CLAWS AND LAWS

Commander Jide had been waiting for what felt like an eternity. The forest, dense and ancient, stood ominously before him and his men. They were all growing restless. His patience, thin as it was, had begun to fray. His soldiers, his "mulligans," had tried to mask their frustration, but it was clear they were losing faith in their mission.

One of the men finally broke the tense silence. "Commander, how much longer are we going to wait for animals to come out of their home? Wolves live in trees and forests, don't they? These beasts—werewolves or not—are already in their natural habitat."

Another soldier nodded in agreement, muttering something inaudible under his breath. Commander Jide, his dark eyes narrowing, turned toward the second man with a penetrating stare.

"Do you have a better idea?" the commander asked, his tone sharp.

The man hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "No... and yes," he replied.

Jide's brows furrowed. "Explain yourself," he barked.

The soldier swallowed hard, licking his dry lips. "It's true that they're not coming out anytime soon. Not unless they want to. But if we leave those beastly brothers alive... one day, they'll ambush us. They'll kill us all."

Jide's patience snapped. "Speak louder, man! Stop wasting my time!" he roared, his voice echoing through the forest.

The soldier flinched but quickly found his voice. "What I mean is this, sir: I think we should stop waiting for them to come out. Instead, we should force them out. Smoke them out! Or better yet, send in some missiles and turn this entire cursed forest into ashes. Let's end this once and for all!"

The idea hung heavy in the air. The rest of the mulligans exchanged uncertain glances. Some nodded slowly in agreement, while others hesitated, unsure if this was the best course of action.

Unbeknownst to them, the three brothers—Agbaje, Akintola, and Ajumobi—were deep within the forest in their werewolf forms. The transformation heightened their senses, granting them extraordinary sight and hearing. Hidden among the trees, they could hear every word spoken by their enemies.

"They're planning to destroy the forest," Agbaje growled, his golden eyes narrowing with fury.

"We can't stay here," Akintola said, his voice urgent. "If they launch those missiles, we'll be caught in the explosion."

Ajumobi, the youngest, nodded reluctantly. "We need to move. Now!"

Without another word, the brothers turned and bolted deeper into the forest, their powerful limbs propelling them forward with supernatural speed. Their destination: Oke Olumo, the largest and most sacred mountain in the land. The climb would be grueling, but it was their best chance at survival.

Back in the clearing, Commander Jide gave the order. "Launch the missiles. Burn this forest to the ground."

Within moments, the air was filled with the deafening roar of explosives. The forest, once alive with the sounds of nature, was consumed by fire and destruction. Trees toppled, animals fled, and thick black smoke rose into the sky.

The brothers, still in their werewolf forms, raced toward Oke Olumo with everything they had. The heat from the fire singed their fur, and the ground trembled beneath their feet as the missiles struck. By the time they reached the base of the mountain, their strength was waning. They climbed as fast as they could, their claws digging into the rocky surface.

When they finally reached the summit, their bodies collapsed from exhaustion. They stood on the edge of death, their breaths ragged and shallow. Below them, the forest had been reduced to ashes, a barren wasteland where life once thrived.

And then, darkness.

The brothers remembered nothing of what happened next. Unbeknownst to them, a group of sympathizers had been watching from a distance. These kind souls, horrified by the destruction, had rushed to the mountain to search for survivors. They found the brothers, broken and battered, their bodies barely clinging to life.

The sympathizers worked quickly, each taking one of the brothers to separate locations to nurse them back to health. Days turned into weeks as the brothers slowly recovered in the care of their rescuers.

But there was one devastating consequence of their ordeal: their memories were gone.

Agbaje awoke in a small, dimly lit room, his body bandaged and weak. He looked around, confused. Who was he? Where was he? The elderly man who had cared for him entered the room, offering him food and water, but Agbaje couldn't remember who he was or why he was there.

Akintola, meanwhile, found himself in a bustling village. The kind-hearted woman who had saved him told him he had been unconscious for days. He felt strong but empty, like a piece of him was missing. His name, his past—it was all a blur.

Ajumobi was taken in by a farmer who lived on the outskirts of a quiet town. The young farmer treated Ajumobi's wounds and gave him a place to stay, but Ajumobi could recall nothing of his life before waking up in that bed.

Though they were miles apart, the brothers shared the same fate. Their memories of each other, their shared history, and their identities as werewolves—all of it was gone. They were strangers to themselves, living separate lives with no knowledge of their bond.

But fate has a way of weaving its threads back together.

The land remained scarred from the destruction caused by Commander Jide and his men. The commander, believing the brothers to be dead, declared his mission a success. Yet, whispers of survivors began to circulate. Stories of three men—each with an unusual strength and presence—spread through the villages.

Unknowingly, the brothers were drawing closer to the truth with each passing day. Agbaje began to experience vivid dreams of a forest and two faces he couldn't place. Akintola felt a strange pull toward the mountains, though he didn't know why. Ajumobi found himself sketching wolves in the dirt, his hands moving as if guided by a force he couldn't explain.

Their paths were destined to cross once more. The bond of blood, though severed by tragedy, could never truly be broken.

And when they found each other again, the world would tremble at the strength of the brothers united.

The Division was far from over—it was only the beginning.