Hello again cribbers,let's see what these Pen masters have to say about each other in this batch.
The Pen masters in this batch are;

018 The Ink Fairy and 024 The Anointed Scribe.

022 Man of Steeze and 29 Medusa.

Let's begin✨

018 The Ink Fairy

The sirens blared.

But this time, Keke did not run.

Ever since she was a little girl and those screeching noises rang into the air, signifying the arrival of the Asegun Empire’s Enforcers on their lands, Keke would take to her heels in search for safety from the attacks about to befall her people. But things have changed. Keke had learned to pick up a stick and fight, to defend herself, because that was the only way she could scale through this bloodbath called a war.

The sun was high in the sky, burning down at her back and causing a tickle of sweat to run down her brows that were knit in concentration. As the other Rakkans scurried away so they wouldn’t meet the Enforcers, their feet kicked dust into the air, and it made Keke’s nose itch. Her shoulders stood rigid as she braced herself for what was to come, the destruction she would incur, the lives she would take.

“Here they come.” Kunle said, pointing at the direction of the approaching crowd, their identities unmistaken by the gleaming pommel of their guns strapped on their backs and blue uniforms that caught the light. Enforcers, soldiers of the Asegun Empire. They only had one duty; to kill anyone who served as threat to their kingdom. In this case, it was Keke’s people, the Rakkans. But it wasn’t as if they were threats. As far as Keke knew, her people never did anything wrong. But the indigenes of Asegun Empire hated them, just because they had been blessed by the gods with magic. They wanted to obliterate them from the surface of the earth but if they thought that her and her people would go down without a fight, they were solely mistaken.

The fog of dust cleared and the soldiers came into view, faces obscured by their metal helmets. On a mane sat General Kuku, an infamous warrior with face like stone. With the raise of a hand she halted her marching soldiers, and then trouped forward, hard eyes scanning the pair of miscreants in front of her.

“And who are you?” she asked. For a woman, her voice seemed cracked, like she desperately needed to clear her throat. “Fashola’s men, perhaps?”

“We hail from no one.” Kunle replies, firmly.

“Well, whomever you are, I oblige you to get out of our way. We have an order to fulfill,” she said. “If you don’t we will result in using force.”

Keke snorted. “We would like to oblige you, General Kuku to leave this territory alone.” She said, raising her head.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Kuku responded, and hissed. “We’ve gotten word that Fashola’s men have created a base here, and we have perform our duty as Enforcers by expelling them.”

“Expelling them?” Keke scoffed again, feeling her anger run down her veins. She tried not to let it get control of her. Keep a clear mind and a calm heart, Master Lekan had continually said. Or your enemies will take advantage of you. “Are you here to expel a group of rebels or to kill my people?”

“We will eradicate anyone who interferes with our mission.” Kuku states, then she rolls her shoulders. “It doesn’t seem like your willing to comply, then. Soldiers.”

At her command, all rifles were aimed at both Keke and Kunle. Keke laughed, she never would have guessed the almighty General Kuku could be so oblivious. At the signal of the cocked guns, their archers rose from the shadows and mud rooftops, arrows pointed directly at their targets, surrounding the troops. As if feeling the intense bloodlust, General Kuku’s body went rigid, the action catching her by surprise. She raised up a hand, instructing her soldiers to pause.

“Hm, I see,” she studied her surroundings, taking in each individual archer, their locks of white flowing hair tussling in the light breeze. Then she turns to face Keke and nods. “You’ve done well.”

“And you’re quite stupid,” she folded her arms, suddenly underwhelmed by how much her and her subordinates had been perplexed about the execution of this plan. “Honestly, I expected better.”

General Kuku’s mane skids backward, and the rigid woman takes in Keke with new fond interest, her eyes piercing into the Rakkan. Since she was young and the war had just begun, fearful tales had been told by moonlight about how men and legions surrendered just by looking into General Kuku’s eyes. It had that grit, holding a promise of death. Keke would admit, she was daunting to look at, but she would not let fear take over her. Her revenge was much greater.

“Most people find me intimidating,” General Kuku finally said, her voice cutting through the still silence. “Yet, you do not seem to fear me. Who are you, child?”

“Keke Adedimeji, daughter of Lateef Adedimeji, the former leader of my people in which your king killed.” Keke positioned herself to a stance, ready to attack. “And today, I will have your head.”

And then she leapt for her.

But of course, the other soldiers won’t allow a measly Rakkan lowlife to attack their highest ranking general just like that.

One barreled towards her, stopping in front of the General , cocking his rifle. Landing on the hard ground, Keke rolled on the sand, positioning herself at the Enforcers opening, and clung unto his head, wrapping her legs tightly around his neck then craned it forcefully to the side.

The crack that came after was rather satisfying.

As the other Enforcers moved to ambush her, arrows sliced the air, and men cluttered to the ground, their blood staining the earth in its own canvas of crimson. Others who missed the strike combated her, but they where shot down by a bullet that whizzed past her head like an angry wasp, coming from Kunle’s incredible marksmanship.

Some luckily evaded his bullets, one raising his hand to land a jab on Keke’s jaw. She grabbed his hand, then wrung it to the side, twisting the joint. His jutting scream rang in her ears but she was not done. Feeling the heat run down her palms, Keke summoned her power, and soon enough hot flames danced at her fingertips, and she heard as the Enforcers skin sizzled, and the pungent smell of burning flesh filtered into her nostrils. Keke let go of the man’s arm, watching as he cluttered to the floor, writhing on the sand and bellowing repeatedly for help.

No one knew how the Rakkans got the ill-famed power they were hated for. Legends say that the gods had taken mortal bodies and descended upon the earth. Falling in love with the place they had created, they wished to stay forever. However, the Supreme God, Orumila, had admonished them to return back to the heavens and if they did not, they would suffer divine punishment. The gods agreed to this, but, as they loved the humans so much, they still left traces of their power in mortal lands. Those who had inherited this power were the Rakkans, strange people born with locks of white hair. 

