Battleground 1 - 21

BATTLEGROUND - 1

Doncantilus Angus, High Mage of the line of the Basdugril and the last of the Blue Wizards, watched the Battle of Klasgon distractedly. Men who had no reason to fight one another battled it out, tirelessly wreaking havoc on one another using weapons enchanted with magic. They were but pawns in a game of power. Not many of them understood the true nature of what was at stake and fewer more had any inkling as to what was coming irrespective of which side ended up victor or vanquished.

But they fought. Hard. As men of honour and valour always did through the centuries of conquest that Corizon Earth had existed. Called upon by Lords and nobles to whom they’d pledged allegiance, they popped up the standards of their armies and marched into one battlefield or another with shouts of courage and bouts of confidence. The ones who survived did so with pride and gallantry long enough for the next call to arms.

From his vantage point, Doncantilus saw the Lord Israphdos Baskogols lift up the Axe of Flaville as the minions of Goshetrasto threatened to swarm around him and attack from all sides. Israphdos was King of Flavostratum and it was his responsibility to defend the land of his fathers from the marauding Goshetrasto horde of King Bothelius Armistain’s charges. Theirs was a generational enmity transferred from father to son of every line between both kingdoms. No age had passed without witnessing bloodshed on these grounds of war. Supported by the magic of sorcerers and spells of wizardry, ancient wounds between these two never healed and scars reopened for the flimsiest of reasons.

The bright sparks of sorcerous light brightened the battleground when the Axe Israphdos raised struck the ground at his feet. The magic of the Axe worked as Israphdos gave voice to the ancient enchantment that powered it. The effect was devastating.

To the casual observer, it might have appeared that a truckload of inflammable substances came in fatal contact with a flame that triggered an explosion of the most extreme proportions as a considerable radius around the King burst into a gargantuan conflagration that left a yawning chasm in the solid ground where the Axe struck. Everything within that radius – living and otherwise – was unrecognisably charred to death.

Everything but King Israphdos.

BATTLEGROUND - 2

Then, King Israphdos rose from his crouched position and readjusted his battle gear while looking around with the satisfaction of one admiring the beauty of his art. But respite was brief. He was King and kings at war weren’t allowed the luxury of rest. He picked up his shield and scaling the chasm his Axe created, he screamed his way back into the thick of the fight beyond the radius he'd just incinerated.

Doncantilus Angus wasn’t a casual observer. He knew very well the magic that wrought that Axe into life and knew what spells Israphdos had crafted to actualise that devastation. He admired the king’s courage. This wasn’t one who simply sent men to die like his father and grandfather before him. Much like his great-grandfather, he went in front of them and these valiant men, as a result, were ready to run at any enemy no matter how frightful in their king’s name. Many of them had as much magic weaponry and spells with them and Doncantilus saw these at use liberally in the fight he was witnessing. On both sides. Some dark magic and some not.

The Blue mage could even perceive the use of necromancy at work within the battlefield. It was a worrying confirmation that there was more at stake here than this battle of enemy kingdoms. This was why he kept watch from his vantage point. His intuition had never failed him for the best part of 850 years. It wasn’t about to begin today. Not with so much evidence as he’d been able to …

Doncantilus Angus perceived it before it was apparent. And he was prepared for it.

BATTLEGROUND - 3

The evilry of the spell aimed at Doncantilus burnt through the duplicate form of himself he’d projected by magic to fool would-be physical or magical attackers. He identified the source of the evil spell with one spell of his own and incinerated it with another. But Doncantilus frowned as the blue smoke from his spell hissed out of the charcoaled remains of the apprentice who attacked his duplicate form from behind the disguise of an invisibility cloak.

That was too easy. He expected to be attacked by a proper mage who’d give him a worthy battle not an apprentice on his first time out in a proper fight where one’s ability to attack had to be matched by a propensity to defend (physical or magical) if one was going to live long enough to see the next dawn. This was disappointing. And not what Doncantilus spent considerable magic to prepare for.

Was he therefore anxious over nothing? Were the warring kings who disregarded his premonitions right? Had his intuition read more from the events leading up to the fight? Could he be simply getting the vibes twisted? It wasn’t as if …

His forewarning powers were slightly late but his grasp of his magic wasn’t. Even though he got the inkling of malicious intent weaved at him very late, countermeasures were at the tip of his tongue and at the tip of his fingers at all times. His well-honed skills recognised the immobility spell whose origins were traceable to the earliest stages of magic and his reflexes countered it with an incantation of reflexion which often sent the spell back to sender.

BATTLEGROUND - 4

It was often a time-honoured act of magic where you repelled the spell by returning it to the sender’s address quickly if it catches you off-guard so that the intervening period allowed you to settle enough to face the adversary. If the adversary was just as skilled, it returned to him without effect. If not, it went back with the purpose the person wished for you before you deflected it.

Here, as the form of Doncantilus’ attacker gradually materialised in front of him, he knew he’d not been wrong and his intuition once again proved accurate. And to confirm the power of his attacker, the deflected spell simply bounced off the shape of the mage like a gentle breeze on a sunlight flower.

Doncantilus knew immediately that this wizard was why there was a battle on these grounds. This mage was the architect. Today’s edition of the generational conflict between the kings was a ruse, Doncantilus concluded immediately he identified the Black cloak of the figure. It was always going to be a Black, of course. He surmised from the evidence he’d gathered prior to this battle that this mage was aiming for the Portal of Za’an magically accessible in the Age of the Ox and located here to open for him to have access to the Realm of the Unliving.

Opening it always required human sacrifice. In the hundreds.

BATTLEGROUND - 5

And since no mage, not even a Black was going to be allowed the killing off of so many humans, down through the ages, all evilly ambitious wizards have instigated animosity, enmity and war on these grounds in the Year of the Ox for the selfish intent of using the bloodshed as key to the Portal of Za'an and from thence, passage to the Realm of the Unliving. They couldn't resist the powers that Realm promised any evil Lord willing to risk entry.

All signs Doncantilus had seen had pointed to the malicious instigation of battle between the two kings and the fight today was the culmination of a very intricately planned strategy to enter that Realm. But as long as Doncantilus Angus, High Mage of the Basdugrill lived, the Battle of Klasgon was not going to give the access the Dark mage planned to him.

“Reveal yourself,” Doncantilus demanded with steel in his voice. As he did that, he silently wove within himself a spell to ward off fear and confusion.

BATTLEGROUND - 6

Doncantilus needed to be fully connected to the essence of his magic. It was something dragons and DragonLords like the Black wizards knew very well that if you introduced fear into any mind, it was the emotion with the power to drastically eliminate faith from such a mind. As soon as faith was reduced, the power of the mind to act decisively was ablated. For a mage or sorcerer, a dip in belief in one's powers, a reduction in faith, often meant a loss of absolute control of their magic rendering them little more than mere mortals.

It was well Doncantilus pronounced that spell because he was not prepared for the revelation he had initially demanded. While he expected to see Chaudron Cordillion, the Overall Superior of the Black Mages and the only one powerful enough to instigate this battle, on the one hand, and, on the other, daring enough to attempt a Portal takeover, nothing prepared him for Bellion.

“Hello, Angus Basdugrill, the Blue,” Bellion greeted formally. “Nice to finally become acquainted with the famous Blue.” His smile was evil and voice ancient. He spoke the tongue of the Blue Wizards intentionally to make it apparent that he knew as much of the Blue House as Doncantilus.

BATTLEGROUND - 7

It was only Doncantilus’ spell that kept the Blue mage’s disarticulation at bay. The implications of Bellion’s appearance here were straightforward.

The Black mage, Bellion, was among the four from the four Houses of Black mages in line to succeed Chaudron Cordillion at his death. The others were Sethovus, Gaulodras and Pengotrim. By virtue of experience, depth of appreciation of the Black Mages’ place in the balance of the dark arts and sorcery, sensibleness and appreciation of the other family of mages, Bellion who had demonstrated, over and over again, an acute disdain for the balance of the order of things and had therefore proven himself ill-prepared for any sort of leadership of the Blacks – a role Sethovus seemed to have been born for and favoured to succeed Lord Chaudron

Doncantilus was putting two and two together.

“Yes, yes,” Bellion’s voice bore evidence of triumph, “I see you begin to come to terms with how I have come to be the one to achieve what I fail to understand why it has taken the Blacks so long to accomplish.” The evil smile never left his face. “And so far, it’s been all too easy.” His eyes left Doncantilus’ briefly to glance at the raging armies clashing along in the Battle of Klasgon. That smile was ever widening. His objective was within reach.

BATTLEGROUND - 8

“Those better than you didn’t attempt this mindlessness,” Doncantilus gave answer, drawing Bellion’s attention, “because, more than you, they understood that unless the implications of opening the Realm of the Unliving to our own realm here can be adequately handled with a level of control only possible within a conjunction of powers of all colours of mages, it is foolish, to say the least, attempting to take for oneself the power you desire in that realm.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” an obviously irritated Bellion chorused. “You think I didn’t hear that much from my Lord Chaudron? Or should I say, my late Lord Chaudron?” he said with his penchant evil smile as if he were telling a story of his favourite sleight of hand. He noticed Doncantilus’ face harden at the news.

“How does the death of a High Mage of the Blacks offend you so?” he queried. “When, if you’d both met in battle, Lord Chaudron could have not thought twice of making sure you didn’t survive it?” his eyebrows raised in finishing.

“Because of something you’d never understand called RESPECT, Mazutadrin Bellion,” Doncantilus shot back. “The Overall Superior of the Blacks deserved to have died as he’d lived, a legend rather than at the hands of a spoiled brat with piffling knowledge of how magic works to maintain the balance of the order of things. A fool who thinks only of power for its own sake and who will do anything, even burn his Lord and brother Lords while they trustingly put their security in his arms.” There was fire in Doncantilus’ eyes.

