Days after the defeat Ọnụma Mbibi, a new god of wrath and destruction
 On Afọ, the day men counted third in all the four market days, there really were no much men left to be seen.
 On Afọ, nothing was as it seemed: the clouds ruptured in flashes of lightning and a rainstorm moaned eminently. The skies hated the living with darkness, and barked yells of thunder and lightning down the earth.
 On Afọ, two realms moved to become one with the world of men. A cataclysmic flux between Obị Arụsị, the welkin of extraterrestrial gods above, and Ama Arụsị, the realm of arụsị right underneath Ala Mụọ, the plane of spirits.
 On the fifth night before Afọ, clatters of lightning embraced the skies above, and tremors on the earth below. The clouds stood dark and burned like flames. Like pitch darkness had eclipsed the sun.
 Lightning barked through the skies. Loud metal clatters and bangs shook the heavens. As would explosions, flames spat off the clouds, and men down below could hear the clangour of metals against same, and they feel the heat of the sun which then could not be seen anymore. Ikenga, Arụsị of Absolute Craft and Metalwork, was at work, doing that which he did best: crafting for war.
 Anyanwụ, Arụsị of the Sun, of Life, Energy and Eternal Fire, breathed a great share of her essence into the living flames drawn deep from the heart of the earth’s young yellow sun. Ikenga received this token, and with this crafted the Agbụ Ígwè na Ọkụ, the Chain of Steel and Fire, sealed and fuelled by the fusion of the burning sun.
 Amadioha, in bid to defeat Anyanwụ’s error, breathed his essence into his war axe’s head, made from the rarest divine steel from the spirit domain. Ikenga received this, melted and crafted the Mgbaaka Àmụ̀mà, the Bangles of Lightning. For certainty then, Amadioha voiced a worry to Ikenga, if he was certain the bracelets indeed would hold Ọnụma Mbibi down.
 On that night of Ọnụma Mbibi’s defeat, Ikenga assured Amadioha that the Mgbaaka Àmụ̀mà would suppress Mbibi’s power forever. Also, he assured Anyanwụ that the Agbụ Ígwè na Ọkụ would forever keep him chained deep beneath the heart of Ala’s womb.
 In the destruction of many gods to defeat Ọnụma Mbibi, eighty days and nights passed. The skies burned with flames. Life was lost in millions upon the earth, and desolation was marked in many corners of the earth. But with the Mgbaaka Àmụ̀mà locked against his wrists, Ọnụma Mbibi was defeated, taken to the earth and chained at the heart of its divine core: Ala’s womb, the earth’s deepest soul.
 But Ala was livid, hating that such abomination was imprisoned forever within her womb and against her will, the scourge being the carelessness of Anyanwụ. And upon those grounds, she summoned a faction of the gods, made bargains with each and took support from them to wage war upon Obị Arụsị, all in bid to win. For in her victory, the collective decree that Ọnụma Mbibi would remain underneath her earth would be broken.
 Gone was the Life of the Sun, but left was its weak remnant of light.
 Gone was the Moon, but supremely reigned in its cold and darkening power. It was obvious who had between both won the fight.
 Withal, dogs barked in frenzy, violent to even those who owned them. All wildlife made known their existence in the forests. Their fears were apparent, but so was their lust for chaos, their unrestrained agitation for an order no ordinary man could possibly offer nor possess.
 Grandfathers had heard tales from their grandmothers. They had in the weariness of their beds and frailty of their aged feet, told their children and grandchildren that the wildlife agitating now were so to nothing but the presence of something lurking in the darkest and thickest parts of the villages, scouting, not something as much as it was someone.
 Ekwensu, the bronze skinned Arụsị, the god of war and chaos, larger than life itself, seven-foot tall and huge, eyes burned red in rage, and bare, muscular chests jiggled with every step he made across the forests. His body reeked of a darkened aura, which brought to life every plant, tree and grass. And for every flower he traversed past, they turned on one and another, battling to tear each other apart in unnatural hatred and rage.
 Behind him, were dozens of wildlife, even the weakest and smallest of all, each now renewed with a rage fuelled for chaos, chaos exerted by nothing but the life force of their new lord. And from all corners of the darkened forest, more of the wild joined in.
 The trees quivered as the earth split open from a labyrinth rift, revealing a reddish light as blinding as the screams of lightning. And from the chaos of such twirling redness, emerged Ala, Arụsị of the earth, of fertility and purity, fairest of all which breathed and walked the earth, mother of the living who depended on the earth, and the instigator of the soon-to-begin Agha Ìgwè Nke Abụọ.
 Ala glowed like the moon, skin as brown as the soil, hair white as wool. Delicate, yet commanding respect and obedience from everything living which set eyes upon her magnificence: trees, animals, big and small, all bowed as she walked into the light of day’s new darkness, where Ekwensu stood. And only he did not bow.
 “Lightning and fire,” Ekwensu said, as he fixed his gaze up to the skies, “One wonders what they craft for themselves this moment.”
 Ala said it didn’t matter. The gods were weak anyway, all from the war of the gods against Ọnụma Mbibi not too long in days ago. “After the battle of Obị Arụsị, the gods above are weak. Now is best the time to wage war above and remove that seal off of me,” Ala said to Ekwensu.
”And the other gods? Are their supports with you?” Ekwensu enquired. And Ala in certainty said they all were in concord with her will. One thing was certain, her priestess, the Agbara, could not be slain, and her land, desecrated by the curse of another god’s recklessness, and she would remain silent for long.
 Then, as the wind of war imbued, gods and goddesses below the earth, from all their domains and territories, emerged to the surface, each with their armies: Idemili, with the forces of the seven seas and absolute control over every living sea monsters; Ogbunabali, with all souls of the dead, a million army of the dead, armed with his essence for war; Ahọbinagu, with the fearful force of the seven forests and thousands of wildlife within each; Agwu, Igwek’ala and a host of internal progenies, arose also.
 All eyes watched the skies vomit lightning and its thunderous echo, shattering the surface. And from the white force of light, Amadioha emerged, fiery and readied for the challenge of war, reeking of lightning, energy and a ferocious burning wind round about his coves. And leaping off the heavens and onto the earth, the gods above emerged: Anyanwụ, with the force and power of the sun’s fiercest core; Ikenga, muscular and armed in the deadliest of weaponry, together with his progenies like the god of time, and that of strength, both as armed as he.
 For one last moment, Ala was asked to cease her intents for a war. But so long as a being such as Ọnụma Mbibi still was locked beneath her earth, and its seal held at Obị Arụsị, she would not listen. Thus, to override the pantheon’s collective ruling, she sparked the war to fruition.
 And for seven days, the gods fought, and the earth bore the brunt, the earth and the men.
 For seven days fire burned through life itself, and the heavens seemed to fall and the earth too weak to carry its mighty weight.
 For a far longer time beyond seven days the earth smelt like burnt coal. The skies scared the sun away with smoke and spurts of dust. And oceans flooded the lands of the living.
 For far longer than seven days, Ala lunged herself through the boundaries of Obị Arụsị. And her stay was rather beyond short, for powers existed beyond powers. And in the territory of your foe, you remain at their disposal and grace.
 Ala returned, getting that which she wanted.
 Ọnụma Mbibi however, was never freed from her hold to this day.