Mercenary Black Mamba

Chapter 474: Chapter 44 Episode 7 I Hate Doing the Dishes

Al-Saudi, who was head of the guards, grimaced as if he had seen something that should not have been seen. Iblis had killed nine of his subordinates by trampling and kicking them into a paste on the rock. He had pissed himself when the giant rock flew beside him. It was a mismatched fight but he understood why. Iblis was an entity of destruction and elimination.

Iblis never waved a white flag. With its body as big as a wildebeest’s, with a cruel-looking appearance that went against truce or reconciliation, the white flag did not seem fitting to it at all.

With abdomens ruptured, torsos divided, and limbs scattered around, a truce was not possible. The two smashed by the rock were subordinates he had spent five years with in the Pyrenees. Al-Saudi’s eyes lit up like sparks. What was he to say to a monster forsaken by Allah?

“Fuck. This doesn’t make sense at all.”

Someone muttered in the midst of Al-Saudi’s rage. What he said was right. The truce did not make sense at all.

“When did we discriminate who to kill according to their weapons?”

“Shut up, do you want to die for real?”

A howl that was 10 times louder than an enraged male elephant’s erupted in the valley. Rock debris fell from the cliffs. Al-Saudi, who was about to order an attack, stopped.

“Who are you?”

Saudi’s glaring eyes glinted with rage.

“You are not important enough to hear my name.”

“What did you say?”

It was a decisive, immediate insult. Al-Saudi’s thought process wavered for a moment, considering how he may be unworthy of hearing the man’s name.

“How dare you!”

Al-Saudi’s face reddened like a liver of a pig.

“Wait for a second!”

Kamuge cut him off and pointed at the silverback sprawled on the ground. Kamuge was a shaman. He could read people’s minds like their palms. Al-Saudi’s eyes followed Kamuge’s finger. The shell-shocked gorilla rose unrealistically.

“It’s invincible!”

Al-Saudi’s mouth opened and a heavy groan escaped. This was reality, not a dream.

“Woah!”

Gori shook his body. Bullets and shrapnel fell from his body. The silverback turned his head and glared at Al-Saudi with its blood-red crimson eyes.

“Ugh!”

Al-Saudi stepped back unwittingly. He had heard of voodoo shamans controlling zombies and monsters. But this was absurd. A lifeform that can survive shell strikes is not a monster but a god. It had to be.

“A god has descended upon us!”

The new recruits knelt on the ground at the unbelievable sight. Al-Saudi’s face darkened. They were indeed worthless dredges of humans, never having received Allah’s blessing.

“Call your boss, dumbass.”

Kamuge growled. Al-Saudi, resigned, picked up his walkie-talkie.

A rough sound of exhaust pipes, characteristic of the Soviet jeeps, echoed in the valley. From within the valley, a dozen or so UAZ-69 jeeps roared out, leaving red dust in their wake. The UAZ-69 were military jeeps produced by the Soviet Union since 1969 and had two types: a mobilizing unit that could contain six people and a battle unit holding two people.

The battle unit jeeps spread in a fan-like formation. The mounted heavy machine guns, anti-tank cannons, and automatic firing rifles precisely aimed at the two gorillas. They exhibited an evident intent that they would fire at once if there were any suspicious activity.

Bansiri jumped off the leading jeep. He glared around. The opponents were intact and only his subordinates became paste of meat.

“Saudi, what’s this?”

Bansiri shouted indignantly.

“Sir, it’s the unholy Iblis. Allah’s soldiers fought valiantly, but…”

Bansiri waved away Al-Saudi’s excuse.

“I’m the leader. Identify yourself and explain why you attacked us.”

His eyes glared at the glazed, emotionless eyes of Kamuge.

‘He is made of a murderer’s genes!’ Kamuge read the murderous genes in the Arab man’s eyes. Kamuge, before he was a rebel leader, was a Houngan and a geneticist. He evaluated humans with one criterion: whether they had good genes. The Arab man before his eyes had inherited superior genes through generations.