BATTLEGROUND - 9

In a flash, for the first time, the smile vanished from Bellion’s face and icy flames flared in his eyes. But the smile returned just as quickly in all its evil glory. “So, you figured it all out so quickly?” Bellion was giving him an appreciating smile this time, “The legends about you, Angus Basdugrill, the Blue, do not give you as much credit as you obviously deserve.”

Doncantilus couldn’t care if it was a sincere compliment or not. He kept all concentration on his magic. His senses informed him that under Bellion’s breath, the Black Mage was issuing spells that were searching for weak spots in Doncantilus’ ethereal defences against fear and confusion, wishing to weaken it and attack while Doncantilus’ guard was down. Flattery was effective in this light. If the person wielding magic dwelled on any sort of flattery, the person's grasp of magic suffered lapses that the knowledgeable spell-caster chanting the appropriate incantation can exploit. And Doncantilus couldn’t fall prey to that.

From the corner of his eyes, Doncantilus saw flashes of light issue forth from the battlefield in the Battle of Klasgon as more enchanted weapons came into the fray. Bloodletting was rife. He could smell it from where he was confronting Mazutadrin Bellion. And it occurred to him that while the Black Mage sought loopholes to exploit in Doncantilus’ shield, Bellion was buying time. The more people died in the Battle, the more blood was spilled in the human sacrifice requirement for the opening of the Portal. Bellion’s goal was gaining steam on the battleground. Doncantilus knew it was time to act.

As if reading his thoughts, Bellion attacked first.

Doncantilus, however, was ready. He felt that magic. He knew that spell. It relied heavily on the sorcery of the Black House.

BATTLEGROUND - 10

Doncantilus spurned the spell of decapitation that Bellion cast at him with the Unspellation Chant of the Blue Mages. It broke down a Black wizard's hex from its evilry, ridding it of its magical intensity. Bellion couldn't decapitate an Angus, not one of the House of Basdugrill. However hard he tried. Weaving his arms in a practiced sequence around his head twice, Doncantilus shot a powerful ray from both palms uttering the words, "Oid Cyfuldre" that gave them potency.

The Black mage produced a Ball of Movdivis with the palms of his hands to suck the power of the blast from Doncantilus’ ray and converting the power generated from the Ball and the potency of the ray into one force of energy, aimed it all at Doncantilus, releasing it as such a blinding speed, it burnt everything along its travel path towards the Blue mage.

This wasn’t Doncantilus’ first encounter with a Black. Lessons learned from the several exchanges he’d had with all those he’d combated previously came to the fore. He’d lost not a few of those fights because he’d failed to quickly grasp how the Blacks could engage with their magical powers for longer than any other colours of mages. It wasn’t only due to how much more powerful evil enchantments were but also because each spell and use of magic generally took from the essence of the one wielding it. With every use. That essence was necessary to power the spell.

A Black mage's countermeasure consisted mostly in using the magic expended by his adversary against the adversary. In so doing, the Black utilised much less of his own magic and therefore less of his own essence. So as the adversary burned more of his essence and the Black burned less, it was only a matter of time before exhaustion took over the adversary and handed the upper hand to the Black.

Bellion had just demonstrated it again and it took some potency in spell crafting to ward off the power of the returned ray from the Ball of Mordivis. And a good portion of Doncantilus' essence. But Bellion wasn’t simply interested in waiting for Doncantilus’ spells to use in retaliation.

BATTLEGROUND - 11

As the air cleared from Doncantilus’ blocking of that powerful ray, he saw Bellion’s lips move in incantation and his right hand shoot back to power a spell which the Black mage hurled in Doncantilus’ direction screaming, "Aeojisth Banostrisdun!"

It was a spell of control and Doncantilus’ intuition warned him against what he’d only now considered doing as the power of the spell came at him fast. Doncantilus who had inculcated some of the dark arts of the Blacks in his time at the Tower of Shoikran High had the inclination to use it against a Black mage to let him know he wasn’t the only one versed in that art. But, intuition made him realise that Bellion was aware he desired to do just that and therefore gave him a Control Spell to try it out with.

The outcome, if Doncantilus had attempted it, would’ve given Bellion complete and total control of Doncantilus’ magic because of all spells, the one a mage never ingested to add to theirs and use against a Black mage was the Control Spell. It only needed to enter the magic field of another mage to hand over all control of that mage to the Black mage who cast it.

Doncantilus went with intuition and countered the Control Spell with the ancient incantation of Misdirection. Consequently, the Control Spell lost track of the object of its aim and trailed off harmlessly into space.

Forewarnings of magic were a mage’s saving grace if powerful enough to identify the spells and magic approaching the mage who set these Forewarnings. Doncantilus was the last surviving Blue because of Forewarnings. Again, it saved him here. His magic of Forewarning was already animating his reflexes, giving it a boost the moment Bellion brandished the Blade of Mazutadrin and lunged at Doncantilus, targeting the Blue mage’s heart with the accursed tip.

BATTLEGROUND - 12

The Blade proper to the House of Mazutadrin was famous for slaying the Serpent of Tartargorusvan which had the power of rendering a mage powerless simply by hissing within hearing distance of the mage. Although Bastovis, the Black, who went on the mission to kill the “Nemesis of Mages” as the Serpent was known, alongside a Blue mage, Pastoragdis and White mage, Flanagat, died in the epic fight, Bastovis made sure to pierce through the scaly serpent and ensured it died before death claimed him too.

The cursed tip, a product of spell from the Black, Blue and White Houses of magic, was so lethal, it was agreed that never was it going to be allowed that the Blade be wielded by any one wizard using it alone. Thus, they kept it locked away at a location whose entry required the magic spell of all three contributing Houses.

Dread threatened to break through Doncantilus’ shield against fear. How did Bellion have this in his arsenal? He’d have needed the spell of a Blue and Doncantilus was supposed to be the last surviving Blue. He’d never have assented to allowing any made wield this Blade how much more a Black and a Black with the dark ambitions of Bellion. These thoughts threatened to expose him to fear. It was expected of anyone who faced an adversary wielding such a Blade, especially a Black mage. Their evil gave the Blade more potency.

Doncantilus steeled his mind. The mind had to keep the shield against fear up and strong. It had to focus on keeping far from the tip of the Blade of Mazutadrin every part of his body with the power of his magic and the reflexes of a feline. He couldn’t keep all these together unassisted. He conceded that much.

BATTLEGROUND - 13

Therefore, Doncantilus reached into one of the pouches of his robes for a matching magical artefact, the Halionorbstra or the Orb of Halionstra. As he handled the orb, it began to glow blue, sipping magic from Doncantilus’ essence and in turn feeding the mage's essence from its own alchemy.

The Orb was forged by the magic of the Mages of the Commune before the ages of the Colours. It belonged to a time when magic was neither Black, Blue, White or Green. And working as one, the true essence of magic at the heart of the Halionorbstra was a combination of sorceries. It had come into Doncantilus’ possession by its own volition and it meant that the Orb had chosen him and entrusted to him the responsibility of preserving the nature of magic and keeping the Realm of Corizon Earth without interference from dark magic from other Realms.

Doncantilus applied the magic of the Orb using its potential to be whatever the wielder wanted it to be in the counteraction of adversarial magic. He said the words that transformed it into an effervescent barrier that shimmered with silvery charm and engaged a rampaging Bellion, blocking the latter’s unrelenting strikes against the him with the Blade of Mazutadrin.

He noticed that his use of the Orb enraged Bellion because unlike any other magic defences against the Blade, Bellion couldn’t use it to drain away at the essence of Doncantilus’ magic. Without the Orb, the repeated attacks with the Blade could’ve either drained Doncantilus of his essence or scored a prick on some part of the Blue mage’s body and brought the fight to a quick end. But the more he persisted, the easier it was for Doncantilus to evade his strikes. In fact, Doncantilus, with a few lines of magic, occasionally turned the Orb into a sword and launched a few attacks of his own against Bellion. Doncantilus saw that this annoyed Bellion a lot and it made him pleased as the battle raged.

And in this annoyance of his adversary, Doncantilus saw a precious opportunity.

BATTLEGROUND - 14

The lessons from previous battles with Blacks and from Shoikran High were paying dividends. He'd quickly exploited the minutest perception of uncontrolled rage he felt enter Bellion's aura of magic. His knowledge of some of the dark sorcery of the Blacks told him the rage was inimical to the mage's control and this had helped him penetrate Bellion's defences so fleetly that the wizard had neither time to react nor spells to cast before his body was smashed against the boulder outcrop.

However, there was nary a time to catch a breather. In a flash, Bellion was before him. Gone was all weakness. Absent was all fear. And now, he was spoiling for an all-out assault to even the scores. And that was what the Blue mage gave him.

As they battled, Doncantilus came to an inkling of the stubborn mind of Bellion. They had been going at it for a long while. The Blue mage had had to use spell upon spell to defend himself. Bellion was using his magic to transport himself at will to attack Doncantilus from all corners. One minute he was lunging at Doncantilus from the front. The next, he’d vanished and attacked from behind Doncantilus. Next, he burst forth from the ground, attacking from beneath and then, he dropped on Doncantilus from above.

It was all Doncantilus could do to keep up having his forewarning spells working overtime. He didn’t see anything else but the single-minded purpose for which he’d set himself and nothing was going to stand in his way – not a Blue wielding the Halionorbstraboff.

BATTLEGROUND - 15

Doncantilus noticed a brief lull in the barrage of attacks from Bellion and it took a while for the Blue to understand what was happening. But hearing Bellion’s voice chanting behind him, he understood. The Black mage had put away the Blade and was now desirous to engage Doncantilus directly, spell-to-spell. Blue and Black.

