The battlefield raged with chaos—blades clashing, war cries echoing, and the scent of blood thick in the air. The mountain trembled, reacting to Iyaláyà's dark magic. But in the heart of it all, the true moment of destiny was unfolding.
Agbaje's children stood at the edge of the battlefield.
Their eyes, once filled with uncertainty, now burned with something else. Purpose. Power. Fate.
Iyaláyà turned to them, her expression unreadable.
"You should not exist." Her voice was laced with something almost like fear.
The twins stepped forward, the wind howling around them. They could feel it now—the mountain was not rejecting them. It was calling to them.
Something ancient stirred beneath their skin.
The prophecy of a thousand years whispered through their blood:
"Two born of war, bound by fate, shall bring the red moon to its final fall."
The Awakening
The first to move was Aremu, his fingers curling into fists. The ground beneath his feet cracked as something deep within him awoke. He roared, his body twisting—not into a beast, but into something beyond human and wolf alike. His fur shone like molten silver, his eyes like burning stars.
"The Forsaken Mountain does not belong to you, Iyaláyà," he growled. "It belongs to us."
Beside him, Abeni's power surged. But hers was not of brute force—it was something deeper, something woven into the very fabric of reality. The air around her shimmered, and suddenly, the battlefield stopped.
The warriors froze—not in fear, but in awe.
She was shifting time itself.
Iyaláyà snarled, stepping back for the first time. "No. This cannot be."
She lunged, but before her claws could reach them, Abeni raised a hand.
The world split apart.
The Truth Revealed
For a brief moment, the veil between past and present shattered.
The twins saw it all—the truth hidden for centuries.
Iyaláyà was not just a monster. She had once been a woman—a guardian—betrayed and cursed by her own kind.
She had started the war out of vengeance.
But the prophecy had always said her time would end… by the hands of Agbaje's bloodline.
The mountain, the red werewolves, the entire war—all of it had been a desperate attempt to rewrite fate.
But fate had arrived.
The Final Stand
As the vision faded, Aremu and Abeni stood stronger than ever.
"This ends now," Abeni whispered.
The battlefield roared back to life, and for the first time, Iyaláyà was afraid.Chapter 51: The Blood of the Firstborn (Continued)
Ajoke's Choice
Ajoke had always been a strategist. She had built her revenge piece by piece, outplaying Sade, dismantling her father's enemies, and securing her place at the top. But now, standing on the battlefield, she realized this was no longer a game of wealth and power.
This was war.
And the enemy was something no amount of money or manipulation could control.
The voice slithered through her mind again. "Choose, Ajoke. Save the twins, or watch them fall to fate."
She turned sharply, eyes scanning the battlefield. Owuye and Akintola were already pushing toward the mountain, leading warriors into the darkness. The kings were deep in their ritual, calling upon the spirits of old. But none of them had the ability to change the prophecy.
Only she did.
Because the whisper in her mind belonged to someone she had hoped never to deal with again.
Iyaláyà.
The Real Plan
Inside the mountain, Taiwo and Kehinde stood frozen before the glowing prophecy, the images burning into their minds.
They had been fighting the wrong battle.
Kehinde swallowed hard. "If this is true, then stopping her means…"
Taiwo finished the sentence. "Stopping ourselves."
Iyaláyà stepped forward, her form shifting between human and beast, ancient and immortal. Her red eyes glowed with something deeper than power—certainty.
"You were never meant to kill me," she said softly, "only to replace me."
Then, she raised her hands. The chains that bound them to the prophecy shattered.
A force like an earthquake shook the mountain. The energy that had been locked away for centuries rushed into the twins.
Outside, the sky split open with a blood-red glow.
The kings felt it. Akintola and Owuye felt it. Ajoke felt it most of all.
And she knew.
If she did nothing, the twins would become the new Iyaláyà.
The war would not end—it would simply be reborn.
Ajoke reached into the folds of her garment, fingers closing around the only weapon that could alter fate.
A blade, carved from the bones of the first werewolf.
She had one chance.
Would she use it to kill Iyaláyà?
Or to stop the twins… before they became something worse?
The Blood of the Firstborn
The sky above Òdo-Òbà was thick with an unnatural darkness, swirling like a living thing, restless and seething. The earth trembled beneath the feet of those who had come to end the reign of the immortal red werewolf, Iyaláyà. The battle was no longer just for survival—it was for the very soul of the land.
At the center of it all stood Agbaje's children, now fully awakened to their power. Taiwo and Kehinde, bound by prophecy and blood, faced the mountain that had swallowed them once before.
"She fears us," Kehinde whispered, his voice laced with something raw. "That's why she let us go. But she knows we'll return."
Taiwo clenched his fists, feeling the hum of something ancient coursing through his veins. "Then let's give her a reason to fear."
Behind them, warriors from all walks of life had gathered: hunters who had dedicated their lives to fighting the supernatural, priests and priestesses who carried the wisdom of forgotten gods, and even modern-day warriors—scientists, strategists, and officers who had lost too much to stand aside. Akintola and Owuye stood together, their gazes sharp, their minds prepared.
And then there were the kings.
From the ancient kingdoms of the land, they had come in their ceremonial regalia, each carrying a relic of power, a mark of authority that had existed long before time had names. The Olowu of Owu, the Aláàfin of Ọ̀yọ́, the Awujalẹ̀ of Ìjẹ̀bú, and the Aláké of Ẹ̀gbá—four of the most powerful rulers—stood in a sacred circle, their staffs buried into the earth.
The Prison of Orunmila had taken one of their own, but tonight, they would take back what was stolen: their people, their history, and their future.
But first, they had to break the chains.
The Chains of the Firstborn
In the heart of the Forsaken Mountain, Iyaláyà stirred. She had seen this moment long before it came to pass. She had known they would come.
She had prepared.
The mountain itself was alive, its walls shifting like muscle, its tunnels pulsing like veins. Deep inside, a chamber older than civilization held a single altar, bathed in blood-red light. And there, bound in enchanted chains, were the firstborns—Agbaje's children, the ones who had been marked by fate itself.
They were no longer lost.
They were waiting.
Taiwo and Kehinde stepped forward, their bare feet pressing against the cold, pulsating floor of the mountain. The moment they crossed the threshold, the chains burned with power, reacting to their presence.
Iyaláyà's voice slithered through the darkness.
"You think you are here to fight me? No… you are here to free me."
The truth struck like lightning. The prophecy had never been about defeating her. It had been about unleashing her true form.
And now, the final war was upon them.