Petro Perou Loa

Je suis Petro Perou Loa—

I am Petro Perou Loa—

Je suis Petro Perou Loa—

He came once before - I turned his men to dust

And now he comes back for more?

Quel idiot.

Ahnkroyahbl.

I watch a madman charge across the open battleground,

My soldiers echo a nervous sound.

My crown is heavy. Gold lines painted on my face,

Les plumes at my temple catch the morning's first grâce.

Vingt contre un. We dwarf the Niri—yet my men see a threat.

Mes hommes trade glances, drowning in cowardly sweat.

"The towers will destroy them," says a baron by the wall.

"Peut-être we should move inside Kal Mysters—"

Assez! Silence!” I shout! "I'll end you where you stand."

I raise my gauntlet high — Our weapon fires on my command.

The dust of Niri savages will spread across this land!

The Baron’s eyes roll pitch-black, sending signals to the towers,

To bring Niri death and manifest the true weight of Vodun's powers.

Amadioha — un fou — he comes here to die.

Three hundred Niri charge. Three hundred Niri die.

Vingt contre un — la poussière fills the sky.

Tirez! Tirez! The towers stand tall.

From dust they came. To dust they all return.

Petro Perou Loa protects the Bondye

Kal Mysters will never fall.

They close the distance—three riders cut ahead,

The rest stop beyond the tower range instead.

Quel stratagème? What scheme? What shape is forming here?

Do my warriors make them tremble in fear?

“Attention! Form your lines!” Steel sings in the air,

My weapon grip grows tighter. The Eze is getting near.

Three horses break the dust—no riders on their back,

I want to celebrate but something doesn’t track.

“Our archers struck them down!” a voice calls with pride—

The men begin to cheer — relief they cannot hide.

I do not cheer.

The silence underneath it doesn’t sit the same.

A sinking feeling in my gut I cannot name.

Amadioha — un fou — he comes here to die.

Three hundred Niri charge. Three hundred Niri die.

Vingt contre un — la poussière fills the sky.

Tirez! Tirez! The towers stand tall.

From dust they came. To dust they all return.

Petro Perou Loa protects the Bondye

Kal Mysters will never fall.

My right tower shudders — lightning tears through it,

Strike after strike. Hit after hit.

Then blue light splits the sky — from one tower to us

“They captured our weapon!” A baron screams.

That was the plan all along!

“Target the first—now!” I shout - too late

A burst erupts — one tower destroys the next.

Hundreds of strikes — Vodunese warrios laid to rest.

By the time the rest of the Niri reach us—

there will be none of us left to fight.

Imbécile. C'était moi.

Painted gold and feathers — now I am now dust.

Quel stratagème.

Too late.

Too late.

Too late.