Doncantilus cast a glance at the Battle of Klasgon. He liked what he saw. So, he pocketed the Orb and taking a deep breath, readied himself. His own chanting began deep inside of him. He wove about himself the magic of the ancients, the spells of Being he’d acquired over centuries. He felt the knowledge flood his consciousness and the power of the magic flowed within him. Bellion knew much of the Blue as well as Doncantilus knew of the Blacks if not more. This was as worthy an adversary as he’d prepared for for today.

So, when Bellion struck, Doncantilus responded.

BATTLEGROUND - 16

The blaze of one magic counteracting another could be seen from other kingdoms. Bellion’s spell-weaving had him levitated from the ground as he cast and cast spells of malicious composing at Doncantilus. Seeing the adversary elevated, Doncantilus took to the air too, weaving his magic at four points: elevation, guard against fear, attacking and warding off attacks.

Bellion wanted control of this battle now and thus, flipped the script.

He sent the Wisps of the Tuka’drai against the obstinate Blue. These were soot-black, ethereal, ghostly predators brought to life by a spell of the dead, a Black mage's specialty. Doncantilus remembered he’d perceived the use of necromancy in the Battle of Klasgon and could now confirm that not only was he right, he also now knew from whence those enchantments came. He’d learnt the art of crafting a countervailing power against the Tuka’drai at the Tower of Shoikran High. Only that there was a grave issue with it.

The magic to combat them were a set of spells which could only temporarily hinder the Tuka’drai. Because they were undead predators sustained singly by the essence of the Black who summoned them, they could not be stopped until that sustenance ceased. And as Doncantilus had already established, Bellion was too stubborn. This implied that he’d be needing to use most, if not every ounce, of his essence to stay alive against a horde of wispy black predators he couldn’t kill in any permanent way.

And Bellion had summoned an entire planet of them.

BATTLEGROUND - 17

If Doncantilus had had the Orb with him in his hand rather than beyond his immediate reach, he’d have evened the odds and fought the gossamer Tuka'drai with the knowledge that the Orb would keep him from draining all his essence defending himself against the phantasms.

But because the Orb was immune to translocation spells, he’d need to reach into his cloak to retrieve it physically. He knew Bellion was waiting for him, watching him intently, daring him to make that move. If he attempted it, Doncantilus had a fair idea of the countermove Bellion might play. The Black mage could dispossess him of the Orb or, more than that, Bellion could seize the opportunity of Doncantilus’ divided attention and the quadruple fronts on which the Blue’s magic was multitasking and land victory by casting a spell Doncantilus may be too late to counter, forewarnings or not.

He wasn’t ready to take that risk. Not now.

So, he fought the Tuka’drai with his magic and the lessons from Shoikran High. He felt his essence drain as the untiring pack came at him again and again, relentless, persistent, unappeasable. Bellion kept the magic that fed the undead, vile creatures going as they implacably continued snapping at Doncantilus, gnawing away at his essence. The Black mage’s focus was intense. He meant to keep at this until it was optimal enough to finish off this increasingly irritating mage standing on his path to infinite power.

BATTLEGROUND - 18

Doncantilus saw how intense Bellion was watching him and he decided to use that to his advantage. By now, he believed his other measure was already in effect. So, he suddenly stopped battling the shadowy figures of the Tuka’drai. And even though they came at him ferociously, he allowed them, simply staring at the distant battleground where enchanted weapons were freely brandished as two kings and their band of nobles were locked in an internecine confrontation.

Smiling at what he saw, Doncantilus slowly looked from there to the Black mage so that Bellion could see the triumphant grin that split his face. Doncantilus was pleased with the confusion his reaction caused for Bellion. The latter followed Doncantilus’ gaze and almost immediately the Black mage’s magic wavered. Bellion didn’t like what he was seeing.

The Battle of Klasgon had stopped. And the Portal remained firmly shut. This wasn't going as planned at all for Bellion.

BATTLEGROUND - 19

The Battle of Klasgon had stopped not because one side had triumphed over the other, as Bellion strategised for. The combatants may have caught sight of another fight going on here between the Blue and Black mages and every one of the battle-scarred, blood-stained valiant fighters still alive had picked an interest in this fight over theirs. This was how Bellion read what he was seeing. The soldiers of both sides had their weapons down and they stood side-by-side looking intently at what ensued between the mages that belonged to different Houses of the Dark Arts. They were enraptured with what they were witnessing.

“FOOLS,” Bellion screamed at their faces. His voice betrayed the emotion of disappointment he must have felt at seeing such an early end to the battle.

Their cessation of hostilities before sufficient blood had been shed enough to open the Portal of Za’an and thus create the enablement for him to use his acquired magic from killing Lord Chaudron to gain access to the Realm of the Unliving spelt failure for Bellion. He couldn’t fathom it. Not after all he’d gone through to reach this point. All the deaths it’d taken to get here.

“Fools!” he screamed again, softer this time than the first as realisation dawned on him all the more. There was furious ire in his eyes. It appeared as though bursts of flames escaped his nostrils with every angry breath he drew.

BATTLEGROUND - 20

At some point, Doncantilus, nigh-fainting from exhaustion but holding strong by magic, thought Bellion was going to go overboard in his rage and chant the Spell of Iumdoosk which invoked the flames of hell to turn everything around him to ashes.

The Blue wizard had witnessed Lord Chaudron the Black do it and had barely escaped with his life. So, Doncantilus had already began the first lines of a magical, shimmering machicolation with one hand on the Orb hidden within his robes to effectively counter such a disaster and save as many lives as possible.

But, Bellion shocked the Blue mage. The Black did mutter some words of magic under his breath. But it was not Iumdoosk. Doncantilus watched the mage's lips closely trying to figure out what invocations were being woven. And just as the Blue thought he'd figured it out, Bellion was gone in an instant, vanishing from their view, leaving in his wake a plume of smoke.

His hold on his magic wispy predators still snapping at Doncantilus petered out. The Blue mage fell to the ground, exhausted.

BATTLEGROUND - 21

Though exhausted, Doncantilus was relieved and pleased. He had kept the Black mage from access to another realm and that meant more to him than anything else. In addition, he had proved to both bellicose kings, Israphdos and Bothelius, that at no time in the ages that their ancestors fought on these grounds was the fight in either kingdom’s favour. There was always a power beyond them, instigating them to fight, baying for the shedding of blood for purposes both sinister and nefarious.

To achieve this, he’d employed the use of quislings.

These quislings the Blue wizard had sneaked into both factions. Their purpose was simple. They were to engage in the Battle of Klasgon normally with the rest of their legions. But they were to keep an unwavering eye on Doncantilus’ position which he’d provided them beforehand. In the event that there was any sign of even the minutest fracas within the area of the Blue mage’s position, they were to immediately inform both kings with aplomb.

It appeared that they had followed through accordingly. The kings had thus called off hostilities as the words he’d spoken to both but which neither had initially heeded turned out to be true.

As Israphdos and Bothelius came before him to apologise for their blindness and to resolve to listen carefully when next he brought wise counsel their way, he knew he had one less issue to contend with. But he wasn’t naïve enough to hold the false hope that this failure would keep Bellion from his desire to reach the Realm of the Unliving. This was just a clog in the wheel. Bellion would now look for another wheel.

And now, the Black mage knew who was ready to stop him, how that obstacle matched him power for power and the artefacts at the Blue’s disposal. He was going to come prepped next time.

Doncantilus would have to be two steps ahead of him again when that happens.

- END

Just Desserts

Engees stood, helplessly moping at the smouldering remains of what used to be his testing facility.

Only last night, he’d shared on his Whatsapp status the progress he’d made in reaching the precipice of unlocking the genome in the DNA sequencing of vitiligo. He was on the verge of a scientific breakthrough that was going to reverberate across the scientific world and place him among the greatest ever. His findings, were he to achieve the laudable objectives he set for himself at the onset of his research, could even lead to a full-blown reversal of the patches of unpigmented skin which characterised the condition and often blighted the lives of those who had it. He required only about a week's more work to attain that feat.

But that was last night.

Now, all that was either ashes or cracking embers of fire, the final remains of an all-out conflagration that consumed his entire lab and adjoining sections of the building housing his lab. And he’d refused to use cloud storage for his work ever since the previous hacking made him part with a substantial amount to retrieve his work from hackers. He'd settled for local storage in backed up files on his laptop. And 2 external hard disk drives. He observed, as he looked about, that all the anti-inflammables he installed to protect sensitive materials appeared to have been overpowered by the ferocity of the explosion.

He knew better than to attempt to touch anything. Getting his fingers singed will only worsen his situation and he was already in a foul mood as it were. In fact, “foul mood” was grossly understating his state of mind. It was, at this point, murderous.

Maybe even that understated his state of mind.

He’d gone red in the eyes with the rage building up from his insides. He had a suspect for this burnt-out lab. It indubitably had to be the handiwork of the baddies at LEONA BADRI LABS, LBL for short. They had negotiated with him for the sponsorship of his work when the results of his pilot study gained international acclaim after it was published in the Johns Hopkins Journal of Curative Medical Practice three years before. He’d staunchly rejected their offers – three at the last count – and emphatically told them off when they brought a reworked offer to add him to their staff strength. He made it clear, as he’d done each time, that this was his baby and there wasn’t an offer big enough to buy it from him.

LBL was not used to being rejected. Anyone who wanted to be a force to reckon with in science and tech worked for them (or better put, was bought over by them). And seeing their bids rejected so many times must have rubbed them off the wrong way. So, they must’ve thought he needed to be dealt with. And this was how they believed it had to be done.

Engees also believed he knew how it was that they were successful. It had to be with the connivance of that new cleaner. If only he’d followed through on his intuition and removed that guy from the picture as he knew how to do. Maybe, just maybe, he’d not be in the box he was in now. He clenched his fist, feeding his blood stream with the bile that was poisoning his mind. If he’d simply used one of the toxins in his supply on the cleaner after the man had aroused his suspicions with the way he snooped around Engees' labs, being nosey about what was not his concern, if he’d just served that man a dose of hepatotoxin, the man's liver would’ve brought an end to his sleuthing on behalf of LBL.

