Part 1: The Yam-Heap Ritual
The yam fields wrapped around the hill like a sleeping snake's coils. Elders in blue robes chanted as they buried tubers in the dirt. Zhyako hid at the edge of the field, his scar aching like a bad tooth. The axe on his back—Okpé-Azagba—hummed with stolen god-speed. Loki's glass vial hung around his neck, glowing faintly. Inside, Grandma Nywa's memory flickered like a dying bulb.
"We plant stories, not yams," Elder Dazhila said, pressing her hands to the soil. "Each tuber holds an ụlọ—a memory for the earth."
Zhyako didn't care about stories. He cared about surviving.
BOOM!
Lightning split the sky. Thor landed in the field, his hammer Mjölnir sparking like a broken power line. The yam mounds burned, their carvings turning black.
"Your oaths are weak," Thor shouted, his voice shaking the ground. "Give offerings!"
Zhyako stepped forward, repeating Nywa's old words: "A storm that kills crops isn't a god. It's a thief."
The elders ran. Thor laughed, swinging his hammer.
Part 2: Tonal Combat
Phase 1: The Dance of Roots
Thor swung Mjölnir in a rhythm—boom, crack, boom—blasting craters in the dirt. Zhyako danced the Ebele, a Migili hunting step, copying the elders' planting moves.
"Gbè…" Zhyako muttered (low-tone: track).
He dodged the hammer. It smashed a yam heap, spraying starchy guts everywhere.
"Gbè!" (high-tone: kill).
The axe sliced Thor's arm, carving Migili symbols. The god roared, seeing visions—Odin chaining him like a dog.
"Liar!" Thor yelled, but his thunder sounded unsure.
Phase 2: The Proverb's Blade
Zhyako chanted:
"Okpé gba tra, rúlwe gba zhé."
(When the tree drinks lightning, the sky crowns kings.)
Giant roots shot from the ground, stabbing Mjölnir. The hammer exploded into Migili words: Áyé (heart), Kúkpô (strength).
Thor fell, his power leaking into the yam fields. The carvings glowed, but Zhyako's victory felt sour. The System flashed:
[Power: +8% Thor's Storm]
[Cost: -20% Mom's Memory]
His mother's face—round cheeks, kind eyes—faded like mist. Only her voice remained, faint: "Zhyako, remember the kishishā…"
Phase 3: The Cost of Sky
Thor lay broken, beard singed. "Why let me live?"
Zhyako lowered the axe. "Your chains aren't mine to break."
The god vanished into a stormcloud, his last thunderclap making Zhyako cry.
Part 3: The Scars We Sow
The sacred tree now grew Norse runes next to Migili symbols—a messy mix. Loki popped up, tossing Zhyako a carved stick.
"Your dad's," Loki said. "He died holding it. So brave. So dumb."
Zhyako's scar burned. The stick had one word: Nzē (blood).
In the council hut, Elder Dazhila unrolled a map. "The traitor took our ụlọ to Kpanungwa. Without it, we forget."
"What's in Kpanungwa?" Zhyako asked.
"A shrine the slavers never found."
Loki smirked. "Tick-tock, Oathbreaker. Odin doesn't want your life."
He poked Zhyako's scar. "He wants your name."
At sunset, Odin's ravens attacked. They clawed villagers' heads, stealing whispers of ụlọ.
Zhyako swung his axe, but the birds turned to smoke. One feather stayed behind, marked with a Migili word: Egburu (ruin).
The System blinked:
[New Mission: Find the Ụlọ in Kpanungwa]
[Warning: Traitor Ahead.]
Nywa's voice hissed from Loki's vial: "Don't trust stories wearing your face."