The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 109 - The Valley of Fire

Dawn cracked over the valley, golden light spilling across treetops like spilled oil. The Adal camp below stirred with the grumbling rhythm of men who’d grown too used to power. Their fires were smoldering embers, their laughter crude and careless, echoing off the surrounding cliffs. They numbered just over a thousand—armed with rifles, curved swords, and the bitter confidence of those who had gone unchallenged for too long.

The Abyssinian army crept through the ridges above, crouched low in the tall grass, the scent of wet soil and tension heavy in the air. Mekonnen crouched at the cliff’s edge, scanning the camp through a spyglass. Lieutenant Hana joined him, jaw tight.

"Ready?" Mekonnen asked.

"As we’ll ever be. Scouts marked three watch towers, and prisoners are kept near the southern edge, near the low boulders. Guards rotate every hour."

"Good. When the fighting starts, take your unit and get them out. Don’t look back."

Hana nodded. "We’ll burn the cages if we must."

A grim smile touched Mekonnen’s face. "Then go."

Hana slipped away into the brush, his fifty-man unit fanning out like smoke. The main force waited, guns loaded, blades unsheathed. And when the first signal—a flaming arrow—shot across the sky, the valley roared to life.

Gunfire cracked. Smoke billowed. And war began.

Adal Camp, Minutes Before the Attack

Commander Idris of the Adal forces leaned back against a log, picking his teeth with a dagger. He was tall, broad, and reeked of spiced wine and arrogance. Around him, soldiers boasted, spat, and passed around dry bread and jugs of date liquor.

"Those Abyssinian dogs won’t come," one sneered. "They pray too much. Think gods will save them."

"They’re too busy hiding behind mountains," another added.

Idris snorted. "Let them. The only thing they do well is bleed."

But then the arrow flew. Then the earth shook.

Then the Abyssinians came.

The valley exploded with movement. Abyssinians descended like thunder—rifles blazing, spears hurled with terrifying accuracy. Mekonnen led the charge on the left flank, blade drawn, rifle slung on his back.

He moved like a man possessed, cutting through the chaos, barking orders over gunfire. "Push past the ridge! Don’t let them regroup!"

He met resistance—Adal soldiers rallying with fierce defense. But the Abyssinians held strong, outmaneuvering with superior discipline.

Then, through the melee, Mekonnen spotted him—Commander Idris, shouting orders, slashing with a wide-bladed sword.

Mekonnen charged. freewebnσvel.cøm

Their blades met with a clash that rang through the din. Idris snarled. "You think you’ll take this camp? Fool!"

"You already lost it the moment you enslaved our people," Mekonnen growled.

They fought in brutal, close combat—Idris with brute strength, Mekonnen with precision and fury. Sparks flew. Blood spattered. Mekonnen took a cut to the arm, but parried a killing blow, ducked low, and drove his sword into Idris’ gut.

Idris gurgled, dropping his weapon, and fell to his knees.

"For the children," Mekonnen whispered, before driving the blade deeper.

Hana’s unit moved with deadly silence, blades and short rifles clearing a path to the cages. They found them chained under a crude wooden canopy—men, women, children, some naked, others barely clothed, skin torn, bones too visible. The smell hit first—waste, rot, blood.

"Gods..." one soldier whispered, covering his mouth.

Another stood frozen. "They kept them like animals."

Hana forced open the first cage. "Get them out. Now."

Some captives backed away, too broken to believe rescue. Others wept openly. A boy clung to Hana’s leg, trembling.

"We’re here to take you home," Hana said, his voice cracking.

A woman reached for her child’s corpse in the straw. "He... he died two days ago. No food. No water."

Another prisoner, her face swollen from beatings, hissed, "They made us kneel while they laughed. They pissed on our dead."

The soldiers, hardened as they were, faltered.

"Move!" Hana roared. "Get them out! Cover our flanks!"

A young boy, no more than ten, had broken away from the group of freed captives. His body was gaunt, his hands trembling, but in them he gripped a rusted dagger likely stolen from a guard. An Adal soldier, unaware, stumbled backward toward him in the chaos.

The boy struck.

Once. Twice. Again.

The soldier screamed—a choked, surprised sound—before collapsing, clutching his side. Blood darkened the soil beneath him. The boy stared, wide-eyed, then fell to his knees, sobbing and shaking, the dagger still clutched tight.

Nearby Abyssinian soldiers froze at the sight. One woman knelt and wrapped the boy in her arms, whispering words he was too broken to hear.

Hana saw it too, and his face hardened.

"They turned our children into killers," he said. "Let none of them leave this valley alive."

Despite him being in the army for so long, this sight was ingrained into his mind.

They broke these children and they will pay, he thought.

Lieutenant Eyob fought near the central corridor of tents, flanked by his unit. They advanced swiftly until an explosion flung him backward. He hit the dirt, ears ringing.

Three Adal soldiers swarmed him.

He fired once, dropping the first.

Then a sword cut across his chest.

He screamed, scrambling back, trying to reload, but blood blurred his vision.

The second came down with a roar—only to be gunned down by a soldier from Eyob’s unit.

"Get up, Eyob!" he yelled.

The third attacker lunged—Eyob raised his bayonet in time, skewering him through the gut.

Breathing hard, he stared at his bloodied hands. "I thought I was dead."

"You almost were," he said. "But not today."

Smoke rolled thick across the battlefield. The Adal resistance shattered. Prisoners were led through the trees—carried, supported, guarded like treasure. Mekonnen, arm bleeding but still standing tall, surveyed the wreckage.

The Abyssinians had lost nearly a hundred. Bodies lay in tangled heaps. But the captives were free. And the Adal camp burned.

Hana returned with the last group—his face hardened, eyes sunken.

Mekonnen nodded to him. "You did well."

"We’re not done," Hana replied. "But they’ll never take another village. Not while we breathe."

The sun sets behind them, washing the valley in crimson light, as if the land itself wept—and healed.