Engees breath came in stops now. Even his teeth were clenched. Eyes were bloodshot. Shoulders bobbed up and down in tandem with his infuriated breathing. Those LBL peeps had messed with the wrong snake. And they were going to find out just how wrong they were in due course. His mind was at work already. Maps were being constructed with schemes ensconced in schemes to make them pay in a way that will ensure they knew who was responsible for the mishaps that were sure to befall them soon. It was going to be such that in comparison, the ashes of his lab will look like paradise. Oh, they will hear from him. Loud and clear.

But first things first. Engees unclenched his fist and retrieved a piece of paper from his wallet. That cleaner had to be cleaned up. He smiled his evil smile at the irony as he unfolded the paper to read the contents. Though he had no need of the paper as he’d committed the info it contained to memory, he did it by sheer force of habit. As he went through the options on the piece of paper, he recalled how he’d used a couple of them for some other victims in the past. Each one he’d taken out before had been purely a scientific endeavour. He’d not taken any delight in the affair. It was purely business, in the furtherance of science and nothing more. This time around? He was going to enjoy it. This time, he was invested in making it pleasurable for himself.

He didn’t have the right equipment to expose the cleaner’s body to about 107.6 degrees Fahrenheit of heat. At that level, irreversible heatstroke ensured fatality. He considered exposing the man to about a 40-degree Fahrenheit of cold submerging for half an hour enough to rid a human body of prerequisite body heat but that involved a long trip to the small border town between Lagos and Ogun States where that temperature was engineered in a unit at a facility to which he had access. He went through other options from memory even with the piece of paper in his palm containing all this info. And then, he settled. LBL labs had a training facility just down the street. What would happen if it were to suddenly burst into flames? After all, accidents like the one that his lab suffered happened every day. Now, if the cleaner happened to coincidentally be in the building when it ticked off and blew up, wouldn’t that be two birds downed by one stone? Coincidences, like accidents, occurred every day too. He’d ensure the burn degree went upwards of 300 Fahrenheit and was burning longer than 10 minutes. That was easy peasy.

And then, it’ll be time to devote to the best way to pay the rest of LBL in their own coin. But he knew that was nothing to worry about. He had time. And when he put his mind to it, there was …

“Excuse me, sir,” someone’s voice broke his train of thought.

Engees turned around in shock. His mind was so far away, he didn’t hear anyone come close. It was the cleaner.

“Yes?” Engees fired back in a voice dripping with malice.

The man’s face contoured in confusion at the bite in the voice but he went on. “Sorry about your misfortune.”

Engees eyed him with derision without replying.

The man didn't show he noticed. “When I saw the fire start, I knew I had only a short time to act. So, I dropped everything I was doing and ran straight into your lab.”

Engees frowned. “You …”

But the man was still talking. “I have watched you doing your work and admired your dedication. If things were different, I’d have been a scientist too.” Then, he reached into his thick overalls and retrieved a laptop. “I saved this for you,” he finished as he presented it to Engees.

Engees eyes widened in an admixture of shock, self-recrimination and gratitude. He grabbed the man in a bear-hug. He didn’t even know he was shedding tears.

Cock and Bull Story

If you want to fish around for partner, don't horse about near my friend Kate. She isn't one you can cow to a corner while you tiger around seeking side-chicks to spider. She's not the cat for that monkey business. She doesn't ape slay queens and you can't badger her to bear grudges.

Confidence appeal dogs Kate's every step. It's what makes her tick. You'd never see her hawk her flesh for eagle eyes. Nor parrot the cliches of kids. She seldom bugs anyone and abhors leeches. And rats who can't keep a secret. And snakes who masquerade as friends.

Attempts to fox your way into Kate's heart will only seal your fate. Don't worm your way in, either. You will squirrel off, the weasel you are, when you encounter her whale of a lion heart. And if you ram in, she's the type that can hound you to the grave and beyond. Give you a taste of your own medicine for what is good for the goose is good for the gander.

So, should anyone egg you on to crane your neck in her direction and steer you into a relationship with her, except you're sincere, kangaroo away in the opposite direction.

Fly!

Tomorrow

The seat belt held his torso suspended. He couldn’t feel anything from the waist downwards. Or was it upwards? He couldn’t tell. He winced as another strain of pain shot from his back to his skull. He must’ve fractured something behind as well. His entire frame was a receptacle of hurt. Something warm wormed its way down from his chest to the left side of his chin and divided into two rivulets. As both sleeked their slow journey further down, one streamlet made it over his lower lip and into his mouth. He tasted his own blood.

But his attention was riveted elsewhere.

From what was left of the broken side mirror of the car, he craned his neck, forcing his body to adjust as little as was possible to see the path down the road from which he’d just passed. The effort only served to dish out more pain. He screamed involuntarily. The hurting came from a jammed foot underneath the crumpled dashboard. Or what used to be a dashboard.

Yet, he still obdurately continued his effort to look behind at the road. Was it worth it?

Exactly two minutes ago, Adi was driving back home. It was one of those weekends where his attention was needed in the office. He never got used to working weekends and always thought it was a violation of his hours of rejuvenation wherever it was required of him to be in the office when the rest of the natural world was resting. The only difference this weekend was that it was on a project that he had initiated and that had become the model for new market innovation by the company and for which he had received a personal note of appreciation from the oga patapata. In fact, his exhilaration today was that his line manager, Isa had confided in him that the boss was putting Adi’s name up as subsequent line manager when Isa leaves in two months.

Adi knew what that meant. He was on the move up. It had been hectic getting to where he was. The sleepless nights spent in school trying to make the grades. His penniless parents who sacrificed life and limbs putting him through school. His 4-year sojourn as a “will-work-for-peanuts” job applicant whose shoes were angry at him for inhumane treatment. His loss of friends who went on to big jobs, happy marriages and the lifestyles of the “employed and married”. His perpetual “friendzoned” status among those who only dated those with white-collar jobs. He had quietly exited all that inglorious past without fanfare and now, he was going to even levels not imagined by his ever supportive and now contented parents.

Adi was going up. And he was going to celebrate this news as he always did. With his parents.

Tomorrow.

He would surprise them with a visit. He’d be waiting for them when they return from church. Their new apartment which he’d paid for in full on their behalf was only an hour’s drive from where the company accommodated key members of staff like Adi. So, it will be a thoroughly enjoyable Sunday. He had earlier made plans to see a movie that Sunday. It was about an accident survivor who was thought to have flat-lined and pronounced medically dead for all of 5 minutes. Only to live to tell his story of the out-of-body experience he had for those minutes. That was right up Adi’s alley. The kinds of things that excited him. But that movie will have to wait. This news of his elevation trumped that movie and as he drove home from work this Saturday, he envisioned his parents' reaction to the news that their child…

That was when the image of someone else’s child crossing the road while Adi was speeding through came into his field of vision.

And everything slowed down like in the movies …

Adi glanced at the rear view mirror. There was a Toyota Carina four seconds behind him at quite the same speed as he was going. Just behind the Carina was a Honda Accord. He didn’t have the time to know how fast that was travelling as he engaged his brakes. The screeching was loud. He spun the wheel, drifting to place his Mazda horizontally across the vertical travel of the road. This gave him enough time to look right (to see the wide-eyed shock of the child who stood transfixed in the middle of the road not more than ten normal paces from where Adi’s Camry stood like a bulwark of protection) and look left to see the panic on the face of the woman driving the Carina.

And then impact.

As the woman attempted to brake and minimise the impact with Adi, she was rammed into from behind by the Accord whose driver was in a haste to go see the premier league opener between his team and another. The force of the collision drove the Carina violently into the midriff of Adi’s Mazda, mangling the part where the driver’s door meets the frame. It sent a jolt through the entire form of Adi’s body but he’d never have imagined what it’ll do to his car.

It was too fast for the mind to register. He could only remember being spun over and over and the violent contractions his seat-belt bound body endured. He couldn’t number the knocks his head got nor describe the searing pain that he felt when the dashboard caved in on his torso. In less than a minute he’d gone from thoughts of Sunday to a wreck of hurtful proportions.

When the car finally stopped wheels-up, he’d no idea he was upside down. All he cared about at that moment was trying to see if he’d been successful. Was the sacrifice worth it? Did the child escape unhurt? Was he now safe? A scream had escaped Adi just a few seconds ago but he still laboured to find out. If he could just spin his body a little, it’ll allow him stretch his neck enough to see the rest of the road from where he was suspended on the upturned crumpled remains of his car.

As he forcibly stretched, a scrappy metal edge of the door frame sliced through the vein in his left arm, letting out a stream of warm, gushing blood. Adi felt the warmth not the pain. He still stretched some more. But the blood loss was too much. He willed his body to move more trying to see the road and see the child safe. It was not to be.

As his body became limp, his eyes closed of their own accord.

Some Crush

SOME CRUSH

As iron extracted from ore
Could unwomb a gem of awe,
So was my crush's allure
Embodied by her beau figure.

That bottle body, oh that body
Not exactly that figure 8 curvy,
Yet smooth, not pliant, sturdy,
Evoking desires uncorked, sweaty.

This crush remained oblivious,
That my desires were lascivious.
I thirsted, salivated. It wasn't obvious.
My crush remained stolidly impervious.

If she'd given my desires any notice,
If I'd been granted just one eye-service.
Blood of Zechariah, I'd have paid any price
There'd be nothing too weighty to sacrifice.

But as it often is with crushes,
They never spare your blushes.
Embarrassments gave me flushes.
Down went my love after all the uprushes.