Whoever received any of the gods power varied depending on the type of individual the person was. As for Master Lekan, he had the power of teleportation, hailing from the messenger God, Eshu. Teraji, one of the archers standing on a detached rooftop, delivering a swift arrow that landed on an Enforcers spine, had the power to control the waters and change the course of the sea. Kunle received the power to bend the earth, and make metal do as he bids but he rarely ever used it. And Keke was blessed by the god of fire, the pinnacle of destruction.

General Kuku had retreated back into the formation line so her soldiers could defend her. The smell of gore and death and blood stood heavy in the air, as Enforcer after Enforcer met their untimely deaths. As another motioned to attack Keke, she wrung and orb of fire unto his neck, burning his head till it dislocated from his body. She disconnected the arm of one solider, and burnt the abdomen of another. Slowly, the troupes began to diminish and only a few hundred soldiers were left out of the legion. Keke let out a breath, feeling her power pulse within her, hearing her god whisper words in her ear, compelling her to kill them all.

She leapt back, staying a few feet away from the battle ground and opened up her palms. Flames uprooted from her skin. She joined the two orbs together and they both condensed into a fiery halo, the heat kindling strands of her hair and fanning against her face.Since her power resulted in her being in close range with her opponent, Keke had sought for ways to change that weakness, and recently, she found a solution.

One by one arrows of fire appeared in front of the flaming disk, multiplying in tens, then hundreds, then thousands. She heard as the Enforcers marveled at each other, some already scurrying away from what was to come. Keke let out another breath, focusing all her energy on her power, and then she let go.

The world was set ablaze.

It was a beautiful thing. It kindled bodies aflame and they danced in the sand, searching for ways to ease the pain as their flesh rotted away. 

Once again it struck Keke how much wrath her power could cause.

From the distance, she heard a horse neigh. General Kuku was running away.

Keke immediately dashed for the throttling horse with the General mounted unto, unwilling to let the woman go without being pronounced dead. Overhead, she saw the glint of Teraji’s arrow in the evening sky, and it found a new home in the depths of the mares neck. It cluttered brutally to the ground, sending the General flying against the earth.

Keke paused at her tracks, slowly approaching her prey. General Kuku coughed, then looked up, eyes widening as she saw who was walking towards her.  It did not hold its usual menace anymore, just fear.

“Filthy Rakkan scum!” she spat.

“General Kuku, can I ask something?” Keke stopped walking, standing in front of the crouching woman. “How did it feel to murder my people?”

The entire place went still.

“Did it feel good?” she continued. “Where you happy? Where you excited? Did you feel an immense thrill overpowering someone who is believed to be more stronger, more powerful than you?”

Memories flashed into Keke’s mind. The night they had killed her father, and the king had brutally raped her mother. She felt her fingers itch, and tremble, wanting to scorch the woman into cinders..

“Yes, it did.” General Kuku responded and Keke’s nostrils flared. “And I will do it again because that is what you deserve. You are not human beings, you are animals —”

In one moment she was standing above the woman, and then the next she was upon her, setting her flames alight on the woman’s head. Her bones and skin crackled, her flesh peeling away from her skin but it was not enough. She made the flames burn brighter, hotter, wanting the woman’s death to be so brutal that she would still feel it after her soul departed.

“That’s enough!” came a voice beside her. She felt a hand on her arm, and heard skin sizzle. “It’s enough, she’s dead!”

Keke  removed her hands from the already dead woman’s face, ashes landing on the floor and blowing away in the swift breeze that came. Her chest heaved, and she looked around, in awe at what she’d done.

“What do we do now?” asked Kunle, removing his hand from her arm.

Keke let out a breath and stood. “Now,” her voice was breathless, empty. “We march for the palace.”

024 ANOINTED SCRIBE

Collateral Damage

The moment he stepped out of the jet-black Rolls Royce Phantom that had skidded to a halt in front of the apartment, my jaw fell unhinged and my head swam with giddiness. Even from my restricted view, peeking from behind the curtains, he looked too perfect to be real—flawless olive skin, chiseled jaw sporting a well-trimmed beard, muscular biceps and abs pronounced by his tailored-to-fit bespoke Tom Ford two-piece suit, complimented by an Omega Seamaster watch and Persol sunglasses.

"Dang it!" Dad muttered from behind me as he began pacing the length of our living room.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I'd never heard him utter anything remotely associated with a cuss word before. My father, a one-time SGF of Nigeria, had a penchant for shrewd, carefully-thought-out speech.

"Dad?"

"Isabelle, go to your room."

I frowned.

"Why? Is this…"—hot guy—"um, man an unwanted visitor? If you don't want to see him, I'll handle it."

"Not this time. Not with the Ring Lord."

A sliver of shock coursed through my spine. The Ring Lord? It can't be…

"Don't come out. I'm begging you."

Before I could protest, Dad marched outside, closing the door after him.

"Mr Debo! What a surprise…" Dad crooned in the saccharine voice I'd heard him use in the past when negotiating with top politicians.

What was Debo Bianchi, alias Ring Lord, leader of the notorious Bling-ring Gang of Lagos, doing here? I'd heard news of the undercover operations he masterminded all across Nigeria. No matter how much the authorities tried to lay hold of him, the Ring Lord always eluded them. Rumour had it that he was the son of an Italian mafia lord who got hitched to a Nigerian woman in diaspora.
Despite all the media speculations about his true identity, in my imagination, the Ring Lord was a paunchy dude with yellowed teeth, not this Florentine Adonis who carried himself with an air of nobility, flanked on both sides by two hulking bodyguards.

I watched him speak pointedly to my dad whose facial expression grew more distraught with each passing second. Curious about what he was saying, I strained in futility to make out his words.

As if sensing that someone was sneakily checking him out, his eyes darted to the floor-to-ceiling window I was peeping from and landed on me. I froze. Shoot!
As his eyes perused my form, his brows rose almost imperceptibly and his lips quirked in a way that caused sparks to skitter about my neurons. I backed away, my heart racing as if the universe had tilted at an acute angle. What in Bikini Bottom was that?

