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" Does war have any victors ?"
.
Prologue
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! REGARDLESS OF THE ISSUE AT HAND, I'M NOT GONNA FALL! YOU HEAR MEEEEE?!"
"Scram, Mutale!"
"THAT'S THE SIGNAL! PUSH FORTH!"
His allies surged forward through the smoke and chaos.
"AHHHHHHHHHH—!"
"What? No... that wasn't supposed to—"
Chapter 7: Skill Weaponized
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: The Mad Genius
"It seems the game of chess we're playing," Roderick said, calmly moving his piece with unnerving precision, "is only becoming a little more interesting."
His expression was calm, his stare dead. A faint smile curved sharply across his face — sharp enough to cut through silence.
"Who exactly is he playing chess with...?" whispered one of the two soldiers stationed at the entrance of his lab.
The other frowned, watching as Roderick made another move. "He's talking to no one... but it's like he's facing an invisible opponent. And winning."
"Ahhh, that was a close one!" Roderick laughed, voice breaking into a manic rhythm. "You never cease to amaze me with your defense! Yesss, yes, make it more challenging for me—ohhh, yeahhh, baby!"
His body twisted unnaturally, limbs moving like he had no bones at all. Tears streamed from his dead eyes, his grin stretching wider, sharper.
The soldiers flinched.
"Errr… how is that possible?" one muttered. "He's... playing chess against himself. And he's winning and losing on purpose."
"Done!" Roderick announced, slamming his final piece down. Then, pointing with a crooked finger, "You there!"
"Yes, sir!" the soldier stammered.
"Get me my video games. I'm bored."
"Right away, sir!"
Roderick flicked on a dim red light, bathing his face in a bloody hue. "Ahhh… that's better. More... atmospheric."
The soldier returned with the console.
"Your video games, sir."
Roderick's dead eyes locked on him. "Set it up."
"Right away—"
Smack! Roderick slapped his neck. "A mosquito? I thought this place was disinfected!"
"Sir, I'm not the person to—"
"Failing to take responsibility for your actions, huh?" Roderick hissed, tone deadly calm. "I hate scum like you."
"RIGHT! I'LL FIX IT, SIR! I WILL!"
As the soldier dashed out in panic, BAM!
Roderick blasted him through the skull with his mini compressor.
"Hot shot," he muttered to himself, grinning.
The remaining guard froze in terror.
"Why does my body tremble...?" he whispered to himself. "He's smaller than me, weaker than me... but his aura... it's wrong."
"You," Roderick pointed again. "Set up my video game."
The soldier swallowed. "But it's... already set up…"
Roderick tilted his head. "You knew that. Yet you chose to pretend. I hate pretenders."
He raised the compressor.
Click.
Before he could shoot—
"Roderick," a commanding voice cut through the room, "no need to create yet another mess."
The President of Twazwe walked in, dressed in a dark military suit, presence sharp enough to command silence.
Roderick sighed. "Bummer."
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Meanwhile The Battlefield:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions thundered across the battlefield as the Zambian forces stood their ground against the Twazwe army.
"HOLD YOUR SHIELDS!" yelled the mid-army general.
Sonic shields deployed in unison — a brilliant, glowing barrier against the incoming missiles.
"NOW—FIRE!!!"
Zambia's missile launchers roared back, their projectiles zigzagging through the smoke — piercing Twazwe's defenses.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!
Screams echoed. Dust filled the air. The Zambian commander stood tall amidst the chaos, aura commanding respect.
Silence swept over the field. Both sides stared across the scorched land, waiting... measuring.
Then—
FYOOM! BOOMMMMM!
An unexpected missile shot from Twazwe's side, tearing through the silence.
"ATTACK!!!"
The Twazwe commander general charged, his soldiers drawing sonic blades and rushing forward through the smoke.
"RETALIATE!!" the Zambian general roared, slamming his fist into the ground. A shockwave ripped through the earth, splitting it apart and blasting enemies skyward.
But Twazwe's forces pushed through.
The battlefield erupted into brutal close combat.
"Crap! That missile messed everything up!" yelled one soldier, firing in all directions.
"This is only making our job ten times harder!" his ally shouted, bullets spinning in a spiral formation from his blaster.
"WATCH OUT!"
A giant soldier lunged forward, hammer raised—
BYOOM!
The attacker was shot down mid-air.
"What the—? Where did that come from?!"
