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Death Cup

You would never forget the night when you found your husband, the Onowu lifeless, his throat slit open with your own knife.

You had cried your eyes out and something came alive in your chest—a burning need for revenge.

You had gone to Ezemuo Akataka seeking the killer’s name, but he told you that, “The tracks of the guilty one are well-hidden with powerful juju.”

Next, you went to Ezenwanyi Mmiri, Ezenwanyi Ani, Ogwugwu the great, they all said the same thing.

At last, nearly giving up, you heard that a very powerful magician was passing by your village but stopped to rest for a few days. He was rumored to have lived nearly a hundred years, and as such there was no power he couldn’t wield.

You grabbed at the opportunity like a cloak. You met him and told him your story. He agreed to help you by making a cup out of you, which any murderer who drank from would die horribly after spewing the truth of their murders.

He told you that magic needs balance; that your people will forget you, but forever remember your rebirth.

During the coronation ceremony of the new Onowu, every villager gathered to drink from one cup as custom required.

The new Onowu must drink first, so he did and instantly began to vomit blood. His skin rapidly decayed and peeled off, maggots filled his mouth and pierced through his eyes.

You smiled (or thought you did) as the fool confessed to the murder of your husband. You smiled when his bones began snapping after his tale.

And from that day, as the magician promised, though no one remembered who you were, the villagers named you ‘Death Cup’ and you became the ultimate judge of the land.

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