He resumed speaking to my dad, this time raising his voice.

"Mr Ezekiel Ojewale, I rarely take care of loose ends myself, but when I do, I like to be very thorough. It's been over a year. Your debt is long overdue."
His baritone voice was monotonous, in stark contrast to his divine features.

I was confused. How had my Dad gotten involved with him, and what debt was he referring to?
Gently, I caressed the silver cross pendant resting on my collarbone.
Mom would be turning in her grave right now. She hated murky matters like this, and had even insisted my father shouldn't borrow money even during the gruelling phase of battling the malignant cancer that led to her demise about a year ago. Dad and I grieved sore when Mom died. But, I had to be strong for him when he almost sunk into depression.

Tightening my fist around my mom's heirloom, I watched in perplexity as my Dad fell to his knees and held Debo’s Berluti Oxford shoes in a grovelling gesture.

Debo kicked him away. A fuse sparked in my brain. I rushed out to Dad, who was now doubled over in pain, and helped him up.

"Are you crazy? Can't you see that he is an old man?" I yelled at Debo.

"Isabelle," my father choked out, coughing. "What are you-"

"Dad, are you hurt?"

Debo stood still with an inscrutable expression on his face, perusing me as if I was a rare China doll on display engraved with colourful patterns. I was oddly intoxicated and at the same time annoyed by the audacity of his stare.

"How much do we owe you?" I spat at him. "We will pay for everything. Just don't hurt my father!"

He didn't flinch. With a snap of his fingers, the two bodyguards grabbed my arms and dragged me up to face Debo. My father protested in the background but his voice was barely above a squeak.

Debo removed his dark shades, and I was almost sucked in by the whirlpool of grey irises that greeted me. Oh my… The rumours were right about him being a half-caste.

Regaining my composure, I glared at his face, willing my roaring heart to be still. I wasn't sure why my heart was thundering. Was it because he looked even more surreal up close, or was it because I was terrified of what he could do to me?

He reached out his forefinger and lifted my chin. I felt a tendril of electricity zap through me from the spot his finger touched. I jerked my face sideways.

"Mr Ojewale," he said, not taking his eyes off me, "you cannot pay the debt you owe, not in this lifetime. With your current financial bankruptcy, three hundred and seventy five billion dollars is an impossible sum for you to pay back..."

I sucked in all the surrounding oxygen, feeling suddenly light-headed. Three hundred and- WHAT?!

"...But, you have something I’d love to have in exchange. Consider this as collateral damage."

My eyes widened even more.
Dad groaned in pain as he heaved himself up.

"Isabelle, I can explain," he said to me upon seeing my aghast expression. 
"Debo, please, I beg of you, I'll do anything. Please, leave my daughter out of this."

Debo ignored him and began to move towards his sleek vehicle. His bodyguards dragged me to follow, but I planted my feet on the ground. Learning the basics of Judo in a compulsory self-defense class in college came in handy now.
Debo cocked his brows in fascination as he watched me give a formidable resistance to his burly bodyguards. I was just about giving one a kick in the groin when Debo pulled out something from his breast pocket in a deft motion. It was a pistol. He pointed it at me.

Is he really going to fire?

Without warning, he changed the trajectory of his aim and pulled the trigger. I screamed, wiggled out of the firm grasp of the bodyguards and rushed over to my dad who was now sprawled on the floor. He wasn't dead, thank goodness, but blood oozed out so fast from his thigh that I was scared he'd bleed out.

"What have you done!" I screeched at my current nemesis.

"Come with me peaceably, and I won't kill your father," Debo said in that detached voice of his.

"Are you crazy? I'm not allowing some maniac to kidnap me from my father's house in broad daylight! I'm not some inanimate object you can just whisk away," I retorted.

"Isabelle... I don't want him to hurt you. Please, go," Dad said after a groan.

"But, Dad!"

"I'll be fine. I'll come for you, I promise," he rasped.

I turned to Debo with a death glare.

"Fine. I'll come with you. But, on my terms. My father must be treated first."

He chuckled like I was an overbearing child throwing a tantrum in a mall and gave a single nod. Someone—his personal doctor, I later surmised—emerged with a first-aid kit from one of the cars and began tending to my dad's wound.

With silent tears trailing down my cheeks, I let Debo's bodyguards lead me into the backseat of his accursed Rolls Royce.

⁠｡⁠☬⁠０⁠☬⁠｡

I'll just walk through the hallways, snoop around for a while and leave faster than Flash.

Minutes ago, damning the CCTV cameras and the rock-rigid bodyguard stationed at the entrance of the insanely luxurious room I'd been confined to ever since I arrived at this huge penthouse located somewhere in Eko Atlantic City, I snuck out.

On getting to the front of an impressively-carved bronze door at the end of the hallway upstairs, I wondered what secrets this door protected.

Just then, the door swung open, and I almost had a cardiac attack.
Debo, in his shirtless glory, was standing before me. My instincts screamed for me to bolt back downstairs, but my senses had frozen.
Gosh, he’s hot!

His eyes darkened as he frowned. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me in.
I yelped, terrified of the possibilities of how this could play out.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed as he backed me up to a nearby wall.
I couldn't speak. I was sure that with the way oxygen flow was cut off from my brain, I would pass out in five, four, three...

He moved away, gave me a once-over and said, "You can breathe. I'm not going to bite you."

I wasn't so sure about that. He looked like he was capable of anything, biting inclusive.

Dumb rebel heart! Get it straight. I hate him. I detest him. He's the reason my father is probably  worried to death about me.

When I found my voice, frustration and anger propelled my rant.
"Why exactly did you bring me here? I've almost withered from boredom! You've basically forgotten my existence for more than a week!"

He didn't respond at first, walking further into… My eyes finally got a panoramic view of his gigantic room. And—oh my flip-flops!—the minimalist interior decor possessed a real standoffish vibe. Typical of the Ring Lord.

