Adama despised the sunrise and always yearned for the time it retreated. The night was his home and refuge. Darkness was where Rulke felt the most comfortable. His operation was mainly conducted under the shadow of night and he made no business agreements until dusk had arrived. The Disciples of the Shadow had a reputation to uphold. Striking fear from one corner of the world to the next was Adama’s real goal. Just like fear had been struck into him all those years ago. That fear was a hot iron that had branded his soul forever. Abysmal was a lovely way for him to gain his foothold in the African country where he wanted to begin his campaign of fear. He would one day personally thank the creator of it.

If he had been alive during the time of the pharaohs, Adams would have surely been a noble. His tan face was beautifully angled and gave no hint of blemish. The sunlight shined on his chiseled frame as he arose from his silk white bed with only a very small pair of black bikini underwear on. He slowly moved towards the curtains adjacent to his bed and shut them quickly. Every touch of the sun repulsed him.

Shadows were where life breathed into him. Naturally, he was a man who dealt his best blows under the cover of darkness. That ability had been instilled in him since childhood and like fine wine that ability had been greatly refined over time. He had a certain young thief to thank for that. Adama was a man forged in night and it was from the shadows his newest abilities had come. Powers that he would use to stranglehold this country to his will.

He had a matter of vengeance to attend to first. The woman who had led him to that hot iron as a child was here in Kenya. He would make her pay.

Directly in front of Adama’s lush bed was an oversized black circle with trimmings around it that resembled curved blades. In the center of the circle was a finely detailed Chinese dragon. Each scale was painstakingly engraved into the ground and a smooth black pearl was the center of every sliver of the dragon’s skin. Adama moved to the center of the circle, loving the cool touch of the peals, despite the awkward pressure it applied to his feet. That awkwardness gave way to a new sensation as cold rushed through the criminal’s body.

It took everything he had not to buckle under the feeling, but he was promised that he would eventually grow used to the explosion of cold. His power helmed from a realm destroyed only a few months ago and the surviving power was not yet synchronized with this dimension. Besides, Adama knew anything worth having did not come easy. Life as a thief had taught him that lesson quite harshly.

Slowly, the body heat returned to Rulke’s body as a living shadow blanketed Adama. The shadow began to take shape into well-polished dress shoes, black slacks, an infinitely thin gray dress shirt, and a lean black tie. Adama pulled back his hair and the shadows gave him a proper hair band. A black ring formed on his right hand. It was in the shape of a ravenous dragon and the red jewel in the center was its eye.

Feeling that he was now properly attired, Adama snapped his fingers and five black globs began to push up through the ground. It was a slow process akin to Jell-O trying to push itself through a Coke bottle. His Disciples had to be careful in arising from the depths of the new shadows. The dimensional foundations of it were still shaky and if they rushed the results would easily be fatal. The process was one of the few that Adama allowed lethargy in. He needed his five best viable and mission ready.

Little by little, the quivering mounds of black began to take shape. Ngozi’s trench coat and sunglasses were the first things visible on him. With Obigpo, it was hit lean arms and spiky hair. Maligaya’s clean shaven head and three foot wrist blades formed first with him. The metal tipped braids of Zahul and the outlines of Menachem’s face tattoos were the last things Adama noticed.

They didn’t all finish their formation simultaneously. Some were better at it than others and those that did finish first simply kept their heads downcast and didn’t speak. The Disciples of the Shadow knew their master wanted silence until all those he wished to address had arrived. Adama Rulke was a man who did not enjoy repeating himself. The last person to defy that rule had found a dart through his eye.

When Zahul had finished bringing himself into this realm the heads of The Disciples rose in unison and Adama smiled. These Kenyans were obedient and every day confirmed he had chosen his lieutenants well. Now their first real test was about to begin.

“The time has come. She must die!”

Ngozi could be called the leader of The Disciples. He was the second bald man amongst them and that along with his style of clothing made him look like Morpheus right out of The Matrix. So it seemed fitting for him to lead and to ask the first question. “She is here now?”

“Yes,” Adama replied as he sensed the worry of his warriors. “No, she didn’t come here for me. The darkness tells me that she is visiting her surrogate son.”

Zahul’s eyes narrowed into menacing slits full of fury as he said, “The boy who’s been causing us so much trouble.”

Rulke knew where Zahul’s anger stemmed from, but there was something that needed to be made clear. “You all will not allow past transgressions to filter into this!”