I reminisce often and tell myself, "Welp,
All that crushing and lusting didn't help.
So, I guzzle my malt and loudly yelp:
ORDINARY BOTTLE OF CRUSH, WHO YOU 'EPP?"

Treasure

It was a beauty to behold.

It was even more so when Isidore held it between his fingers. Like most precious items, the quality of magnificence multiples upon physical personal experience. Nothing in the pictures he'd seen of it prepared him for the grandeur he beheld. He lifted it up to the light. The contoured edges of the gemstone glistened in the pale dues of the twilight. Depending on the edge touched by the light, a mesmerising kaleidoscope danced before his eyes.

"It carries the worth of the bearer in the value of its origin: the peridot."

Those were the words engraved on the insides of the band. He remembered how he'd first been confused by the message of that army of words until he checked what "peridot" meant. He ran a thumb over the gemstone, filling his sensate faculties with the allure of the precious stone. He recalled the information he'd gathered of the peridot and felt his being becoming one with the gem.

The glorious yellowish gold-green Peridot had been under-appreciated for years, overlooked as a lesser gem, small, easily obtained and relatively inexpensive. Its popularity had fallen in and out of vogue for centuries. However, a new resurgence was bringing to light what Peridot lovers had always known: the endearing allure of a truly remarkable stone.

Called “the extreme gem” by gem experts, the peridot was born of fire and brought to light, one of only two gems (Diamond is the other) formed not in the Earth’s crust, but in the molten rock of the upper mantle and brought to the Earth's surface by the tremendous forces of earthquakes and volcanoes. While these Peridots are born of Earth, other crystals of the Peridot class had extraterrestrial origins, found in rare meteorites (only 61 known to date) formed some billions of years ago, remnants of our solar system’s birth.

Isidore found out that the Ancients believed, quite accurately, that Peridot was ejected to the Earth by a sun’s explosion and carried with it that sun's healing power.

He'd thought he'd found the most perfect creature to whom he was going to follow the family tradition of gifting this gem to. It was going to be a most pleasurable parting. As precious as the stone was, nothing was comparable to the love Isidore had grown for Abigail. He'd often told himself that if it was ever necessary, he'd not hesitate to give his life in exchange of hers. His love for her opened his consciousness to how much Jesus must've loved us and the saviour's desire to suffer the ignominy of the crucifixion for our salvation. Isidore had felt that this heartfelt commitment was entirely mutual.

He was wrong.

As he gloomily recalled the day of this discovery and the series of betrayals that followed, he absentmindedly stared at the stone which he held between his fingers to the light. His mind was far away, his thoughts were sombre and his face ashen.

It was at that moment he heard the voice. Soft. Tender. Feathery. Calming.

"In your hands," it had begun in a cadence that was soothing, "is the panacea for your heartbreak, my son."

Those last words opened his eyes to the source of the voice. Of course, he said to himself. It was his mother's mother. Her singsong tone had helped him sleep through nightmares and thunderstorms when she used to be alive. But ...

She was continuing, " ... Peridot remains regarded as both a day stone and a night stone, keeping its shining color even under artificial lighting. For this reason, it is sometimes called "Evening Emerald". It is also believed to be a gift from Mother Nature and considered a symbol of the yearly renewal of the planet."

He recalled reading such and wanted to say so, but he was both mesmerised by the musical quality of her voice and the ethereal notion of her presence. As she walked towards him, he remained spellbound by her appearance. She took the hand in which he had the gem and smiled with her lips and eyes.

"You were destined to come to possess this treasure of mine out of your siblings and cousins. It was by no coincidence. You have a good heart, my boy."

The smile was there again. Calming.

Then, the face became serious. And the voice, professorial.

"The peridot is an extraordinary crystal for healing the emotional body and resolving matters of the heart." It was as if grandma was clairvoyant. "It cleanses and heals hurt feelings and bruised egos, lessening anger, jealousy, resentment and spite, while teaching one to understand that holding onto people, or the past, is counterproductive to one’s growth. It teaches one to examine the past for the gift of the experiences, admit mistakes and let go of guilt and blame, forgiving oneself, or others, in order to move forward."

Isidore blinked. If there ever was a more timely message for him, he was yet to hear it. To move forward, to make progress he had to let go. And here was a gem entombed with the power to assist him on that path. He was honest enough to admit that he'd been holding on tenaciously to the hurt he'd suffered.

Grandma's voice cut into his thoughts, "Peridot stimulates psychological clarity and inspires a sense of happiness and contentedness in one’s life. It empowers one to detach the mind from outside influences and have confidence in one’s own abilities, looking inward for guidance and accessing the wisdom of the higher mind. It initiates independence and assertion without aggression, accepting the world as it is, then transforming it with clear intention to create the reality one wishes to have."

He needed to be open and introspective. He knew. Just that sometimes, he needed reminding. That was what he missed most about his mother. And about her mother too. She'd been ...

The notification tone of his smartphone chimed, instantaneously swooshing him back to reality. In the briefest of moments he thought he saw the gemstone pulsate like something alive. But it was gone in a flash. Blinking some more, he tried recollecting as much from his twilight reverie as he could while giving the precious stone he had in his palm a do over.

He'd conversed with his late grandma in such vivid realness that he couldn't believe it was anything but. And she'd dropped some wisdom on him as she was wont. Stuff he needed at this very moment. It was surreal.

He shook his head, digesting everything, sapient morsel by sapient morsel.

His phone emitted the tone again.

It was a notification from Facebook about a friend's post. He smiled upon reading it. It was as if today was a day for coincidences.

The post was a proverb. It read: "Keep towards the sunshine and the shadows will fall behind you."

Chips - Part 6

But, today, good didn't cut it anymore. You had to be better than good. In fact, in this game of the 21st century, you had to be the ultimate BEAST.

That was why the other device with Taju he'd nicknamed BEAST. And subconsciously, Taju's hand went into his pocket to feel the physical presence of that tech marvel he'd engineered. The workaholic that he was ensured that he didn't rest on his oars at the discovery of the reach of his code-reversal. And with the events of this morning, he was glad he didn't.

Taju had had an advanced model of the chip he was to trade today neatly embedded inside this other device. What it did was as simple as the work that went into it was complex. For every online account and profile Taju had, the online behemoth that BEAST was matched with a pseudo-account and pseudo-profile. These duplicate accounts and profiles were complete with pictures, posts, passwords and even fake bank accounts with accompanying, lookalike bank transactions and statements mirroring real life scenarios. It cloned Taju's virtual world and saved all clones on all computers and devices that Taju used via back channels.

Then, it monitored Taju's real-time online traffic. Whenever Taju's accounts were hit with viral or malware attacks, it offered these fake copies up as if they real. It did this without delay and seamlessly such that the attacker never once suspected foul play.

Knowing how unreliable online security systems were, Taju had moved all copies of vital belongings offline, leaving behind online only stuff that was already public knowledge and in the public domain. He was in the business of cybersecurity. How anyone thought he was going to be that naïve beggared belief.

And what did the man say? That he'd dealt with people with more bite than Taju? It got Taju shaking his head.

That was the old school. That was the initial digital world. This was the new world. It was the age of the cloud. The times had changed. Tech evolution had sped up. And Deji ought to have taken his own advice. Because the man didn't look before leaping, he never knew the most beastly side of the BEAST and may never do until it was too late.

It was ingenious when Taju thought of this side and coded it into the algorithm of the BEAST's capability. When it surrendered the pseudo-copies and passwords of Taju's profiles and accounts to any intrusion systems it was also programmed to always embed in those copies Infiltrating Tracers, INFTRAs for short.

The task of these INFTRAs was to electronically copy the digital footprints of the servers and systems that attacked the accounts backed by the BEAST and save everything so copied in an encrypted folder locally. This remained latent until the saved folder gets a whiff of any internet connection or WiFi it can hack. It hacks through and activates an internal code that will promptly send all copied and saved items to the designated address in the cloud which will, on its own part, immediately notify the BEAST for onward redesignation.

This ingenuity contradicted Deji's claim because it was Taju that was going to be waiting for Deji to call with pleas of getting his company back - give or take 72 hours.

Taju smiled for the first time that day. It was a wicked smile. He called the eatery attendant and ordered takeaway. It promised to be an eventful day and he liked working on a full stomach.

Chips - Part 5

Taju watched them leave. The see-through glass walls of the eatery gave him an untrammeled view of their departure. The thumb drive with the super-secure chip he was to trade with them felt like a ton of bricks in his pocket now. They never even so much as asked him for it.

If the circumstances were different he'd have applauded. He was impressed. Immensely. He surmised that this was why RC maintained its impressive business model year-on-year. Such a hawk at the top guaranteed so much and gave them tremendous leverage in the dog-eat-dog world of tech innovation. The man was too good.

Plus, they had an inside R&D team working on new stuff that wasn't even out in the market yet. And he gave them the chance to try it out. Now, he knew why the notification indicator didn't stop blinking. They were remotely cloning his phone. That was the premonition nudging him at the back of his mind throwing up red flags which he initially couldn't place.

He sat down heavily. This was where his fantastical ideas had brought him. He shook his head thinking about his dreams. It had been a chance occurrence from the beginning. He was coding a programme that could compile into an app which afforded a user the opportunity to have a single sign-in for all the user's online transactions and that securely stored bank account details in the cloud.

But his code failed every security test he ran on it and with each code-editing he did, the failure rate skyrocketed. He'd all but given up until an idea occurred to him one night after he'd nearly smashed his laptop in frustration and had gone to cool off in the shower. As the icy droplets of harmattan-cultured shower splashed about his exhausted frame, he realised that if he reversed the code to render other security systems obsolete rather than attempt to secure privacy online, he could embed that algorithm in a secure chip which he could trade to a cybersecurity firm.