"Have I?” he taunted, smirking. “You know, ever since I built an empire here in my motherland, many people find me intimidating."—For obvious reasons, bruh!—"But you…"—he let out a brief chuckle—"you're a different breed. You stood up to me even though I could kill you on the spot if I so wished.
"I've gotten rather sick of dealing with weak-minded people. I needed a fresh, vixen-like challenge. You were the right fit."

"Like a pet, or, better yet, your slave…?"

He shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat."

"Can I go now?" I said through gritted teeth.

"You walked here with your two legs. The door's over there."

I hesitated. Why wasn't he taking advantage of me like the jerk he was? I was itching to give him a taste of my martial art skills so he could feel some of the pain he'd dunked me in.

"Or, were you expecting something more?" he teased, drawing nearer.

His eyes—so… so enchanting, I couldn't look away—flickered down. At first, I thought he was looking at my lips, but when he reached out his hand towards my neck, I had second thoughts.

"What's this?"

I glanced down to where his finger hovered, just above my collar bone. He was pointing at my silver cross pendant.

"It was my mom's."

"Oh!"

Awkward silence descended. Meanwhile, my heart ricocheted like a drunk Disc Jockey. With his proximity, I feared he could hear its gbim-gbim sound.

He leaned forward as though  to inspect my pendant closely, and I could feel his warm breath on my face.

Suddenly, I snapped to my senses. I gave him a hard kick in his weak spot and ran out. I heard his muffled groan as I fled down the stairs, internally chiding myself.

I'd rather stay in my assigned room than face this dangerous man again. Or, perhaps I could switch tactics, get him to trust me and then find a way to escape from this purgatory-like bondage. But, this wasn't a Beauty and the Beast fairytale. This was real life, and I was merely collateral damage to him, a sport he'd get tired of, sooner or later, I hoped. 

Commentary;Hmmm.. let's hear the reviews

REVIEW ON PEN MASTER 018 INK FAIRY BY PEN MASTER 024 ANOINTED SCRIBE

Review for Pen Master InkFairy

Wow! For such a tight constraint of 2000 words, InkFairy was able to somewhat successfully pull off the feat of writing a short fantasy story. I mean, there is a reason most fantasy works are long series with each book often over 200k words. I haven't read many high fantasy novels, but this story was reminiscent of the Poppy War Series. 

Plot

This untitled short story follows the journey of Keke, a Rakkan girl with the magical ability to wield flames who must stop General Kuku's onslaught in a bid to protect her clan.

I think the problem with fantasy stories is that it's so easy to fall into stereotypes and cliches.
When it comes to magical powers, we've  grown overfamiliar with elemental powers of fire, air, water, earth etc (Avatar style and the like...)
I'm not downplaying the choice of magic powers in this story. InkFairy did an amazing job. I'm just saying I'd love to see more fantasy stories of characters with unusual powers maybe like conjuring spirits, mind manipulation, freezing time etc. Even the Flora and Fauna could be unusual or perhaps possess some magical features too. 

Setting and Characterization

I think the world-building was nicely done. The setting was well grounded and the descriptions were a chef's kiss. I like stories set in a desert-like region, for some reason.

The characters in this story were all wonderful, but in my opinion they could have been even more developed and well rounded to form a deeper emotional connection with them.

I had an issue with most of the character names starting with the same letter K. We had Keke, Kunle, Kuku... It got confusing at a point, and I had to flip back several times to know who was who.

I liked how you portrayed Keke as a strong leader of her clan, but it didn't really give us the ability to see her character development curve. I wasn't exactly able to pinpoint any flaw or fear she had to overcome in her bid to defeat her enemy.

The supporting characters in your story... Hmmm. I felt some could have been done away with, or better yet unnamed. You mentioned Master Lekan in passing, but the story could have done without that. I'd suggest you make that reference to be linked instead to her dead father. Also, her god speaking to her would have been more dramatic if you established that from the outset.

Again, personal bias, but I think if General Kuku had been replaced with the King, the stakes would have been higher and the statement of the prompt would have been more profound.

I mean, he killed her parents. So, Keke already has a balanced measure of hate and fear for this evil dude. It would have been a greater motivation for her to kill him.
In fact, killing the king directly would have meant she is faced with another dilemma of whether to take over the throne or retreat into hiding from the enraged Enforcers.

Pacing, Structure, Tone

It's quite daunting to write a fight scene, especially one fuelled by magic, but InkFairy did it quite well. The choice of vocabulary was carefully thought out, making the pacing just right. However, I was brought to a grinding halt by the backstory/world-building you shoved in the middle to explain the whole premise of the magic. Sometimes, it doesn't have to be done with a chunk of text, neither do you have to do thorough explaining. A good way you could have handled the backstory would have been a tense revealing dialogue between Keke and General Kuku. That would have helped to also immerse us in the present conflict.

Technical Errors

I noticed some minor errors here and there that I believe careful editing could have resolved. Though not all, I'll point a couple of them out here.

Point of view inconsistency (head hopping):
Perhaps you intended to write this story in the third person omniscient POV. If yes, it wasn't properly handled. There were places you switched from Keke's POV (who I believe you intended to be the story narrator) to the General's. Try as much as possible to stick to a single narrative POV, next time. You could also include internal thoughts of the narrator in response to ongoing action for a more robust narrative experience.

Tense inconsistency:

* “We hail from no one.” Kunle replies, firmly.

** “We hail from no one,” Kunle replied firmly.

* General Kuku’s mane skids backward, and the rigid woman takes in Keke with new fond interest...

** General Kuku’s mane skidded backward, and the rigid woman took in Keke with newfound interest...

Dialogue Punctuation Error:

* “We would like to oblige you, General Kuku to leave this territory alone.” She said, raising her head.

* There should be a comma. And the dialogue tag should begin in this case with a small letter.

* “We will eradicate anyone who interferes with our mission.” Kuku states, then she rolls her shoulders.

** “We will eradicate anyone who interferes with our mission,” Kuku stated, (as she rolled)/(rolling) her shoulders

Typos and Vocabs

* ...their locks of white flowing hair tussling in the light breeze.