An individual’s genes were not improved by one’s efforts. They were only inherited. An individual with good genes had a higher probability of survival. The progeny inherits superior genes. A man with murderous genes who has survived for more than four decades was a strong human. Kamuge validated the man.

“I’m the great priest Kamuge. Who are you?”

Bansiri flinched. The shaman’s voice shook his brain like a giant bell’s ringing. Had he not mastered the secret skill of Mamluk Circassians, ‘Upright Soul’, he may have stumbled and fallen. As expected, it was an evil voodoo Houngan.

“Hmm. A voodoo Houngan.”

Bansiri groaned. He was aware of the notoriety of voodoo. People were used as sacrifices then eaten. Such an evil religion was voodoo. He recognized the voodoo Houngan’s extraordinary powers. There were no evil powers. There were only strong and weak powers.

Bansiri vanished then appeared. He was holding a piece of cloth cut from Kamuge’s sleeves. It was a thousand-year-old skill of assassins, Shadow Cutting. Kamuge’s face hardened then softened. They had each displayed their power to each other.

“I am Abu Bansiri. I purify the ones that do not know the true intent of Allah.”

“Haha. Muslim terrorists always have a way with their words.”

“Haha. Says the one who commands unholy beasts.”

Kamuge sniggered but Bansiri let it pass. A Houngan was able to turn a human into a pig. For Muslims, a pig was an unclean, untouchable animal.

Becoming a pig was a terrifying idea. A shaman could not be subdued with a single strike and could retaliate fatally. They needed to treat him with respect. He was not someone to be underestimated and derided. He had the power of a god.

“Abu Bansiri, I simply returned to the land of my friends and ancestors. Your subordinates attacked first.”

“The land of your friends and ancestors?”

“Yes. This valley has been a sacred training ground for voodoo shamans. You are the uninvited guests that are corrupting the holy land of voodoo.”

“Put it that way, half of the world is Britain’s and half of Africa is France’s. Americans need to return the American continent to the indigenous people and the white people in Australia should apologize to the aboriginals and return to Europe. Bachilkile has been here for hundreds of millions of years. Your ancestors only occupied temporarily one hundred years ago. A passing lizard would laugh at such a claim.”

Bansiri sternly concluded. There was no better place than here for him to avoid being seen and re-establish his troops. He could not cede just because someone said so.

Kamuge had no retort. De facto governance. Historical facts. They were excuses. The strong rules in the end. He looked around at the armed forces behind Bansiri. They had no uniforms but their weapons were ready and proper. Gori and Rila’s power was not verified. It was a risk to take.

“You are not wrong. I’ll consider it as a temporary lease. Why are you here?”

Kamuge stepped back. Bansiri’s face softened. A battle with a Houngan was a losing fight. A negotiation was due and he welcomed it. He decided to be honest with him. Honesty and respect were a wise policy against such a man.

“I have a nemesis who ruined my business. I am recovering here in order to avenge myself.”

“The nemesis must be quite strong. I am here for the same reason.”

“A Houngan has a nemesis? You could just cast a curse without the need to command Iblis.”

“I tried dozens of times. A powerful djinn was also cast away. Even though he is my enemy, he has my respect.”

Kamuge said in a sigh. A Houngan’s forte was casting curses. As he ran, he cast dozens of curses but none worked. At this rate, using sacrifices and calling forth a Damballah Wedo would prove futile. All he could do now was to awaken his Rousseloufes.

“Your nemesis must be quite talented.”

Bansiri retorted with Kamuge’s cynicism.

“Would you like to cooperate?”

Kamuge blurted out. Rousseloufes and his sorcery could prove to have great synergy with their soldiers and weapons.

“What makes you think I trust you?”

Bansiri scoffed dismissively.

“A great Houngan is incapable of lying. Spell-casting is an act of faith. When you have no faith in your words, your spells become ineffective. If I ever lie, I would lose all magic and become a normal human.”

“Hmm!”