He reckoned that they'd be able to use it to convince companies of the need for extra vigilance online and display why these companies ought to take the cybersecurity services they provided onboard. That much he'd done with REDBRIDGE CYBERGUARD thinking he'd scored big. But they'd gone and turned the tables on his head.

Taju shook his head. They were good. He was honest enough to admit that much.

Chips - Part 4

This drew another noisy laugh from the REDBRIDGE CYBERGUARD trio. They were really having fun. And Taju was the designated clown for the day.

In what sounded like sympathy, Deji said, "Y'know the woman you helped right here in this eatery? Almost near where I'm standing?"

Taju didn't answer but gears were spinning in his head.

Deji wasn't expecting an answer either. He was revelling in his victory. "Well, she works for me, you see? Her heel was meant to break. And like clockwork, you fell for it and helped a damsel in distress like the gentleman you are." He made that 'tsk, tsk, tsk' sound of disapproval with his tongue and palate. "Yea. That was when she planted our own in-house developed chip on you. It was my plan. We had to pin our chip on you to get any shot at avenging your wickedness. No other way was it possible without arousing suspicions and giving you time to act in caution, effectively blocking us out of your virtual life."

Taju blinked, taking it all in and accepting the truth of that claim.

"So, I counted on your goodness. And it scored. Our chip is next level stuff, y'know?" There was CEO-pride in his voice now and a glint in his eyes. "It was still being tested but when you decided on your own adventure, we moved fast to real-world-deployment scenario. Thank you for the opportunity, for forcing our hand and moving the process more swiftly. And from the information I'm getting, it's working like a charm."

Deji smiled proudly. "The chip identified the devices on you and copied everything on them. Then, it broke your passwords allowing login access to your privacy. It also saved the code of your own chip for our developers to unravel. We'd see how you were able to beat our defenses now. So, in another 12 hours, I'd not only own you but your chip as well as the tech behind it."

Deji was making his way out as he spoke, his acolytes in tow.

"Next time, look before you leap, boy. I've been in this game for donkey years and dealt with people with more bite than you. I outlived them all." At the door, Deji looked back with his final salvo, "When I have the time, I'd listen to your pleas for getting your life back." There was this evil smile dancing around his lips as he turned to look at Taju.

"Now, if you'd allow me, I have some business to attend to. I believe you will also want to hurry along?"

And with that, they were gone.

Chips - Part 3

The riotous laughter that burst forth from Deji threw Taju off. Deji laughed a laugh peppered with sarcasm. Those two with him joined as Deji turned around to look at them in the midst of his mirthful guffaws.

Taju closed his eyes awhile and let them have their fun at his expense. Something at the back of his mind set off red flags but he couldn't place what it was. He was supposed to pay attention to something his mind told him, but what was it? That he couldn't put a finger to it was beginning to bother him but he set it aside quickly. He needed his wits about him to get through this meeting which from the turn of things was beginning to veer precipitously off course already.

"Done?" Deji queried, returning to the formal seriousness with which he'd commenced. He casually strolled around the table between Taju and himself. His attendants wanted to follow but an unspoken code from Deji stopped both. When Deji stood ominously behind Taju, he went on.

"Done?" His voice was like the hissing of a pissed off viper. "We're done when I say we're done, mister!" There was iron in the voice.

Taju resisted the urge to turn and face the man. He noticed one of the two staffers check his phone and nod to the man behind him. Whatever that was seemed to please Deji as the triumphant timbre of his voice gave evidence.

"Allow me to let you in on how much trouble you're in now." Deji moved around again to face Taju. He wanted to look in his eyes as he delivered his counteraction. "I've obtained every login you have for all your online transactions. All. Emails, bank accounts, social media IDs and browsers."

He paused, both to let it sink in and to look for reactions. He was pleased with what he was seeing.

His voice lowered menacingly, Deji went on, "Right now, even as you listen, even as you consider my words as empty bluffing, even as you mind refuses to accept your folly, even as you concoct moves to checkmate me, I have people working to prevent you from undoing what has been done to you. Henceforth, everything you type on any device will automatically be logged on our servers and reach only those we allow it to reach."

There was that triumphant tone again in his voice, "What that implies, which I'm certain you already appreciate from the sudden sweat breaking above your lips and on your forehead, is that locally and virtually, I now own you. You are my property now, technologically. And I can do with you as I please. Your entire existence can be damaged or retrieved as I see fit. I have only to give the word and it'll be."

Taju just moped. He, more than anyone, knew the dire implications of what he'd just heard. It was the speed of its execution that held him spellbound as he calculated the consequences. He said nothing. He just moped.

Chips - Part 2

Taju frowned.

That was not right. He gave the phone a side-eye. He was about to attend to the unusual blinking through the phone's settings but decided against it. He'd shelf this little annoyance for the time being he told himself. He'd give it more attention soonest. He didn't expect this meeting to take the whole day.

And his client was just arriving.

"Good afternoon, Mr. LabChips," the imposing figure of Deji greeted, preferring to go with Taju's tech nomenclature. The man was an Iroko 6ft-5 at his full height. He had begun greying early and had a full head of it now with a peppering of still jet-black strands. He had high cheekbones so that they framed his beakish nose. Aging was fair to him and the lines about his eyes weren't too prominent. He was lean and built like an athlete. And he was all business today, dressing the part too.

Taju ruminated about the man's decision to be strictly formal. Deji could've addressed him by his real name without losing an ounce of formality. Yes, it had to be intentional. The corporate hawk had come for the nuisance of a prey that dared to dance too close and disturb his peace. And he was making it crystal clear that this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. If Taju needed any extra points to make this glaringly obvious, the man refused to take Taju's offered hand in greeting.

"Good afternoon, sir," Taju's reply went as he withdrew his lonely, hanging offered handshake.

"This meet will be brief," Deji ploughed on without taking a seat. There were two staffers flanking him and looking, like him, directly into Taju's eyes. Were it possible, they might as well have been examining his soul.

"You have overestimated yourself and messed with my systems for the last time. And," Deji's voice became steely as fiery torches lit up in his eyes, "as such, this is what will happen." It was a voice thick with derision.

Taju noticed the redness in his eyes and ferocity of his voice. He was certain that were they meeting in a secluded location, he'd have been bleeding from more body parts than he cared count by now. But, it was the obvious threat embedded in the words that caught Taju's attention.

"What will happen?" Taju echoed Deji's last words. "Were we not done with that already, sir?"

Chips - Part 1

Right in front of Taju, the woman's left heel snapped.

His own reflexes surprised him. In a blur, he'd covered the paces between them and caught her before her collapsing frame went to ground. She was extremely grateful and couldn't stop appreciating her Knight in Sharp Reflexes immediately she recovered from the initial shock of her snapped stilettoes. It soon became clear that she'd twisted her ankle and was requiring some assistance to get to her vehicle parked just in front of the eatery.

After an eternity of "Thank you so much", Taju watched her drive off and promptly returned to his business in the eatery. He was there to meet with a "prospective client" who was interested in yanking off Taju's hand a super-secure chip Taju had developed.

The chip had the double-barrelled advantage rare in the tech community. It was a chip primed to revolutionise the cyber-security industry in a way hitherto unimagined. Taju had demonstrated that much to this high-profile client by scaling their company's previously unbeatable firewalls and holding their security systems to ransom.

It was the age-old style of announcing oneself and becoming notorious. A style known from time immemorial. You looked for the biggest cat in the game and you gave him a red eye.

When everything the famous REDBRIDGE CYBERGUARD (RC) threw at his ransomware failed, he knew he'd got their attention. They responsively negotiated an exchange at a meet. That was why he was at this eatery. And arriving early gave him ample time to prepare. It wasn't as if he wasn't prepared long before today but now that the meeting was imminent ...

His ringtone buzzed, butting into his thoughts. It was Dr. Deji Williams, CEO and co-founder of RC, a fiercely proud innovator and as shrewd a businessman as they came. It was Deji that had told Taju to go to hell when at first it was discovered that the latter's invention had breached RC's defenses. RC had believed they couldn't be beat. Initially. And finally, it was a more contrite Deji that negotiated with him for a settlement.

Taju looked at the screen for a bit before heaving a sigh of confidence and picking the call. It was short. Deji wanted him to be on time as he was running a tight schedule and barely had to make it for their meeting.

As Taju made to return his phone to his pocket, he noticed his notification indicator blinking. He turned the screen on again and dragged down the notification tray. He checked and dismissed all notifications. Taju liked leaving his notifications area neat. It made him feel uncluttered virtually just as he liked to feel physically. He powered off the screen and was ready to pocket the phone when he noticed the light blink again for notifications. Only this time when he checked, there was no notification to see.

Shine

There was this rainbow colour that felt it was not bright enough.

Whenever all the other colours came out in their brightness to shine after a downpour, it hid behind their brilliance and marvelled at the spectacle. And with each passing moment of its marvelling, it reinforced its interior conviction that it was not good enough to feature in the midst of such glorious splendour. When it was allowed to see how people who see the kaleidoscopic beauty of the colours in the raiment of their glory, it felt more downcast than ever telling itself that it will have to wait until it can be sparkingly stunning before it will ever find its place among with the others.

One day while the others displayed their beauty for the world, the red colour turned around and saw the dejected colour mesmerised by the display but with a shadow over its face.

Colour Red called out, "Hey! Why aren't you taking part in this splendour?"

But dejected colour shockingly looked up and was at a loss as to explain its demeanour.

So, momentarily leaving its place in the spectrum of the rainbow, colour Red walked over to the dejected colour and the most remarkably wonderful thing happened. The closer it got to dejected colour, the more resplendent colour Red became and by the time Red was helping dejected colour to stand and bringing it to join in the array of the rainbow, its red quality was blindingly bright.

Colour Red explained it to the stunned dejected colour.