Menachem towered over all the other disciples by at least a foot and his body was by far the widest. In comparison to Rulke, he was a bear and his master a poodle. Yet, even he would bow to any proclamation Rulke gave. The heavily tattooed muscle man looked across the circle at Zahul and saw barely subdued anger. His short, feisty companion had a cousin who was injured by the interloper, Mjnari. Zahul always took family very seriously.

“When do we strike?” Ngozi asked.

“Tonight. I have assurances that she will be out in the open,” Adama said as he folded his arms behind his back and walked out of the circle. The Disciples bowed and literally sunk into the shadows.

Tonight they killed a goddess.

Ororo had assembled the village on the outskirts where a long dusty trail led to some semblance of a road. It had been the opposite side of where Storm journeyed. The villagers were surprised to see the large bonfire that Ororo had managed to ignite. She received looks of awe from the children and disapproval from the elderly. Her chances of winning them over were slim to none. There were many in the village that only saw Ororo as the goddess who had abandoned them, especially the elderly who clung to their beliefs. Storm didn’t blame them. Honestly, she didn’t have the strength to. Her heart was heavy with Boost’s disappointment in her. Was that the taste she left in everyone’s mouth? Abandonment?

“What’s this all about, Mother?” Mjnari asked as he cut his way to the fore of the gathered villagers.

“Boost and his kin have lost family across the ocean. I have built this fire in celebration of their memory. Remember…if one of us hurts then so do we all,” Storm replied as she stood in front of the crackling fire that seemed to want to perfectly complement the swaying of her hair.

Mjnari moved privately to Boost and whispered, “Was it by the hands of humans that your brethren fell?”

“A creation of humankind. One of their damn machines!”

His fists clenched tightly and Mjnari hissed, “Humans will be held accountable one day. Take comfort in that.”

Storm heard his comment, but chose to ignore it and continue onward with her speech. “This fire is for those who have been lost. The fire’s glow is unworthy in the face of their soul’s luminance. Death is a fate that awaits us all, but our lives forever leave a touch upon this Earth.”

Then, turning to Mjnari she added, “Let us all strive to make sure it is a healing touch.”

Abruptly, a slight quaking traveled under the villagers and five perfectly circular black puddles surrounded Ororo. The sound of boiling water came from the collections of shadowy water. Five Kenyan men of varying sizes came forth from the portal and took shape around the Windrider. All of them were armed with viciously sharp swords of ebony. Before any of the villagers had time to blink the swords were unsheathed and pointed at their goddess’ face.

One wrong flinch and she was dead. The slightest movement of her head or a twitch in her cheek could mean her end. These men attacking her told her all she needed to know. It was indeed the Adama Rulke of her youth that ruled Kenya’s underworld now. He had come for his revenge and Ororo honestly couldn’t blame him.

Ngozi was the first to speak. “I would suggest your next move be to tell your villagers to go home.”

Menachem looked back to Mjnari and said, “Don’t even try it.”

Seeing her attacker’s initial tension had relaxed, Storm asked, “I would be right in assuming you’re Adama’s boys?”

“Trying to move us to anger by belittlement is so old school and juvenile. I expected better for one who took the title goddess,” Zahul replied. Truthfully, he was already legally blind with rage. It was obvious to him where Mjnari’s arrogance and bravado came from. That white haired wench had the nerve to try and be clever with five swords at her throat!

“Do what I said. Tell them to leave. All of them!” Ngozi commanded fiercely. Adama wanted Ororo dead, but he wasn’t about to fight a whole village after the deed was done.

Storm looked to Mjnari and said, “Take everyone inside. I can handle this. Go now.”

The teenager wanted to stay and help his mother, but he also knew when her mind was made up. If she said she could handle the situation then she could handle it. There wasn’t a doubt in Mjnari’s mind about that. Boost wasn’t quite so sure as he asked, “Do we follow her orders?”

“Either that or get fried later on,” Mjnari replied as he looked back to his biological mother and nodded. Shuni immediately began peddling people back to the direction of the village.

Ngozi glared at Storm and said condescendingly, “At least your son is smart around you. He’s been quite the nuisance.”

Ororo smiled. “I think you’re just scared of him.”

He gave her a snarl. “You assume too much. Especially for a woman with a sword at her throat.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. Care to guess which?” Storm smiled as a trickle of lightning came from the corner of her eye. A mistake had been made and Ororo intended to show them just how big of a miscalculation it was.