The impossible charge.
The walls of Kal Mysters ahead.
Petro Perou Loa come from the north.
She joins the Bondye. Two armies.
Three hundred of us.
Three hundred of us.
I laid my axe down: "Nwanne, I resign."
Damballa smiled. "We no dey align."
Three Loa armies closing, nowhere left to run,
They handed back my axe: "You're not done."
The same towers that killed our dead still stand —
More blood will be spilled on this land.
Three hundred hooves tearing through the grass,
Every soldier riding like it's the last.
Kwenu! Aye! Ke Kwenu! Aye!
Lightning from my fist, thunder from the sky.
All hail Amadioha, the Son of the Thunder.
He no gree run, he no gree go under.
King of Canis. King of Vodun. King of the Land.
He goes for the throne with a bloody hand.
From the ashes we rise, for Niri we stand,
The Thunder has landed on the Vodun sand.
Sixty seconds — the wind dries sweat from face,
Ijele beside me—no fear in gaze.
Fifty-five — I slow down, let them move ahead,
Blue light from the towers—feel the heat in chest.
Thirty seconds — Omoro in center - Me, the left side
Horses so close — one misstep, we collide.
His eyes turn black — voice pulled from the past:
“Strength of a thousand—let it flow through me fast.”
Twenty — the light starts to swallow the ground,
Still he’s chanting — low, steady sound.
Ten — Omoro releases — the surge hits my spine,
My horse kicks forward like rage inside.
We cross the line — speed tears open the air,
Light strikes behind us— we’re already clear.
Power rains down but we’re past it too fast—
Dust clouds rising from the ground we passed.
All hail Amadioha, the Son of the Thunder.
He no gree run, he no gree go under.
King of Canis. King of Vodun. King of the Land.
He goes for the throne with a bloody hand.
From the ashes we rise, for Niri we stand,
The Thunder has landed on the Vodun sand.
Archers waiting, bows drawn tight,
The sky turns black as arrows come to strike.
“Ijele—now!” Omoro shouts—
She rides to the center, arms spreading out.
Blue streaks flash as the arrows deflect,
Steel meets magic — she protects us yet.
But her power waning — arrows in waves,
Wood and iron screaming through space.
“There’s too many!” — her whole body strained,
Every movement now. In her eyes, pain.
One blade grazes my shoulder — blood runs,
Another drives deep in thigh — we may be undone.
I grip the shaft — break it in two,
Blood on my hands. It won’t give through.
Every second louder, rhythm of dread—
If we slow down now, all of us dead.
I raise my hand—feeling current ignite,
Lightning building in chaos of night.
Arcs strike down — cut arrows mid-flight,
The ground cracks open — burning with light.
Dust and debris rise, swallowing sight,
A wall of fog between them and our line.
“Now!”
“Now!”
“Now!”
All hail Amadioha, the Son of the Thunder.
He no gree run, he no gree go under.
King of Canis. King of Vodun. King of the Land.
He goes for the throne with a bloody hand.
From the ashes we rise, for Niri we stand,
The Thunder has landed on the Vodun sand.