Exordium

The Muinda Clan, meaning 'light' clan in Lingala, held a significant stature as one of the village's most dependable clans, renowned for producing the finest analytical Mbilas. Specializing in perception [States], the Muinda Mbilas purportedly excelled in extracting [States] from light. While this narrative might sway the average citizen, those in the innermost circles of power recognized its dubious nature. The ability to harness [States] from light? Seeing was believing, and they had to see it before believing and the methods to extract [States] were closely guarded secrets within each major clan.

The Muinda Clan stood second only to the Nkoyi Clan, led by the village head and harboring the promise of the new generation in Dombi. Meanwhile, beneath their influential rivalry, smaller clans contended for meager scraps, while the top two engaged in fierce political and business battles, vying for substantial gains, increased returns on investments, and a dominant market share.


In the stadium, every eye remained fixed upon the unfolding spectacle, particularly the intense confrontation between Malamu and Dombi. Experts marveled at the display of such elevated skill, even from teenage combatants, notwithstanding their status as elite Mbilas. Dombi, with his grandfather as his primary mentor and village head, held a reservoir of wisdom and experience imparted to him by his grandfather who had forged it through years of life-and-death trials, not to mention the countless sparring sessions against him too.

Yet, it wasn't just the village head's guidance that shaped Dombi; he was also enveloped within the influence of the Azimbas. This led to his second mentor, Akossi, whose name ironically meant "he lied" in Lingala. Akossi, chief of the Azimba and the right hand of the village head, ascended to his position through cunning schemes orchestrated by the village head for the replacement of the previous Azimba chief with Akossi, his loyal adherent. Possessing two Kongas, not a rarity in itself, Akossi stood among the foremost elites spanning generations since the village's inception and that was a great feat.

Akossi, in his capacity as an exceptional mentor, privately imparted lessons to Dombi, focusing particularly on the perceptual aspects of combat, further enhancing the young Mbilas' skills. In the relentless pursuit of power and dominance, perception emerged as the silent arbiter, influencing the strategies of the elites Mbilas, and the ebb and flow of the battles in each stadium. It was perception that separated the elite from the common, the powerful from the vulnerable, and the triumphant from the vanquished. In the world of Mbilas, where every move held the weight of destiny, perception stood as the unwavering rock, the basis from which high levels Mbilas were navigating the currents of uncertainty and unveiling the secrets that lay hidden within the mist.


Yet Malamu, in the realm of tutelage, found himself under the watchful eye of Matsouma, an unconventional mentor who, despite not bearing the title of Mbila, possessed an uncanny understanding of Mbilas' arcane arts. Matsouma's enigmatic knowledge extended far beyond the ordinary, delving into the intricate theories and nuanced techniques that defined Mbilas' combative prowess. His tutelage unfurled like a tapestry of unconventional wisdom, woven with threads of insight that extended beyond the boundaries of typical Mbila training.

In a curious twist of fate, Matsouma had bestowed his mentorship upon both Akima Kala and Malamu, akin to the intertwined destinies of godsons bound by the same guiding hand. The unconventional approach to combat that characterized Malamu found its roots in the teachings of Akima Kala, both sharing the same mentor who had sculpted their unconventional perspectives on the art of the Mbila. The echoes of Akima Kala's wisdom reverberated in Malamu's ears, a testament to the enduring impact of mentorship.

Within the enigmatic teachings, Malamu imbibed the essence of Akima Kala's unconventional philosophy: "The essence of a Mbila lies not solely in the weapon or technique employed, but in the artful application thereof. A formidable technique, when wielded inappropriately, succumbs to ineffectuality; conversely, a seemingly feeble technique, when harmoniously aligned with its context, metamorphoses into a lethal force. To be a true Mbila, one must transcend the confines of conventional thinking and venture into the uncharted realms of ingenuity." In these teachings, the seeds of Malamu's unorthodox approach to combat found fertile ground, guided by the wisdom passed down through the mentorship of Matsouma and Akima Kala.

Malamu had meticulously embraced and internalized the profound principle that today, in the intricate dance of lipato, bore rich dividends.

In the game of lipato, a peculiar facet unveiled the opportunity to *Stand Still* an adversary, triggered by the precision of three strikes—irrespective of the strikes' magnitude, ranging from a mere touch to the intensity of a fireball. However, it was a well-established convention among Mbilas engaged in the lipato game that one ought to endeavor five strikes, a cautious redundancy ensuring a contingency plan in the event the initial strikes proved penetrative.

From the inception of the duel, Dombi harbored intentions of subjecting Malamu to the imposition of five strikes, a predetermined strategy. However, the reciprocity of this plan did not extend to Malamu. Astutely, Malamu refused to become ensnared in Dombi's prescribed scenario. Confronting a shark in its natural aquatic domain would be folly; one needed to lure it onto the land, where the dynamics shifted.

