Kefla Black Novels & Stories

Isiewu asked. “Eye of the gods,” Uchendu said, almost in a rush. “Echi is dying.” Isiewu pushed a black pot that was beside him as the news hit home. The liquid that the black pot contained spilled on the floor, noiselessly. The liquid was clear with meanings drawn on every part of it, and Isiewu could see the symbols it contained. The answers of Echi’s present state. “It can’t be possible.” Isiewu voice rose.

The street lamps began to crumble just like they had done the day of the accident, the earth crumbling as the ground quaked. “Seems you could use a little help, little vamparina.” A masculine voice resonated in the air. Vamparina? There he stood, along with my parents, his eyes red, his black dreadlocks running down along his face, his muscles big, merging perfectly with his physique, his perfectly chiseled jawline with a black cloak on. “Blood!” They groaned. “Back to the underworld.” He said as he raised his hands. The air stood still, flame engulfing the creatures in a minute. Groans filled the air as they began to disintegrate into soot, flowing along with the wind.

She turned back to the castle, looked around the cliff — she had no one to wait for help from. The cliff was skirted by a path washed by waves and led to a stone bowl with a hot spring. The Black Cliff was located next to the underwater volcano, but it was so deep under water that its warmth reached only the bowl, heating water inside it. The sea itself remained cold, resentfully hitting a rocky prominence fencing off the bowl. There was a narrow strip of land stretching along the cliff and leading to the spring. At high tide, the strip was flooded, blocking the way to the hot "bath".