"Me."
Mutale stormed from the sky, twisting in a spiral attack.
Twenty-five soldiers fell in a blink, cut down by his blade — and twenty-five more from a single pull of his trigger.
He landed, smirking.
"MUTALE!!!" yelled his allies.
"Of course he had to make a dramatic entrance," one muttered.
"WATCH OUT!" another yelled.
A massive bionic soldier swept in with a glowing blade —
"Damn it—!" Mutale barely saw it coming.
ZWOOM! CHOOOO! DOOMMM!
The enemy's head exploded — a perfect headshot from afar.
"Looks like you owe me again, pretty boy," said a voice through the static.
High on a hill stood the sniper — Matimba — her blue-black eyes glowing under her helmet as she adjusted her aim.
ZWOOM! CHOOOO! DOOM!
Her shots danced like red threads through the air — silent, precise, deadly.
Mutale grinned faintly. "Matimba... of course."
He steadied his blade. "I appreciate the save… but let me assure you, that'll be the last time. I hate being in debt!"
A soldier charged from behind—
Mutale flicked a glowing thread from his ring. "Shift."
ZZZZT! The electric wire wrapped around his enemy, shocking him unconscious.
He sprinted, used another soldier's back as a springboard, and launched himself skyward—hooking his thread onto an enemy jet.
SLICE!
The aircraft split cleanly in two, bursting into flames.
(BOOM!)
Mutale swung through the chaos, slicing enemies in a spiral blaze — then crashed into the Twazwe general mid-air, kicking him across the battlefield.
BAAAMMM!
The general barely flinched, a thin cut bleeding on his cheek.
"You… how did you break through my pawns' walls?" he muttered.
Mutale launched another kick—
The general caught his foot midair and slammed him into the ground.
BAAAMMMM!
Mutale coughed up blood.
"Damn it… the bomb! I forgot—!"
Before he could react, the general's fist came crashing down. Mutale rolled away just in time.
The ground shattered.
"Damn it!" Mutale gritted his teeth, but the general grabbed his leg and swung him like a ragdoll.
WHAM! WHAM! BAAM!
"Ugh—! I can't believe I actually need backup!"
He was flung across the field — a full kilometer — crashing hard.
Dust. Pain. Smoke.
Mutale struggled to stand, bruised and bleeding. "Perfect… bet he didn't see that coming."
He looked out at the burning horizon.
"War…" he muttered, spitting blood. "It's—"
( Silence)
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Meanwhile, in the busy Copperbelt city—
An abandoned steel building stood silent under the harsh sun.
"HEY, HEY, HEY! Tutu!"
Fatima ran through the dusty halls, her pink-dyed hair tied back, sweat dripping down her temple. "Where are you? We don't have time for games!"
"Heyyyyyy!" a small voice called.
Fatima jumped as Tutu popped up from behind a desk.
"Ahhh!" Fatima yelped.
"Hahahaha! You were scared!"
"You little—!" Fatima grabbed a wrench, chasing Tutu around the dusty room.
Minutes later, she sighed, slamming the van hood closed. "We've got to go, Tutu. You know how bad things are getting."
"Sorry…" Tutu muttered, watching her big sister work. "You've got oil in your hair."
"What?!" Fatima panicked. "I just dyed it pink!"
"So you admit it's not your natural color," Tutu teased.
Fatima threw her bonnet at her. "Brat."
Silence settled as Fatima continued tightening bolts and adjusting wires. The sun reflected off Tutu's small golden-brown face.
"Done," Fatima said, wiping sweat off her forehead. "Now we can finally reach the border."
"Yeah, right," Tutu muttered.
"Why do you like doing this to me?" Fatima's voice trembled with exhaustion. "I've been scraping for years just to keep us alive, and you— all you do is complain and play games!"
"I'm still a kid," Tutu replied softly. "What do you expect me to do?"
Fatima paused. Her voice softened, but only a little. "We're at the verge of war, Tutu. To survive... you'll have to throw your childhood away — just like I threw mine for you."
She slammed the trunk shut. "Now get in the van."
Tutu obeyed silently.
Fatima started the engine — crunk, crunk.
The van's wheels shifted, armor plates extending from its sides.
"Perfect," Fatima smiled weakly. "UV protection engaged — my skin's gotta look good even during an apocalypse."
The van roared to life, rolling out onto the dusty road.
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To Be Continued...
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