I. The Insult
The air over the Devoured Lands was still—unnaturally so. The last flickers of the corrupted forces had scattered, their remnants twitching and fading into cursed soil.
But Papa Legba stood at the Gate between worlds, his cane planted firmly in the ground. His eyes, which once smiled with mischief, were storm-black and burning.
"They dared test us," he said, voice echoing through realms. "They mistook patience for weakness. They called out the gods… and forgot who was listening."
Behind him, the five priestesses stood in silent formation. Ayola, his chosen, stepped forward.
"Papa… are we answering?"
"No," he growled. "We're reminding."
II. The Gate Cracks Open
The sky split not like lightning but like a mirror shattering from the inside. The Gate tore itself open above the very heart of the Devoured Lands, spiraling like a celestial wound.
And then, he stepped through.
Papa Legba, not as the laughing trickster of crossroads, but as the Primordial Keeper, his coat flowing like smoke, his staff turned into a burning key of creation. Every step scorched symbols into the earth.
The world held its breath.
And then—they came.
III. The March of the 200
Through the yawning gate, two hundred Lwa descended like a divine hurricane. No longer hidden in spirit, they were flesh and flame, bone and thunder.
Ogou Balenjo arrived in golden war armor, dragging ten burning swords behind him.
Erzulie Dantor howled with a mother's rage, tears becoming spears in the air.
Baron La Croix danced, casting curses that turned devouring beasts into crumbling salt.
Ayizan walked barefoot, her every footstep making corrupted ground blossom clean.
Damballah soared, a silver serpent like a falling star, calling the winds to war.
From behind Legba, the full pantheon of Haitian spirits flowed—old gods, secret gods, forgotten gods—and the world shuddered.
IV. The Rampage
They didn't fight.
They unleashed.
Mountains cracked. Forests born from corruption were peeled back to the roots. Oceans boiled and flowed backward. The devouring remnants screamed as the gods crushed them not with battle, but with judgment.
The sky turned violet. A new sun—brief and blinding—burned above the battlefield.
The Great Devoured, no longer mocking, appeared at last—a chimeric colossus, stitched together from swallowed gods, crowned with sigils dripping blood.
He tried to fight.
He failed.
Papa Legba did not raise his cane. He only turned and nodded.
A single Lwa—Ti Jean Petro—stepped forward and with one word, shattered the Great Devoured's arm.
"You should have stayed in the dark," Legba whispered.
The Devoured screamed, bled stars and shadows, and fled into hiding—its pride broken, its form in ruin.
V. The Return
As quickly as they came, the gods retreated—each one vanishing into mist, flame, or wind—until only Papa Legba remained, standing in the center of a land now purged and cracked.
He looked up at the Gate he had torn open.
"We are not the new gods," he said to the winds. "We are the forgotten ones. The feared. The free."
Then he turned and walked back to Nouvo Lakay.
VI. The World Watches
From distant tribes to unseen eyes in the deep sky, the message was clear:
The gods of Nouvo Lakay were not silent because they were weak.
They were silent because they were merciful.
Now, mercy had ended.