** I think putting flowing and tussling in this same sentence is tautology. Besides, I believe the word is meant to be 'tousling'.

* “And you’re quite stupid,” she folded her arms,

** “And you’re quite stupid.” She folded her arms,

* “Keke Adedimeji, daughter of Lateef Adedimeji, the former leader of my people in which your king killed.”

** 'in which' should be 'who' instead.

* she wrung and orb...

** 'and' should be 'an'

Conclusion

Overall, I think this story is a gripping one which has a lot of potential if it's properly edited. A great job you've done here, InkFairy. Don't stop writing. You can only get better.
PS: InkFairy, I'm serious about you sprinkling your fairy dust over me. When should I come for the impartation ceremony?

REVIEW ON PENMASTER 024 ANOINTED SCRIBE BY PEN MASTER 018 INK FAIRY

REVIEW FOR—The Anointed Scribe

Review

Unlike the Judges of PPN Season Three, I don’t really know how to give constructive reviews on peoples write ups—it’s either I like it or I don’t, but since that is what is expected of me in this stage, I will try my absolute best to thoroughly review my fellow Pen Master 024 The Anointed Scribe’s entry.
So, this was a kind of like a Nigerian Mafia sort of thing which isn’t really my favorite genre of reading but I did enjoy reading this. In terms of writing, Anointed Scribe is very good. Your writing is simple and crisp and doesn’t overly describe things. I also found this a very easy and light read to breeze through.

Moving on the characters, Isabelle was a very weird but funny FL, also very confident and fights for the people she loves.Debo, The Ring Lord  (I have to say that sounds pretty cool) was okay as well. I could clearly see his perspective and why he was interested in Isabelle, due to the fact that most people were intimidated by him and what he has and she was willing to stand up to him. But, he is not very nice. Isabelle’s father was very bad, like how can you sacrifice your daughter like that?

The story was mapped out well too. Although it didn’t end in a way that showed that there was doing to be any romantic development between the two characters, both of them are quite into each other, I guess, and had chemistry.

BUTT—

(and of course there had to be a but)

Isabelle came off as a very obnoxious character to me and equally quite flat. I mean, let’s be real, his man physically violates your father in front of you and all you can think about is how handsome he is. We get he is pretty and half Italian (purrrr) and all that but stop to consider what he’s done and the position he put your family in. Also get a grip on yourself, he is only a man.

Secondly, and I don’t know if I’m wrong about this but in the document our moderator sent, it clearly states that we should use the sentence, “Most people find me intimidating” and also make sure the dialogue adds something substantial to your story or plot line. And although your story actually did, the sentence was phrased as “…many people find me intimidating…” not “most”. I’m not entirely sure if this is a problem or not,  since “many” and “most” are different terms referring to different things, I just feel like you should have used the exact term given to we, the Pen Masters.

So, that’s all from me. You are a very good and talented writer. I truly admire your writing, and although I feel this story could have been more, I will not lie when I say I loved reading your entry. Good luck and see you in the next stage!

sprinkle’s fairy dust and disappears

Commentary; let's get into the next set of people

PEN MASTER 022 MAN OF STEEZE

STORY ENTRY:
Title: Sometime in life

The grenades strapped in their belts and pockets should have made Baana stay underneath the tank, unable to breathe, though the rata-ta-ta of their guns could have easily hidden their breaths. Brown boots kicked clouds of dust into their noses. They couldn't cough. Their bodies, rigid as wooden planks, straight, hooked onto the iron rods between the tires.

She recited the only surah she knew—Al-Fatiha—learned during the calm as they migrated in throngs from one refugee camp to another. Her mother knew four surahs and had planned to teach her all before they reached the Chad border. They never made it to the Chad border.

Her head still spun from when the farm truck had hit a landmine, flipping them and millet stalks into a wide, unfinished ditch. They had thought they’d finally escaped. But that—lying in brain matter and blood—was worse than anything she’d seen since the terrorists stormed their camp in Gwoza, chanting Allahu Akbar with guns slung over their shoulders.

She recited it over and over, her voice getting louder, and her words jumbled into incoherent nonsense. The girls hiding with her made silent attempts to shut her up. She released the iron rod, landed with a thud on the ground, and crawled out.

For a few moments, everything seemed ablaze. The sky, the ground—everything was orange. The clouds dark like tufts of black smoke. The terrorists marched away to their Hilux pickup, in their spurious army uniforms and mufflers covering their faces. The village they had seen from a distance, which they had hoped would offer respite after the long trek from the truck explosion, was now burning.

She raced to them, shouting Allahu Akbar until, one by one, they noticed her. Their guns pointed at her. But she ran. She had to stay with her sister.

"Allahu Akbar,” her voice was hoarse now. Would they shoot her? They hadn’t shot her sister and the other girls when they had run out from the burning tank they had hidden in. Maybe they would take her too, push her into the pickup, and she’d be reunited with her sister.

One cocked his gun, ready to fire, when another one leader, held his hand up.

"Nakiya? Bomb?" he yelled, enough for Baana to know that if she was any threat, the next step she took would lead her straight to barzakh. She stopped, hands above her head, thinking of scrambling back to safety under the tank. They had been so close to freedom, she and her sister. So close they were planning on how they'd look for their mother in the hundreds of IDP camps.

He pulled out a pistol and motioned for the others to lower their guns. He inched closer with calculated steps. Her blood ran cold, her body trembling, catching the rough edges of fear.

His next movement was swift; his free hand roamed over her body, fondling and pressing. She cowered beneath his touch, and when he found nothing on her, he grabbed the back of her neck and shove-pulled her to the Hilux, hauling her like a sack onto the other girls.

She was pushed among sobbing girls until she landed on her sister's lap. She couldn't meet her sister's eyes, despite the way she frantically shook her. Why did they have to follow them? They should have just let them go. She wished they'd been killed the first day they were brought here.

Her body shuddered from the searing pain in her heart. Why them? Her sister was just thirteen.

"Karuwai. Prostitutes," a voice said from

Two of them hopped into the boot with them. They kicked and spat at the girls nearest to them.

