Amadioha

Amanse knelt with trembling reverence before one of the most powerful gods of his people.

Amadioha.

The name alone carried storms.

Everything Amanse's father had ever taught him came flooding back—the stories whispered by firelight, the ancestral chants muttered over sacred yams and clay idols. Amadioha, known also as Amadiora, Kamalu, Kamanu, or Ofufe, was not merely a god of lightning and thunder—he was the collective will of the people, the divine enforcer of justice and oaths.

He ruled from the sun, it was said, and wore red as his color. His symbol: a white ram, strong, unyielding, sacrificial. His sacred day was Afo, the third in the Igbo four-day market week. And when Amadioha struck down a man, there was no doubt about it—the corpse bore a terrible black mark on the forehead and was cast into the evil forest. No burial. No mourning. Just rot and judgment.

And now, Amanse stood in his presence.

The god descended slowly from the air, his body shining with celestial radiance. He hovered first, suspended as if the very air held its breath, before his feet gently kissed the mountain's summit.

He was tall—taller than any man Amanse had ever seen, light-skinned like sunrise, with a broad chest and wide shoulders clad in robes that shimmered and changed with the sky. One moment they rippled with the blue of clear heavens, clouds drifting lazily across their weave. The next, they boiled with stormy grays and crackled with veins of white lightning.

His arms were adorned with huge ceremonial red beads around his neck, wrists, and ankles—clear markers of his divine rank. His dreadlocks were woven through with glowing threads of light, and from his skin radiated a soft aura of heat and power.

Amadioha smiled—and Amanse almost fell apart.

The god's teeth were perfect. His face lit up like a sunrise breaking through the storm. Radiant. Mesmerizing. Devastating. No wonder Mami Wata had spoken of him with longing. No woman would be immune to such beauty. He was not just a god. He was a force of nature wearing the skin of a man.

But Amanse, for all his awe, could feel something beneath the charm—a coldness, an ancient, calculating brutality. Amadioha was a being of balance and justice, yes. But also a ruthless enforcer of divine law. There was no room for mercy where law had been broken. He was polite, even regal. But Amanse knew: if he misstepped, even slightly, he would die.

He shivered.

The god studied him. For a long time, Amadioha said nothing, simply stroking his immaculately trimmed beard and fiddling with his thunderstones—smooth black stones said to call lightning when hurled from the heavens. With each flick of his fingers, lightning danced across the mountaintop.

And still he said nothing.

The silence was unbearable. Amanse felt like a rabbit being eyed by an eagle. His will was cracking beneath the god's gaze. His soul was unraveling. He'd do anything—anything—if it meant escaping the terrible weight of Amadioha's scrutiny.

He realized, with a mix of fear and awe, that this was only a fraction of the god's true presence. A sliver. A manifestation crafted in a form Amanse's mortal senses could comprehend. And even that was nearly enough to break him.

Finally, Amadioha spoke.

His voice was low and oddly gentle, but behind it thunder rolled.

"We have waited many moons for your birth."

He circled Amanse slowly, eyeing him.

 "You don't look like much. But prophecy cares little for appearances. The time has come. You have much to learn. And much to do."

Amanse opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but the god had already moved.

With the casual flick of a wrist, Amadioha hurled one of his thunderstones high into the sky.

It disappeared into the clouds—and then exploded.

The heavens lit up in a blinding flash of pure white light. The world vanished in that moment. The mountain. The sky. Even Amanse's sense of self. Everything was consumed.

Then came the thunder.

Not a rumble. Not a crack.

A shockwave.

It punched through the air, a gut-churning roar that tore through the storm, through the soul, through the very bones of the mountain. Amanse's knees buckled. He clutched his head as the sky split apart above him.

Then Amadioha roared.

 "BIA NU! NGWANU, BIAZIENU—COME!"

The god's voice shattered the clouds. The mountain trembled. The air screamed.

It was not a request. It was a summons.

And across the skies of the Air Realm, the Alusi heard.

From distant mountains, thunder rumbled in response. From the rivers above the clouds, lightning

surged. From the sacred winds, ancient beings stirred.

The gods were coming.