(Continue)Baka la Kwa: The Hunger That Walks

n the depths of Ginen, beneath root and river, bone and memory, sleeps Baka la Kwa—a name spoken only in riddles by the oldest Lwa, and even then, only in silence.

He was once a man.

A man who looked into the abyss that birthed the Hive.

And instead of turning away, he smiled.

He did not fear the dark.

He envied it.

Personality:

Baka la Kwa does not roar. He whispers.

He is not chaos—he is deliberate, slow, and ancient.

He is patient, not because of wisdom, but because he enjoys savoring.

He eats not for survival, but for pleasure—one scream at a time.

He does not rage.

He waits for you to.

When he walks, reality frays around him. The Hive generals lost their shape the moment he looked at them. Their thoughts bent. Their senses cracked.

For most beings, standing in his presence triggers a perception shift—they see not a man, but the one thing they fear the most, magnified into madness. A child's nightmare. A god's shame. A mirror with no reflection.

Zion once described it best:

"He looked like a man, and then… I saw my own death as a child. Then as a boy. Then as a man. Then again, and again. Every way I could die—all at once."

But Papa Legba?

He still calls him Ti-Frè — "little brother."

And Maman Ginen sometimes hums lullabies near the forbidden door, as if Baka la Kwa still remembers songs.

Speech & Demeanor:

He rarely speaks. When he does, it's in a voice that echoes behind the ears, not in front of them.

His tone is calm, warm even—like a grandfather offering food. But the food is your sanity, and the table is made of your ancestors' bones.

He smiles too often, but never with joy. Only hunger.

When he dragged the Hive Queen into Ginen, he whispered:

"Do not worry. I will not kill you.

I will keep you dreaming.

And every dream… will end in me