"By the time Shekau is done with all you ungrateful shegu, you'll see an open door and turn away," the shorter one said.

The car rumbled along the uneven path, bouncing over rocks, dead bodies, and roots, into the thicket. To Sambisa, where their humanity would be stripped away and they would be placed in front of cameras, pawns, as Shekau threatened the government.

She saw trees, then darkness, then trees again. That was the cycle until the Hilux stopped with a sharp jerk, jolting them forward.

Those tents. She couldn't imagine going back into them.

The men jumped out, and the boot swung open. They tossed them on the ground like rag dolls. Baana hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Her sister landed on her, elbows and knees pressing against her sides as they were piled on, one on top of the other.

"I'm scared, Baana," her sister said, sobbing, her small frame pressed to Baana's side.

She patted her head, trying to soothe her. "Don't worry, it'll be fine."

Shekau skipped out of the black Hilux that had led their convoy. The first time she'd seen him, she'd thought he was one of the henchmen because of how asinine he acted.

He started with a booming laugh, the sound reverberating around them. He pointed at them, one after the other, before spreading his palms as if to push the insult across, "Uwarku! You think you can escape us, shegu kawai."

Her mother once told her that no matter how dire a situation seemed, a person shouldn't wish for death. Allah forgive her, but Baana wanted to die, then and there, together with her sister.

“Since you all have decided to be foolish,” he said, “let me make it clear: there is no freedom for those who defy the word of God. You should be punished, hanged, given the worst death possible.” He spoke with such fervor that he began coughing.

"Baana," her sister whispered. But Baana was lost in her thoughts. Everything that came to her head was born from dread. She sensed that whatever was about to happen would be severe.

"You see, most people find me intimidating, the whole of Najeriya even; but I'm just a good, righteous man that can't stand seeing people do the wrong things. But you did the wrong thing. And as the good man that I am, I won't kill you. I'll be marrying you off to my boys."

Was it that she had expected it that made her not howl like the other girls did? She wasn't scared for herself. She would never let her sister marry any of these men. Inalillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un. We belong to Allah, and to him we return.

"The Nikah will be held first thing tomorrow. The hijabs you'll wear are there in the tent."

***

They were a field of grey in their hijabs, lined up to be given away like plates of food. Five girls stood in front of her, and she kept her sister hidden behind her. Her sister had refused to say anything since yesterday, only weeping even when Baana promised she'd never let anything happen to her.

"Hey, please, when my turn comes, leave my hijab... Wallahi, I'll find you," Baana whispered, but her sister slowly shook her head, her face all shades of fear.

The girl in front of her left and she squeezed her sister's hands tight. A young man, maybe a few years older than Baana, came forward when she was displayed for them to choose. Maybe under different circumstances, she'd have been okay with getting married to him. But all she could think about was how desperately she wished for any other fate

She went to him, and they moved to the Imam conducting the marriages. While he signed on a paper she could understand nothing about, she kept glancing back at her sister.

"I don't know what to write," she said when he handed her a pen.

"Draw a li–" A piercing scream came from behind her, and she was rammed to the ground by her sister. She turned to the man who'd come out for her sister. All she could think about was how cruel he'd have to be to choose a girl young enough to be his granddaughter.

She held her sister to her chest, not releasing her even as the men closed in on them. Her sister's husband-to-be got so angry that he pulled them apart with only one hand and slapped her sister across the face.

Without thinking, Baana lunged at his neck, delivering weak blows. Her mind was so focused on her assault on the man that she didn't register the pain as they hit her with the butt of their guns until she woke up hours later in a dark, windowless room with her sister by her side.

"You are awake?" Her sister hugged her tightly. "I thought you have died."

"No." Baana winced as she tried to sit up. Her hand went to the back of her head, feeling a clump of dried blood in her matted hair.

"What did they say?" she asked.

With the way her sister's face fell, it could only mean one thing. They were going to be executed. That shouldn't be how everything ended.

"We can't stay here," she said, springing up, feeling stronger all of a sudden. She pushed everything out of her way. The concrete floor and walls told her they weren't in a tent.

"Are we still in Sambisa?"

Her sister nodded, wiping her face with her torn hijab. Baana pulled crates, and heavy boxes, looking for openings. She went to the shut door and tried to pry it open.

It creaked slightly, and she thought it was her opening it, but then she saw the man who'd chosen her standing by the door. She froze. Her heart stopped and she instinctively moved in front of her sister, preparing for another beating or worse.

"Please, dan Allah, don't touch her. She didn't do anything." She clasped her hands before her, lips trembling as she tried to stop herself from crying.

His face bore no emotion, just grim. He moved aside, opening the door wider. "There's no one outside. Run quickly and take the left turn. It’ll take you to Bama and you might meet soldiers."

Baana stared at him for a lengthy moment, hesitating, but she knew none of them had shown an iota of kindness since they were brought here. It was trusting him or nothing. She pulled her sister to her feet and warily walked past him.

She turned back to him and said, "Thank you. May Allah reward you."

They hobbled, side by side, into the forest, things she was too afraid to notice scratching her feet. They got to a path that was divided into two. They followed the left side, panting. Baana kept glancing back, expecting to see them following them.

They had covered only a few miles when she caught an outline of a car, barely visible in the growing darkness. And when she squinted, she saw two people waving them over. A rush of vertigo washed over her.

"Back, back," she whispered, pulling her sister towards the other direction. They left the path and ran through the bushes. They ran until Baana was sure they had gone far enough and sat to rest in a clearing.

That was the mistake Baana would come to regret later when she lay with a bullet hole in her stomach, coughing up thick blood while she watched her sister run in a zigzag motion, afraid of being hit by the bullets that came from everywhere.

The hopelessness she would feel when she thought her sister might make it, only to see her disappear into a fountain of earth after stepping on a land mine.

PEN MASTER 029 MEDUSA

Title: Skin Ripper.

WENDY:

I could smell the foul stench coming from the black garbage–another one.

