too practiced. She wasn't just reacting—she was predicting.
Chizoba barely had time to twist out of the way before she activated something on her wrist—a sudden pulse of electrical energy cracked through the air.
He leapt back just in time, the surge singing the air where he had just been.
She's fast.
Not just fast—she fights like she's been doing this her whole life.
Chizoba smirked.
Fine. This might actually be fun.
He shifted his stance, lowering his body. His Chi flickered, just a whisper of energy, feeding into his muscles and nerves.
Omo grinned, clearly noticing it.
"Finally," she said. "I was getting bored."
And then they clashed again.
Omo felt it—the subtle pulse of Chi stirring around Chizoba's body. It was barely there, just a flicker of controlled power, but it was enough.
A slow grin tugged at her lips. Finally, he's taking me seriously.
She had spent years fighting scavengers, cultists, and Ase-wielders who thought too highly of themselves. Most of them relied on their blessings—divine power that let them crush obstacles with brute force.
But this guy?
He was measured.
Smart.
Omo adjusted her grip, watching his stance shift. He was lowering his body slightly—a setup for an explosive movement.
He's testing my reaction time.
Fine. She'd play along.
The moment his foot shifted, she moved first.
Omo's thrusters activated, sending her lunging sideways just as Chizoba dashed forward. His palm strike whiffed through empty air, but he adjusted fast—pivoting smoothly and bringing up his leg for a sharp kick.
Omo blocked with her forearm plating, but the impact sent a dull ache up her arm. Damn, he's strong.
Still—she had the advantage here.
While Chizoba was still retracting his leg, she activated her gauntlet's pulse emitter—a sudden burst of kinetic force blasted outward.
It should have knocked him off balance.
It didn't.
Chizoba twisted in midair, using the very force of the blast to push himself away and land gracefully a few feet back.
Omo's grin widened. "Alright," she said, rolling her shoulder. "I'll give you that one. You actually know what you're doing."
Chizoba huffed, shaking out his hands. "I could say the same."
That was rare. Most Ase-wielders, Chi-users, or whatever priest-trained warriors she ran into didn't have that kind of footwork.
This guy had experience.
Omo cracked her knuckles. "Let's turn it up a notch, then."
She activated the shockwave in her boots and shot forward.
Chizoba braced himself, but she wasn't attacking head-on this time.
Instead, she skidded sideways at the last second, launching her grappling wire from her wrist. The thin metal cord wrapped around his arm, locking his movement for just a second.
That's all I need.
Omo wrenched the wire downward, forcing Chizoba's balance to shift.
She threw a punch.
He saw it coming.
His Chi flared subtly—just enough—and his body twisted in an unnatural movement, letting the strike skim past his cheek.
Then, in one clean motion, he grabbed the wire wrapped around his arm, yanked her forward—
And suddenly, she was the one losing balance.
Shit—
Omo crashed forward, barely managing to brace herself before she hit the ground.
She blinked, staring at his hand, still gripping her wire.
Chizoba raised an eyebrow. "Your tech's fast," he admitted. "But your hand-to-hand needs work."
Omo scowled. "Tch. Don't get cocky, chi-boy."
She clicked her wrist, and the wire retracted instantly, pulling her hand back just before Chizoba could grab it.
They reset their stances, both breathing slightly harder now.
Omo grinned, heart pounding.
Omo's grin never faltered, but she could tell—she was losing ground.
Chizoba's footwork was too precise. His attacks came faster, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next. There was no hesitation, no wasted energy.
I should have figured. A chi-user with this level of control? He's been holding back this whole time.
Omo twisted her body at the last second, avoiding his strike, but—
She was too slow.
Chizoba had already pivoted, switching angles mid-strike.
Before she could counter, his palm landed against her stomach—a soft, barely-there touch.
Then, suddenly—
A pulse.
It wasn't much. Just a whisper of Chi, but it was precisely placed.
It sent a wave through her core, making her legs buckle just slightly.
Just enough for him to slide behind her, pivoting his weight, and—
Omo felt her center of gravity shift.
Shit—
The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, staring up at the violet sky of Nsogbu Valley.
Chizoba exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "You rely too much on tech," he said, offering his hand.
Omo squinted up at him, lips pressed into a line.
She had fought countless scavengers, mercenaries, even a few trained warriors—
And she had never lost to someone who fought barehanded.
She hated losing.
She hated it more when the winner was right.
Damn it.
She gritted her teeth but took his hand. His grip was firm but not mocking—he didn't seem like the kind of guy to gloat.
That made it worse, somehow.
Once she was back on her feet, she dusted herself off. "Alright, alright," she muttered. "I admit it. You got me."
Chizoba crossed his arms, watching her. "You're good, though."
"Obviously," Omo muttered. She turned away, glancing toward the deeper parts of Nsogbu Valley.
Chizoba sighed and started walking.
Omo hesitated.
She should cut her losses.
She didn't know this guy. Didn't trust him.
But something about the way he fought intrigued her. His skill wasn't just talent—it was deliberate, precise. He had fought like someone who had learned to hold back.
That kind of control…
Omo's fingers twitched.
She had to know more.
"Hey," she called, catching up beside him. "You heading deeper in?"
Chizoba gave her a side glance. "Yeah."
"Mind if I tag along?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like me."
"I don't," Omo said with a smirk. "But I'd be stupid to let someone like you out of my sight."
For the first time, Chizoba's lips quirked slightly.
"Suit yourself."
After a pause, he nodded. "Chizoba."
Omo blinked.
"That's my name," he clarified.
She smirked. "Omole Kehinde. But people call me Omo."
Chizoba gave her a slight nod before continuing forward.
Omo rolled her shoulders and followed, stepping deeper into Nsogbu Valley alongside him.