The sky dimmed unnaturally, as if even the sun refused to witness what was about to happen.
Zion stood at the edge of the enemy's massive camp—Nouvo Kay's warriors beside him. The warrior-priestesses flanked his sides. And behind them…
The Lwa.
They had appeared without sound. No fanfare. No thunder. But their presence choked the air. Zion had never seen them like this—fully manifested, radiant and dreadful.
Papa Legba, however, said nothing.
He simply walked forward, tapping his cane once with each step.
Tock.
Tock.
Tock.
Inside the Enemy Temple
Moloh-Tal, the god of the Ashanti-bon, stood wreathed in living darkness. His true form was no longer fully masked—a twisted silhouette of seven arms, plated in jagged bone, his horned mask now cracked with age and rage. Flames burned between his fingers, his breath a furnace of ancient wrath.
His voice was many, layered and deep:
"You dare trespass, you pitiful door guardian. You toy of crossroads and shadows. I am Moloh-Tal, Sovereign of Dread, the Eater of Oaths, the Flame of Seven Pillars. You are but a rumor in my age."
Papa Legba didn't respond.
He simply tapped his cane against the polished stone once more.
Tock.
Suddenly, Moloh-Tal's temple buckled.
The ash pillars cracked. Symbols of power on the walls peeled off like paint. A dome of invisible pressure descended.
"I don't like repeating myself," Legba said calmly. "And you just disrespected my hat."
Moloh-Tal charged.
The Fight
What followed could not be called a battle.
It was a reckoning.
Moloh-Tal swung with seven arms—each capable of flattening mountains, tearing spirit from bone. But Legba was already behind him before the swing finished.
A flick of the cane—and one arm exploded in a burst of ash and divine marrow.
The temple quaked. Every priest of the enemy tribe watching from the inner sanctum screamed as their god bled.
But Moloh-Tal was ancient. Powerful.
He roared—and swallowed the light in the chamber, manifesting his true body: a towering mass of scales, ashfire, and stone, his voice now a tidal wave of madness.
He lunged with divine speed—
—and Papa Legba caught him with one hand.
Then he slammed him through his own altar.
The earth cracked.
The priests watching from the balconies above fell to their knees, trembling, as Moloh-Tal roared in disbelief.
"This… this is impossible! You are nothing!"
"No," Legba said quietly. "I'm the one who opens doors."
Then he opened one.
A doorway appeared mid-air—made of nothing but spinning light and screaming stars.
Moloh-Tal tried to escape it—but Legba swung his cane like a hook and reeled him back in.
Each blow that followed was surgical.
Not fast. Not rushed.
Intentional.
Each one destroyed something: pride, certainty, identity.
The enemy warriors watching from the gates of their city saw their god thrown against the temple walls like a child's doll, and their hope shattered like his mask.
They didn't even run.
They froze, paralyzed not by magic, but by what they were witnessing.
A god being unmade.
And Papa Legba didn't say another word. He didn't roar. He didn't gloat.
He just kept beating Moloh-Tal, slowly, methodically—until only whimpers came from the god's broken form.
When he was finished, Legba crouched beside the ruined god and whispered something only Moloh-Tal could hear.
Whatever it was… made the god weep.
Aftermath
When Zion and the warriors of Nouvo Kay stepped into the desecrated holy ground, they found no enemies to fight.
Only priests and warriors kneeling, trembling, faces pale.
The divine aura lingering in the air was enough to burn the weak-willed. Some enemy warriors had collapsed from shock alone. Others stared blankly, unable to process what they'd seen.
Baron Samedi leaned on Zion's shoulder with a cackle.
"Guess it ain't always the loud ones you gotta worry about."
Maman Brigitte snorted, casually walking past the broken statues of false gods.
Erzulie sighed, "So much drama."
Ogou Feray said nothing—only stared at what was left of the so-called war god, with disdain.
Ayizan whispered to Sael, "They worshipped a hammer made of rot. It was bound to snap."
Zion stood in silence. He had feared this confrontation.
But nothing could prepare him for what divine justice truly looked like.
All they had left to do… was clean up