As I hesitated, dread coiled my thoughts like a serpent, tightening with each breath I took. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to open the bag, the stench hit me like a physical blow. The sight of what was inside made my stomach churn even though it was expected.

“Detective, four more bags like this have been found,” Sinmi said behind me, his voice slightly muffled by the face mask he was wearing. As a high-ranking officer, Sinmi has seen it all, yet the heaviness in his tone mirrored my own dread

I sighed, retreating from the bag.

It had been three months since the city’s peace was shattered by a person known as the Skin Ripper. Every day, a new victim would be discovered, their bodies left in grotesque displays.

The Skin Ripper took a pleasure in his grisly craft that defied human decency. Each body was stripped of its skin in a horrifyingly meticulous way. From the scalp of their head down to the palm of their feet, every bit of flesh was removed, leaving behind a repugnant, horrid, blood-soaked tableau.

Sinmi’s men moved in, their gloves snapping as they carried the body away, preserving the crime scene.

“What’s your move detective?” Sinmi asked, his voice a mix of concern and professionalism. I wipe the bead of sweat from my forehead, the oppressive stench making it hard to concentrate.

“First, I need to know if there’s any pattern” I said, my voice trembling despites my efforts to sound authoritative.

Sinmi was obscured behind his mask, but his eyes glimmered with empathy. “We’re checking, but so far, none.” He paused; a strain in his voice. “The Skin ripper is trying to spread the horror to everyone. He’s taunting us.”

I nodded, “There must be a connection. We can’t just keep anticipating; we need to react.”

“Start with the details of each victim,” I continued. “Check for any commonalities–age, gender, occupation, anything.”

He scribbled things on a notepad, before looking at me with an un-readable expression in his eyes. “Wendy, promise me you won’t put this all on yourself.”

His hand brushed my cheeks gently, his touch feeling like a surge of electricity. “I can’t make promises.” I replied.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if he had anticipated the answer. With a final, fleeting glance, he slipped into his car and drove away, leaving me standing there, swallowed by my own loneliness. One moment he’s caring for me and the next he’s cold.

Why do I love this man again?

…

The weeks passed in a blur of deep ends and frustration. I spent hours staring at the files Sinmi delivered to me, hoping something–anything–would jump out to me. But, no matter how much I tried, there were no strong leads. The Skin Ripper was playing a twisted game I couldn’t quite crack.

A brown piece of fabric haunted me. I’d found it wrapped around the arm of one of the victims. I tried to link it, but it was another loose end.

Weeks turned into a month. The cases piled up, new victims, new questions–no answers. As the investigation stalled, something else began.

Sinmi.

He didn’t call. He didn’t text. Not even a passing glance when we were in the same room. After that night, when he brushed my cheeks and the warmth of his hands lingered longer than I’d care to admit, he pulled away completely. He no longer asked how I was, sent good morning texts or give little reassurance like he used to.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Selfish of me to think about a man while people are dying, right?

I walked into the bathroom, splashing water on my face. As I lifted my head up, I caught a reflection of someone I didn’t recognize.

My hair, thick and coiled, had become a tangled mess, dark circles formed around my eyes, and my lips looked dry, chapped from constant stress.

I looked… broken. And it wasn’t just the physical toll. I could feel the weight of the investigation pressing down on me, every unsolved murder, every victim who couldn’t be saved. This was my chance to redeem myself–it was like all the other cases I couldn’t solve would be forgiven. I could prove myself.

I couldn’t mess up again.

With a deep breath, I straightened my hair. Though it didn’t do much, the case had already taken its toll, but I wouldn’t let it break me. I needed to regain some control, starting with the chaos around me.

I headed back into my office, the dim light casting long shadows over the desk. Documents scattered haphazardly all over the room, and files hung on to whatever order they had.

I began stacking documents, sorting them into piles–victim profiles, crime reports, suspect interviews. As I moved a stack of files off the desk, my elbow knocked into a pile of papers I hadn’t noticed at the edge.

It was the cold case of the girl who had gone missing near the factory, a case I hadn’t thought about in years. I stared at the photo for a moment, my heart racing as I recognized the cloth in the picture.

I grabbed the file, heart pounding as I spread the documents on the floor, flipping through the notes I wrote years ago. The cloth, the one found at the scene of the girl’s disappearance, was the same as the one wrapped around one of the victims.

How could I have missed this?

The scattered papers no longer mattered. My mind was spinning, the connection between the cases were suddenly clear. The missing girl. The factory. Skin Ripper.

I stood, clutching the paper tightly. This was the break I needed, and this time, I wouldn’t miss it.

…

“You aren’t going.”

My heart raced. “What do you mean? I need to go there.”

“Absolutely not.” Chief Oladimeji’s voice was firm. “We’ve already recruited specially trained detectives from other countries”

“I don’t care, sir. It’s my case.”

“No, you listen to me.” His voice echoed with frustration. “Anjola is dead, Wendy. We’ve lost her.”

The words struck me like a huge blow. My legs wobbled a little, and I she gripped the edge of the desk to steady myself.

“What… how? When?” My voice fell into whispers, barely able to comprehend.

Chief Oladimeji’s face softened with sorrow. “She was working on some of the leads you were pursuing. Got killed in the process…” His voice faltered a bit. “The scene was horrific, Skin Ripper struck again.”

My gaze hardened, though inside, my grief was like a fire raging out of control. I forced myself to nod. “Ok, I won’t go.” I said quietly, a lie.

Chief Oladimeji’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank God, I already buried one of you, I don’t want to bury another,” he said, as came closer to me, putting his hands on my shoulder. “Stay safe, ehn Wendy?”

I forced a smile, guilt eating my insides.

But Anjola’s death only fueled my need to bring down the Skin Ripper. I wanted to see him beg for mercy as I tortured him in ways he wouldn’t dare imagine.

My mind already spun with plans already. Anjola won’t die in vain.

“Don’t go, Wendy.” Sinmi’s voice startled me as I entered the hallway. I froze, a flicker of rage sparking to life. We hadn’t talked in weeks, and this was the first thing he chose to say?