"Alone, we don't appear that bright. But," colour Red insisted raising a finger to drive home the point, "when we all shine in our different shades and colours, together, whether bright or grey, brilliant or subdued, when we all bring those qualities peculiar to us into the pool of our beauties, nothing is brighter, nothing is more beautiful."

Dejected colour was only just starting to understand when it noticed that it was beginning to glow as well. It began as a little warmth at its core, but as that joined the vast array of the other colours that were beautifying the world below by their different shades, it had become a burst of joy inside of it. At that close proximity with other colours, it realised that they were not all the same. Some were darker than it thought when it saw them from a distance. Others were blinking their colours and not as constantly as the rest. Some didn't have a colour of their own but reflected a mixture of the colours around them. But one thing was certain and it found it in the final words that colour Red said,

"Only when we bring the little in us - that part that no one else has because no one else is us - only when we bring that to the front does it make a difference to the world."

It was a lesson dejected colour didn't forget in a hurry.

So, you may feel too small, too unprepared, too young, too this or too that and that is why you don't want to come to the front. But, in so doing, you deny the world what it could have gained from your presence. That which only you can give to it, because you are unique and you are different from everyone else.

Agreed, you may not write like me, but there is something you can write about which will never occur to me because I'm not you. And when you bring that uniqueness out, the world is a better place.

Don't wait till tomorrow. The best time to start was yesterday. The second best time?

Today.

Living Dangerously - Part 3

As she hid there, she listened intently to any sounds that would indicate the whereabouts of whoever was entering the house. She wished she had not left the bedroom in the state it was and that she had hidden the cake and costumes. What will become of her surprise now? Then, it struck her that it might not be her brother coming in. What if it was his newfound lover? Or worse, what if he was coming home with her for some night-time trysts? She’d awkwardly be in the way of her brother’s orchestrated rendezvous for some pleasure, wouldn’t she? Why was nothing going according to plan this night?

In the perturbation of her mind, she’d not noticed that after the door opened, there’d be no audible sounds to signal the presence of another person in the house. When it occurred to her, she found the silence unnerving. She felt it was going to be better to quickly announce her presence and just pass the need for any surprises this year. She had a full year to plan for what she was going to do next year. This one was already a big flop and there was no need to carry it any further. Her mind so made, she was just about to move out from behind the kitchen’s door when the racket of clanging utensils stopped her dead in her tracks.

It was so sudden the disturbance that she jerked in unconscious reflex as a soft exclamation of “Jesus!!!” escaped her lips. But the noise of the commotion was louder so her exclamation wasn’t heard beyond the confines of the kitchen. She quickly peeped through the open kitchen door and saw the silhouetted form of her brother bent over in the corridor. From the sounds she could hear, he seemed to be re-arranging some items on the floor beside the door between the dining room and the corridor.

Since, he had his back to the kitchen and will not notice her move from where she was to the second entrance to the dining, she thought if she was to keep up with her aim of surprise, this was the best time to move. She wished she could move to the bedroom rather than the dining room but any moves in that direction will only end up in her revealing her presence to him and that’ll be the end of all her efforts. As she made her move, she prayed silently that OB didn’t enter the bedroom.

She was almost at the door when she noticed OB move swiftly. She quickly ducked, camouflaging her presence by the dark area around where she was and the presence of the ironing table. She forced her body to remain motionless even fearing to breathe as OB’s hearing could pick that up. She listened intently and was relieved when she heard his light footsteps go past the area where she was crouched and in the direction of the sitting room. Her fears returned however when the light was switched on in the dining room.

But, OB didn’t linger. He walked straight into the sitting room where the lights there were switched off. She had succeeded in not causing him to be suspicious of her presence. She took a deep breath and quietly exhaled to relax her tensed nerves. She was doubly pleased that he didn’t go into the bedroom as well. Everything so far had worked to her favour. She was glad she didn’t break her cover by revealing herself earlier. Now, it was time for the surprise. She heard the hiss of the TV as it came on. It was time to get her surprise on the road. She rose from her hideout.

In very slow, measured and stealthy steps, she walked from the dining room into the sitting room. To make her surprise so perfect, OB had his back to her. He was obviously waiting for the DSTv to boot up and had the remote control on his left hand which should have ringed odd to her if she was paying attention. And he was also standing up, another pointer if she was attentive. But all her focus was on not giving up the element of surprise. She concentrated on being extremely quiet as she moved to a position just behind OB. Satisfied that she could leap on him from where she now stood, she took another deep breath, crouched a little to gain enough force to propel her body and powering her muscles, she leapt into the air in the direction of her brother.

What happened next was in a blur for Juliet.

It was as if OB was waiting for the jump. He spun around the moment her feet left the floor. She then saw him raise his right hand in that same motion with which he turned. She looked at his face and saw what was the most unfriendly countenance she’d ever seen since she came to know him as her brother. The hand which was being raised was not empty. It took a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second for her to recognise what it held. The business end of the barrel was pointed directly at her face. The motion carrying her toward this pointed barrel was no longer within her volition. Her flight path had been spelt out the moment she jumped and nothing she could do now was going to stop her.

As she noticed her brother’s finger move within the enclosure of the trigger, her chest tightened in acute fear. She wanted to scream, to tell him it was his sister Juliet and that she was only trying to surprise him. She opened her mouth for that exact scream, but nothing issued forth. The air to even scream had been sucked out of her by the shock of what she was witnessing. As she choked on her attempt to scream, she saw the new look on her brother’s face. It drained what life was left in her. It was contorted in the pain of recognition. Her brother also opened his mouth in a scream!

“Juuuuuuuuuuulieeeeeeet!” OB heard his voice but didn’t recognise it. He didn’t even ask it to scream. It was reflex. Totally voluntary. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The figure he was firing at was no assailant. This was his sweet sister. This was the only person he had in the world in whom he could confide. She was the one who always made him remember he had a birth date and was always full of surprises in an endless array of making his day special. The only one who would stay up late at night to make sure he was safely in bed. And he’d not fired with a mind to disarm. He’d fired with the intent to kill. How’d he have known she was here. Why didn’t she announce herself when he walked in.

That was when it dawned on him. That smell. Yes, that different smell he’d perceived. It now clicked in his mind. That was Juliet’s perfume. If he was not so distracted by the fear of there being a criminal in his home, he’d have deciphered its origin. It was his sister’s. His only sister. His mother. His blood. His family. He had pulled the trigger. If he could turn back…

The velocity of Juliet’s jump carried her through and she, still stupefied in shock, rammed into the still, equally shocked OB. The force sent both sprawling over the centre table and boisterously rolling over and crashing on the sitting room floor.

OB was first to react.

He quickly divested himself of the firearm and turned around to look at his sister. She laid with her back to him, her head by the left front leg of one of the upholstered chairs. She was motionless. The blood drained from OB’s body. With shaky hands and the speed of a snail, he put his palms on her left arm. He thought he felt a pulse and his hope kindled. Then, it struck him that if she was still alive, speed was going to be his ally in making sure she survived what he’d just done. Just before he spun her around, he noticed that there was no exit wound at the back of her head which would have been had the bullet hit target.

So, buoyed by high hopes, he turned her around. These hopes evaporated when his left hand around her neck touched something liquid and warm. Yes, it was her blood. “Juuuuuuuuulieeeet!” another involuntary scream escaped him again as his heart skipped several beats. “No, no, no, what have I done,” the tears came of their own accord. “God, no, no!”

Then, Juliet moved her arm and tried to sit down.

It was a shocked and unnervingly petrified OB who looked at her. He quickly turned her neck around and saw the cause of the bleeding. She had a gash running the length of her neck. It was bad, but not fatal. If Juliet was going to die, death was going to have to do better than that, he mused to himself, gratefully. When he turned around in relief to observe for the first time the state of the sitting room, he realised that she’d be scratched by the protruding edge of the centre table as they both crashed into it by the force of her jump. It was a design of the table and the reason it attracted him in the first place and why he bought it. And Juliet had never liked it from day one.

He got up and went for his First Aid box.

After stitching her up and berating her for her knack for surprises, they were trying to restore some sanity to the sitting room when he saw the pistol. In their relief, it had been forgotten. As he picked it up, Juliet walked in from the toilet where she’d gone to admire OB’s dexterity with cotton-wool and plasters.

“From the look on your face, I can tell you know why the pistol didn’t kill me.”

“Bad habit,” was OB’s terse reply.

Juliet frowned. That was not the answer she thought she was going to get.

OB knew she wouldn’t understand and instead said, “Just pulling your legs.” He was smiling when he added, “The bullet jammed. And so even though I pulled the trigger, it didn’t fire.”

“Thank God oo,” was Juliet’s response. But her brother had never been a good liar. She didn’t believe a word of that explanation though she had no knowledge of pistols and guns. She let it go. She’d just come from a near-death experience. She wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of her gratitude for life. She was already rethinking the need to keep up these birthday surprises.

OB was sombre. Yet, grateful. It was a part of his being a creature of habit. He’d always carried a weapon as a security operator back then and always, always kept his guns in good, working conditions. He could clean all the weapons he carried in the period with a blindfold and his left arm tied behind his back. So, none of his weapons will ever have jammed. However, he made sure he kept the safety on. ALL. THE. TIME. And since he never fired a weapon, except for the one time he went to a firing range with a colleague, he never acquired the habit of taking the safety off. And it was this habit he didn’t have that made it possible for him to still have a sister. That kept him from fratricide.

It was a dangerous life everyone lived in the country. OB was grateful it didn’t make him go to the grave with the guilt of his sister’s blood on his hands.

- END -

Living Dangerously - Part 2

*Two hours ago*

It was a few minutes to midnight when Juliet reached the door of her brother’s residence.

She'd meticulously planned her surprise. She knew he was careful to remember and buy gifts for everyone else's birthday except his and each year she took it upon herself to create one surprising package or another. Cos, she said to herself, if she didn't, who will?

