The hills to the northeast had grown quieter in recent days. Birds no longer flew over them. The wind had changed — heavy, uneasy.
At the heart of that stillness sat a camp unlike any Zaruko had seen. Fires burned day and night, not for warmth, but as offerings to a being clothed in shadows. The people who gathered there — once a scattered remnant tribe — had taken to kneeling before a grotesque altar of bones and rot. Around it, they had built shrines of blood and stone, crowned with the sigil of their claimed deity.
They called him the true god of death, the ruler of the afterlife, the keeper of all graves and endings.
To them, Kan Ogou was a blasphemy — too warm, too alive, too free.
They wanted chains.
They wanted obedience.
And their god, a tall skeletal thing wrapped in screaming shadows, promised exactly that.
Inside the Forge
The fires roared hotter than usual. Ogou stepped out, a rag still in his hand as he wiped soot from his arm. His face was unreadable until one of the northern scouts spoke, barely above a whisper.
"They… they call their god the lord of cemeteries. The master of death."
Ogou froze mid-step.
Then — he laughed.
Not a chuckle. A rolling, booming laugh that echoed across stone and sky alike.
"Now that's something I didn't expect," he said, smirking. "Another god callin' himself Lord of the Dead?"
He turned toward the open air and raised a hand.
"Let's see what the real one thinks."
The sky darkened. The temperature dropped. Wind whistled through bone.
And then — Baron Samedi arrived.
Top hat crooked. Jacket dusted in grave soil. A cigar hanging from his lips, already lit.
"You called, frère?" he said, stretching like a man waking from a nap. "Or was it the smell of nonsense that brought me?"
Bakari's March
As the forge cooled, Bakari led the Northern Army into the highlands.
Their mission: confirm the threat and respond accordingly.
Scouts reported strange rituals, villages taken over by fear, and a spreading faith that robbed people of their names — replacing them with whispered numbers and chants to a death god who promised power through servitude.
Bakari moved swiftly. No desecration had taken place, but the audacity of a rising power threatening the harmony of Kan Ogou demanded a response.
They crested the ridge overlooking the enemy encampment just in time to see the air split apart.
Divine Confrontation
Baron Samedi appeared in the middle of the enemy's ritual grounds, brushing dust off his coat as if arriving at a dinner party.
The skeletal deity stepped forward, wreathed in shadows and pride.
"You are late to your own funeral," it hissed. "This land belongs to death — to me."
Baron took a long puff from his cigar and grinned.
"Cheri, if death wore your face, everyone would've stayed alive just to avoid lookin' at it."
With that, the battle began.
No trumpets. No warnings.
Only the clash of divine wills.
Baron's cane snapped into a scythe. He danced with it like it was an old partner.
The false god hurled corrupted souls like spears. The ground cracked from the weight of their pain.
But Baron smiled. He laughed as spirits of real ancestors rose — not to destroy, but to defend, to reclaim what had been stolen.
"Death is not a prison," he whispered, "it's a homecoming."
When the false god tried to retreat into its own altar, Baron simply stepped ahead of it — waiting, smiling.
"Death is not yours to command," he said, tapping his scythe against the ground. "It's mine to welcome."
A shockwave tore across the land.
And the false god, once tall and proud, disintegrated into ash.
Aftermath
Bakari and his warriors arrived to silence.
No resistance. No screaming. Just a white flower blooming where the false god once stood.
Baron Samedi turned to Bakari, lifting his hat in salute.
"Tell your boss thanks for the laugh. I needed that."
Then, he vanished.
Back in Kan Ogou
Zaruko stood outside the forge, arms folded, watching the forge smoke spiral skyward.
Ogou stepped past, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
"Your friend's still got it," he muttered. "Style and all."
Zaruko nodded.
"And now they know… not all gods tolerate arrogance."
The morning after the divine confrontation, the air was heavy but clear. The oppressive shadow that had hung over the rival tribe's lands seemed to lift, replaced by a quiet tension.
Bakari stood before the gathered villagers — men, women, and children whose faces held a mixture of relief, fear, and uncertainty. The scars of false worship and hardship were evident, but so was a flicker of hope.
Bakari's voice was firm but respectful.
"Kan Ogou's warriors have triumphed. The false god is no more. But this land is dangerous, and the tribe cannot survive in isolation or under threat."
He paused, scanning the crowd.
"Today, you have two choices."
He lifted his hand to emphasize each.
"One: You may join us — the military of Kan Ogou. Swear loyalty, bear the sigil, and protect the tribe as brothers and sisters in arms. Together, we will rebuild and defend."
The crowd murmured — some faces hopeful, others wary.
"Or two: You may leave these hunting grounds behind, journey beyond the borders of Kan Ogou, and live free from our laws and protection."
A hush fell. The harsh realities were clear — the wilderness beyond was unforgiving, with predators, brutal winters, and rival tribes.
Bakari's gaze hardened with resolve.
"Know this: Survival outside Kan Ogou is a fight for every breath. Inside, you have strength, protection, and a future."
Among the villagers, whispers began. Some stepped forward, eyes shining with determination; others clutched loved ones, uncertain but recognizing the truth.
Zaruko, watching from a distance, understood the weight of this moment. It was more than a choice — it was the foundation for a new era, a tribe growing stronger by the day, united not just by blood or land, but by purpose.