Bansiri hesitated. Could two Iblis gorillas rival Dubaiburupa? The beasts were capable of throwing a five-ton rock and withstanding RPG shells. Dubaiburupa was a terrible opponent but maybe two Iblis could prove useful against him.

“That is good. I, Abu Bansiri, will consider you a friend, great priest Kamuge.”

“That is good. I, Houngan Kamuge, will consider you, Abu Bansiri, the head of the ANO, as a friend.”

Kamuge and Bansiri high-fived with their right hands and rubbed their cheeks with each other. A villain recognized a villain. They recognized the other as a villain. They dreamed of using the other’s power to attain their goal. The wheel of fortune had started to turn in an unexpected direction. Both of them did not know what will happen in the future.

“Bansiri, my friends and I need to train in a quiet place. We will stay near the Kerir lake inside the valley.”

“The Devil’s lake? The water would burn your flesh, you know.”

Bansiri frowned. The lake, called Kerir or “corruption,” by the indigenous people, was a small lake with an area of only 300 square meters. Its brown water seemed grotesque and burned the flesh when one touched it.

The soldiers who dipped their hands in the water when they first arrived had to amputate their rotting arms. Since then, no one went near the Kerir lake. Its toxicity became worse after the bodies of animals that died after drinking its water started rotting there. It was a place to be avoided, not headed for.

“I am no one else but the Houngan Kamuge.”

That single phrase exuded a Houngan’s pride effectively. He knew the secret of the Kerir lake, of course.

“It’s up to you. We don’t go near it anyway.”

“That’s great!”

Leaving them to wonder what was so great, Kamuge and the gorillas went inside the valley. Kamuge never mentioned Bansiri’s subordinates that he slaughtered. Bansiri did not either. For the great priest and the head of a terrorist organization, humans were expendable resources.

“I am not sure if it is good news or bad news. Time will tell.”

Bansiri muttered. A great priest with voodoo was no simple entity. He was a great ally, for sure, but he could betray them at any moment. A shaman was skilled at telling lies as if they were true. Even if they were friends now, something did not feel right.

“Dubaiburupa, I will take my revenge! Wait for me! You will surely pay for what you have done. I will win.”

Bansiri shouted with clenched fists. If it helped his revenge, he could form an alliance with the Devil himself, let alone a voodoo priest. He could still see his subordinates that became ash in a flame storm and the sacred ground, Aloadin, that vanished in the earthquake. The only thing he had left was revenge.

Bansiri and Kamuge’s alliance was an otherworldly mirage. It was not a beautiful or hopeful one.

Bansiri, trapped in his own dogma, dreamed of a pure Islamic utopia built on violence. Kamuge was a voodoo Houngan who dreamed of a spirit world where spirits enslaved humans.

They resembled each other like an artwork made by decalcomania. They were psychopaths that chased unrealistic dreams. They clung to the pieces of their broken dreams that were smashed by a great foe.

Humans seek God because they are not merciful themselves. They seek a good god for their mercy and they seek an evil god for their wrath. Few humans knew that the journey towards revenge was a difficult one and the reward at the end was not quite sweet. Thus, humans were called miserable beings.

The business jet Falcon, holding eight people, soared into the dawn from the Chabelley airstrip in Djibouti. Mu Ssang, impatient, had called in his favorite airplane that was parked at the de Gaulle airport.

“Someone is badmouthing me.”

Mu-Ssang, who was meditating, picked his ear with his pinkie. Samdi, who was dozing off, woke up at the noise, startled.

“Not me!”

Samdi, smiling, held out a cotton swab.

Falcon flew across Central Africa for 1,800 kilometers and landed on the Samaria farm in Doba. After gliding 1.5 kilometers on the landing strip, Falcon slid into a stand. When Mu Ssang and Samdi got off the plane, their followers who had been waiting for them, bowed at once.

“All people are equal. Long live Dubaiburupa.”

Their voices shook up the air. Mu Ssang felt dizzy..