“Really? This is what you say?” My voice was low, controlled. “You didn’t think to say anything before? Not a word about how I’ve been handling this or what’s been happening—nothing.”

Sinmi’s face tightened, but he said nothing, his silence only making me angrier. Not standing his presence anymore, I stormed past him, but he grabbed my arm.

“You’re taking this case way too personally,” his voice was sharp, frustration evident.

I yanked my arm free, glaring at him. “Of course I’m taking it personally, people are dying and you want me to sit back and relax?”

“You know that’s not what I want” he replied, voice strained. “But this—this is too dangerous”

My anger flared hotter. “Why do you care? You’ve barely spoken to me in weeks. Now, suddenly you’re worried about how I handle things?”

“It’s not just about the case, Wendy. It’s you. I care about you. More than you realize.”

I crossed my arms. “Why does it matter now?”

Sinmi hesitated for a moment before taking a step closer, his voice quieter, almost vulnerable. “Because losing would mean losing my mind—losing myself. Fuck, I already lost my mind by not talking to you for so long, what would happen to me if I lost you forever?”

My breath caught in my throat. For a moment, the weight of his words made me pause, the raw emotions tugged at me. But the fire inside me was too strong. My grief, my anger—they couldn’t be pushed aside so easily.

“I can’t do this right now, Sinmi,” I whispered, shaking my head. My voice wavered. “I have to finish this.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I turned away, but I didn’t let him see them fall. I couldn’t. Not now.

…

What was I thinking coming here?

There I was, standing in front of the old factory, my hands clenched around my gun. The weight of my gun felt heavier than usual. Six bullets, that’s all I had.

I had no strategy—no plan. I was just a Yoruba lady with nothing but adrenaline pushing me forward.

The eerie silence of the factory made my skin crawl. Suddenly, a voice echoed from the shadows.

“So, you’re the annoying detective on my case?” the voice sneered, cold and mocking. “I guess I killed the other one by mistake. Oh well.”

I froze in shock. Standing before me was not the menacing figure I had imagined, but a girl—barely 14 years old. The girl grinned at me, an unsettling gleam in her eyes.

“No...” I whispered in disbelief. “It’s you. The girl from the cold case...”

The Skin Ripper smirked. “Took you long enough to figure it out.” She tilted her head, studying me.

Wendy's voice trembled as I spoke. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

The girl’s grin widened. “So, you can fear me. Why must I be feared? Because it’s what I feed on. Fear sustains me, detective. I was once human, yes. But now... I’m something more. I’m a demon. And you—” her voice dropped to a menacing whisper— “you’re afraid. I can taste it.”

My heart raced as the girl took a step closer. Fear clawed at my chest, suffocating me. I aimed my gun with shaking hands and fired.

The first bullet missed. She was extremely fast, it looked like a blur.

I fired again. And again. My shots echoed in the factory, but the girl darted through the shadows, unharmed. My fear grew with each wasted bullet. When the sixth bullet was fired, I was out of breath, my hands trembling uncontrollably. I pressed my back against a cold metal pillar, waiting for the girl’s next move.

Suddenly, the girl appeared from the darkness, her eyes burning with an unnatural hunger. “It’s over,” she hissed, raising her hand, claws ready to tear into me.

But before she could strike, a single gunshot rang out. I flinched, eyes wide, expecting pain. Instead, the girl’s body jerked backward as blood sprayed from her skull.

I gasped as Sinmi stepped into the light, lowering his gun, smoke still curling from the barrel. His eyes locked on mine, filled with relief and worry.

Officers swarmed in like doves, some securing the area while others zipped the girl’s body into a bag.

“You really thought I’d let you die before telling you I love you?”

COMMENTARY; LET'S SEE WHAT THEY HAVE TO SAY ABOUT EACH OTHER

REVIEW ON PENMASTER 022 MAN OF STEEZE BY PEN MASTER 029 MEDUSA

Title: Review for man of steeze.

Okay, first, I’d like to start by saying this is such a powerful story omor. It made me think: “Fuck, why didn’t I think of this?”

Now, I have a problem with the characters, for some reason they feel a little… One dimensional to me. For instance, Baana–I feel like her emotions are clear but her personality feels a little inconsistent, not gonna lie. Same with Shekau, his intimidating nature was TOLD but I didn’t SEE it. I mean he’s evil – a monster with very bad logic sef. But I never got to see how intimidating he was. Remember, show, not tell.

I think the imagery is beautiful, like how you described the burning village and orange sky was so vivid, I even felt like I was there, lol. But the transition from one location to another lacked depth, maybe it was the little word count sha.

The plot is absolutely beautiful. But the build up didn’t do ‘it’ for me. Especially after they hit her with the butt of the gun then the escape happened almost immediately. It all happened too… abruptly.

But overall, this was such a beautiful story, I didn’t expect Baana’s demise either. So, muah, a million kisses, this is probably your best entry yet!

REVIEW ON PENMASTER 029MEDUSA BY PEN MASTER 022 MAN OF STEEZE

Title: Review for 029 - Pen Master Medusa

What I liked about your story is how you managed to fit such a complex plot into the word count while still making it interesting . That’s not easy at all. However, when writing a story like that, some parts may feel a bit underdeveloped or lean more towards telling rather than showing. For example, the twist that the girl was the Skin Ripper could have been hinted at earlier in the story to make it feel less predictable. At the beginning I was already suspecting Sinmi but when you introduced that cold case, I knew it would have to be her. And I wish you used her as a red herring and revealed someone else as the skin ripper.

Also, it seems you forgot to add the dialogue prompt, ‘Most people find me intimidating.’ There were a couple of minor punctuation errors in the dialogues.

That aside, the storytelling, suspense, and character depth were all well done, and the love between Wendy and Sinmi was beautiful. And the part where Sinmi steps out of the shadows with smoke curling from his gun; love, love it.

COMMENTARY;That brings us to the end of our Pen masters review and stay tuned for the final verdicts by our judges.See you soon cribbers ✨