Prior to the commencement of the match, Malamu discerned the essence of Dombi's strategy—a tactical endeavor focused on disorienting the opponent before launching swift and furtive attacks, akin to the elusive movements of a panther, 'Nkoyi'. While unraveling this strategy might be a complex feat, Malamu recognized its inherent reliance on the opponent's movement and the exploitation of blind spots.

Herein lay the brilliance of Malamu's unconventional approach. Instead of succumbing to the anticipated dance, he pondered a revolutionary perspective: why not remain fixed, anchored in place? This seemingly straightforward shift in strategy proved to be the catalyst, initiating the unfolding of Dombi's *Stand Still.*

The whirling haze of the mist, constituting a dizzying strike, marked the first hit. As Dombi relentlessly pursued the decoy, Malamu interwove a second mist strike into the sequence. Despite the second strike proving ineffectual, given Malamu's prevailing injuries, it officially contributed to the count. Subsequently, the deceptive detonation of the decoy finalized the trifecta of strikes, invoking the state of *Stand Still.*

Abana found herself caught between disbelief and conflicting emotions. A profound duality of sentiments burgeoned within her—resentment spawned by the revelation that her intuition and ego had been proven wrong, and a simultaneous admiration for the artistry inherent in Malamu's maneuvers. The delicate play between hate and respect unfolded within her, leaving Abana to grapple with the intricacies of her conflicting emotions.

Suddenly, an austere aura burst forth, shrouding the surroundings in an unsettling darkness.



…

…

…

Maqala chains, once resolute, began to crumble away.

The Mbilas who had partaken in the game but lingered in the first rim were now ensnared by an insidious fear. A paralyzing stupor gripped them, signaling an impending doom. The Geto's sinister smile emerged, revealing a set of unnaturally sharp teeth.

The Mbila from the Muinda Clan 'light clan', who had been meticulously analyzing the fight between Dombi and Malamu, reciprocated with a smile, showcasing an immaculate set of teeth in return.

With one lifted arm, the binding chains quivered. The oppressive aura rendered everyone motionless. Fear, an overwhelming and consuming fear, permeated the air. The movement slowed to a crawl, as if time itself had surrendered in its relentless advance. The once-familiar terrain of the first run now resembled a grotesque tableau, as if an unseen force had mercilessly crushed insignificant insects beneath its uncaring presence.

Another arm ascended, and a colossal projectile hurtled through the air, spanning 25 meters in length and 10 meters in width.

"Will it not shatter him?" A conversation echoed in a luxurious house between two men. The voice belonged to Akima Kala.

"Or it might fortify him," came the unexpected response from Matsouma. How could that be?

Simultaneously, within the lipato stadium;

A man locked eyes with the monstrous entity, separated by a staggering distance of 400 meters. His composure remained unscathed. He was the wealthiest man in the village, the architect of the inaugural expeditionary team. Yet, here he was in the midst of the stadium. It was Matsouma. How?

Across from him, individuals in the private box of the stadium were gripped by panic, ensnared in that nightmarish scenario where one yearns for speed but moves in agonizing slow motion.

Amidst the chaos, a girl shielded her little sister's eyes, they came to support a young teen who was an Elite Mbila. A couple, an old man and female, once filled with pride when they were looking at the fight, now embraced the void of fear.

The projectile collided with the private box, inflicting considerable damage.

In the third rim, a man, his skin charred and eyes fixated on the impact site, was reduced to mere pinpricks of shock.

In the obscure center of the silent stadium, an otherworldly aura began to seep, manifesting as an intangible malevolence that hung heavily in the air. It was a chilling presence, an insidious force that defied the boundaries of the visible and the tangible.

This haunting essence wove its way through the unseen corners of the stadium, like tendrils of spectral mist infiltrating the collective psyche of those in attendance. A subtle yet pervasive unease settled upon the spectators, leaving them with a sense of foreboding that slithered through their subconscious minds.

As the aura intensified, the atmosphere grew thick with an indefinable dread. Whispers of distant horrors echoed in the minds of the onlookers, each murmur sending shivers down their spines. Unseen eyes seemed to scrutinize every soul, leaving an unsettling impression that one's deepest fears were laid bare, exposed to the maleficent force that enveloped the surroundings.

A hushed stillness fell upon the stadium, not the calm of serenity, but the hush of paralyzing fear. It was as if the air itself congealed into a palpable force, restricting movement and stifling the breath of every witness. The spectators found themselves ensnared in a collective inertia, unable to escape the ethereal grip that gripped their hearts.