He was the only surviving family member she had. They'd lost the rest of their family when an untethered container toppled over and fell, crushing both parents and twin-sister siblings underneath. Since then, they'd kept each other going, her brother supporting her through university with proceeds from his security agency consultancy.

Last year, she'd pranked him successfully with a birthday cake waiting at the end of the prank. This year, she was going to wake him up to the sight of a cake-carrying eyo masquerade. Merely thinking of what his reaction will be gave her the trips.

“Oh, this will be so much fun,” she said to herself as she set the box containing the cake by the floor mat. She turned on the Torch app on her smartphone and using that light source, produced the spare keys to the house OB had given her in case she needed to use his place at any time.

As quietly as possible, she unlocked the door. She knew well her brother's acute hearing could pick sounds even in his sleep so, she measured her movements. The rug in the sitting room muffled her footfalls and made her movement across go inaudibly. When she got to the bedroom door, she began to think it was all a bad idea. What if he had someone sleeping over? He hadn’t mentioned any recent love interests but there was no telling. What if something went wrong? What if...

“Shhhhh!” she shushed herself. “Stop it!” It was going to work out just as planned. She'd come this far, made it from hers to his place and there was no time now, right in front of her brother's bedroom to begin to second-guess her birthday surprise for him. No. Not today.

As she set her phone and the box on the floor, there was a little sliding sound as the base of the cake inside shifted slightly. She froze, held her breath and closed her eyes. She stayed like that for a while listening for motion within the bedroom. Hearing nothing, she heaved a deep sigh. She opened the box, took the cake out by the base and removed the costume she'd folded neatly under and stood up.

In less than a minute, she was set. Lifting the cake, she tip-toed into her brother's room. She took a deep breath, bended slightly at the knees and sprang on the bed with a loud, “Happy Birthdaaaaaaaaaaay”.

To her deepest dismay, there was no OB.

Her mien dropped. She felt deflated. All the elaborate preparation was all for nought. She placed the cake on the bed and took off the costume. She sat there wondering where he may have gone. So late?

“Maybe, there's a lover in his life after all,” she mused to herself. “Hmm...” she murmured thoughtfully, “gentleman will have some storytelling for me when he returns.” she was saying as she looked around the house while walking to the kitchen. She was unconsciously looking for any telltale signs of some feminine touch in the house.

Realising that she was still using her phone for light, she made to switch on the light in the corridor between the dining room and the bedroom when she heard the distinct sounds of a key being inserted into the front door lock. She quickly moved into the kitchen to hide there.

To be continued...

Living Dangerously - Part 1

It was very late when OB made his way back home.

He'd made an effort to avoid late nights when stories started making the rounds of break-ins, armed robberies and mugging in the area. For someone who prioritised security, he couldn't allow himself fall victim. But the birthday party was too important to avoid and the traffic going back home was frustratingly slower than snails on nails. So every step he took towards his residence was taken pensively. He had the hairs at the back of his neck on the tip of their ends.

But he got to his door without incident. He was about to sigh in relief when his door opened after the first lock turned. That. Was. Unusual.

OB was a creature of habit. There were things he knew he'd never forget to do no matter what. They'd become so much a part of his subconscious that he did them pretty much by rote. One of such habits was locking his doors twice. This was so entrenched that when he moved into this house, he had the locks changed because each time he tried to lock them twice he realised they were of the one-lock-only variety. So, how, for everything that was unlockable, did his door open after he'd turned only one lock?

The pensiveness that was beginning to ebb returned. And it didn't return alone. This time it came with a family of waves of foreboding. He felt a tensing of his muscles as adrenaline pumped into his system. Palpitations threatened to immobilise him but he steadied himself and, moving calculatedly slowly, reached for the light switch.

The florescent tubes turned on, illuminating the entire sitting room. He glanced around. Nothing was amiss. Everything laid exactly as he left them.

He frowned deeply.

It didn't make sense. His residence wasn't broken into. The place looked untouched. Yet, his door was singly-locked? There was no way he could've done that himself. He wanted to excuse the lock issue and ease the tension he felt but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind forced him to remain highly cautious.

He looked around again. Nothing. He realised his right hand was still on the light switch in his frozen, motionless, cautious pose and his door still open. He dropped his hand and slowly and quietly closed his door, careful not to allow it make any sound except a soft click when the latch bolt keyed in. He stood there for a while trying to still his tensed frame and get the familiarity of the house that he was accustomed to.

That was when he perceived it. There was a funny smell in the house that was different. Something definitely wasn’t right after all and his presentiment was correct. He stealthily moved to the shelf just after the table next to the door. Moving two big volumes on the shelf aside, he reached for the pistol he saved for a day like this. He quickly checked for bullets and was happy it was loaded. He noticed that his hands were shaky but quickly cast away from his focus not to split his attention.

He tip-toed to the door leading from the sitting room to the dining room. Some of the light from the sitting room filtered into it and he could see that just like the sitting room, it was all clear and left the way he last used it. He listened for unusual sounds. All he could make out were his clocks, in the sitting room and dining room, ticking in tandem as the seconds went by.

He moved towards his bedroom making sure to be as quiet as humanly possible. But as he crossed the corridor between the dining and bedroom, he unbalanced his silver tray on which he arranged his flasks, tea cups and tea paraphernalia. It clanged about the ground murdering the quietness of his movements.

He cursed under his breath stopping all his motions. When the noise abated, he listened some more. Hearing nothing, he bent, dropped the pistol and tried to put the disorder aside so he wouldn’t stumble over any of them. As he set the flask down, a shadow passed between the light that was reflected on its silvery surface. He grabbed the pistol and spun around quickly but saw nothing. His brows burrowed in concentration as he held his breath and scanned the area. Nothing. Yet, he was certain he wasn't hallucinating when that shadow crossed behind him. He was positive. Too sure.

Now, more than ever, OB knew he wasn't alone. He stood up slowly. He had a feeling whoever it was knew he was suspicious of something but the person was waiting for the best time to strike him. All thoughts of how this person gained entrance into his house were gone. All he cared about now was being the one that lived long enough to tell this story.

A plan formed in his mind. He was going to bait this person. He needed to bring this to an end quickly.

Grasping the handle of the pistol firmly, he moved back to the dining room and turned on the light there. Then, he entered the sitting room and switched off the light. As he suspected, the space and darkness of the sitting room seemed to embolden the person to make an attempt on him. He sensed movement behind him as he reached behind his flat-screened Samsung TV to turn it on. He purposely didn't turn around but shuffled backwards still facing the TV. He picked the remote control with his free left hand and pretended to wait for the decoder to boot up the channels while everything in his body listened for the assailant’s attack from behind.

He felt it. He had bided his time for this particular outcome: the assailant jumped at him. He felt it. And at that exact moment, in one swift motion, he swirled around, pointed his pistol at the airborne figure and pulled the trigger...

To be continued...

Tight Schedule

In the middle of his hectic day of hustle and bustle, Ako felt he needed a break. A breather for a minute will do. In his typical fashion, a break involved some social media networking to take his mind off work. So, whipping out his phone from his pocket, he headed for the door as the most recent meeting ended.

“See you in a few ticks,” he said to his office-space co-worker, George.

He didn’t hear George’s reply as he was out of earshot the next instant.

The first thing that greeted his gaze on his facebook timeline was an incendiary, tribal, invective post heavy with religious undercurrents from a friend.

He frowned, his forehead burrowing.

Not the type of virtual relaxation he had in mind when he decided to check his facebook account. I can do without this, he mused to himself. Yet, because it was this particular friend with whom he had some good memories that went way back, he decided to wade in.

He clicked the “Comment” button.

The slow internet network took its jolly while to load earlier reactions and comments. So, because he didn’t have all day to spare and had other notifications from other apps to check, he decided to commence with his perspective on the matter in his own comment on the post. Before long, just as he’d got two neat paragraphs of his contribution to the subject matter going, he looked up and saw that the reactions had finally loaded. The post was not more than 24 minutes old and had shockingly garnered 300 reactions!

His eyes bulged.

Slightly taken aback, he lost track of where he was going with his own comment. To recall, he re-read what he’d typed until then. When he caught up with his train of thoughts and wanted to continue, the initial comments loaded fully.

It was another shocker: 150+ comments.

He tried reading through a few of them when he recovered and his prior assumptions were confirmed. About 8 commenters were responsible for more than 85% of those 150+ comments. They were working like a ragtag team of paid hands. They supported whoever supported the poisonous intent of the post and went hard against dissenters with vitriol.

On a good day, Ako knew they were no match for him. All bloody 8 of them. But he just wanted to comment for his friend’s sake – the initial poster.

However, with each comment he read, he felt he didn’t have the strength today. He thought of the 4 meetings he had left for the day, the drafts seated around his table that he needed to send to 2 different clients, the slides for his Wednesday presentation before the Board and the visit to the in-laws for the morrow’s evening.

Oh no!

Much as he wished to take them all on, he shook his head. He could pick holes in their arguments and the premises via which they reached their conclusions all day – and with a pleasure he knew he’d relish. Some lines of arguments were already crystallising in his head. He’d sparred textually with two of the 8 on two different occasions in the past and took them to the cleaners for free. The rest weren’t any better. But, as he shook his head again, George tapped him on the shoulder.

“Time to meet the architects, A-boy,” George piped using his nickname.

Ako shook his head one more time to come back to the real world from the virtual.

“Right behind you, G,” Ako replied George.

Ako touched the fingerprint scanner to bring his phone screen back to life and selecting the entire text he’d composed a short while ago to post as his comment, he scrolled through the menu options that opened. He clicked “Delete”.

He surmised to himself, that he wasn’t running away. Not just today.

As he went in for the meeting with the architects, he made a mental note to send his friend - the poster - a personal message later.