In the wake of this eerie stillness, anxiety danced like phantom shadows in the minds of the entrapped. Unseen terrors whispered tales of dread, and the edges of reality blurred into a nightmarish amalgamation of fears both real and imagined. The aura of the Geto persisted, each moment marked by a subtle crescendo of psychological torment, leaving an indelible imprint on the psyche of those ensnared within its spectral clutches.

In the grandeur of the village chambers, the village head's countenance twisted into a tempest of fury. "Where is my grandson? How is it that you are unaware?" His voice, though seething with anger, retained an air of authority, each word delivered with a weight that echoed through the hallowed halls.

Only moments earlier, dire tidings had reached the village through a subordinate – news that the Geto, unshackled and unhinged, had unleashed chaos within the stadium and now prowled the streets beyond. A code red had been declared, mobilizing every military force at the village's disposal to quell the malevolent force.

'Why? Why must this fall upon me?' The village head, consumed by internal lamentation, maintained a façade of assured composure. Outwardly projecting confidence and poise, he grappled with the weight of responsibility that fate had thrust upon his shoulders.

His departure from the stadium had been prompted by urgent news, a revelation that the Ngobi's caravan, en route to the village head's domain, had encountered an onslaught. Five relentless Geto, in relentless pursuit of his village's expeditionary team, had intercepted the convoy. And now, this, the chaos wrought by the unchained Geto within the heart of the village. The village head wrestled with the unfolding calamity, an intricate battle of emotions veiled beneath a stoic exterior.

In the office, Akossi from the Muinda clan, a man of analytical acumen, addressed the village head with measured advice. "Dear Village Head, I would advise against venturing into the center of the activity where the Geto is. While your formidable power could expedite our efforts, the risk to your life or one of your Kongas is too great. The village needs you now more than ever, and our analytical projections indicate that we require at most one week to subdue the Geto."

Another figure in the room, the chief Elder of the village, contributed to the discourse, "As we speak, the population is being evacuated from the epicenter of the danger zone, and the procedures to corner the Geto have already commenced. Every Mbila in the village is being mobilized."

The village head grappled with an intuitive pull, beckoning him to face the Geto, reminiscent of his clandestine survival thirty-two years ago, when there was an invasion of 355 Getos on the Mozambi Mountain. The Mbuji-Mayi, Ngobi's village had planted spies to decimate elite from the other villages. The village head had escaped then. Yet, the haunting uncertainty about his grandson's whereabouts now paralyzed him. Eventually, a decision was made – not in compliance with the counsel offered by his officers, but driven by an unyielding resolve to search for his grandson on the sidelines. He chose to stay back.

"Tell me what happened, Akima. Did he truly do it?"

Akima was now recounting the events that had transpired.

"I could not have imagined he would be in a caravan heading this way, as your intelligence had suggested. My team and I were prepared and led five Geto toward him."

"And did you see what he was capable of?"

"I did not stay for long, but that man is a monster. Single-handedly, he and his caravan managed to hold off five Geto, to the point where I ordered my team to attack him directly. With five Geto, it should have been fatal, though I do not believe it was enough. I could not stay for long. I returned as swiftly as I could. Protocol mandated that, as the village was informed of my arrival, I had to visit the old fool and provide him with a report."

"A report in which you wisely chose to omit certain details."

"My allegiance is wholly to you, Master. Hence, I seized the opportunity to slip away here as soon as I could."

The village head found himself alone in his office. All his officers and the other leaders of the village were out managing their tasks to better handle the impediment. As the village head, it felt peculiar; he sensed isolation. Normally, he should have been on the front lines, even if he wasn't going into battle. He should have been there, discussing strategies and the like. However, his officers convinced him that he should delegate, assuring him that they needed him at one hundred percent for the aftermath. He acquiesced, but in truth, he was preoccupied with thoughts of his grandson's whereabouts.

He opened his Maqala communicator, "Akossi, bring me the reserve squad. I need them."

"Are you sure, my lord."

"Don't call me that when we are in front of other people. My roots are already deep in the village, and I don't want to create unnecessary jealousy."

"Yes, village head. But are you sure? Don't you think the reserve squad is really too much? These beasts are hard to control."

"You will do what I tell you to do."

"Yes, my lord," answered Akossi to the village head.

The village head wanted the reserve squad to use them to find his grandson; that was his top priority. He was not just the village head; he was the village itself, according to him. And his grandson represented its future. "When did he start to question me? A little dog should bid his master's orders. I will discipline him later." The village's head was thinking about Akossi.

In a secret room, one elder was talking to another, "Look at him. Such calamity falls upon the village, and the only thing he can think about is his grandson."

"Truly pathetic."