Damon's Ascension-Chapter 62: The Attack On Kumasi Fort - End

The atmosphere within the Ashanti war camp was quite strange in the aftermath of the push that broke the Kumasi Fort. Clearly, no one expected that this push would be the one to do the deed and much less, that the victory would be achieved by not them, the Ashanti warriors who had a stake in this fight, but rather their ’allies’ from afar.

Allies here was in question because you had to understand that in the history of this land before the white man touched the coasts, the ones who were doing the fighting were precisely their clans, among others.

It was only in terms of allying against a foreign enemy that had made them temporarily adopt a more friendlier position. Without the pressure of the colonizing British, the clans would likely split apart and fight for control of the Gold Coast.

So having an enemy like Damon and his warriors against you made the Ashanti feel gloomy deep down. Unlike Damon, who knew the full power of the British and how history would go down, to these Ashanti, this was their present. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

Just as you cannot predict exactly what would happen next year, so too couldn’t they. To them, the British were a far away empire that were intruding their lands and no matter how many of them came, they would fight back.

Damon did not need the scathing remarks from the Universe Will to tell him that even if he captured Sir Hodgson and routed the reinforcements, it would not change the outcome. It would only allow the Ashanti to be rebellious a little bit longer, but where there was a Sir Hodgson, there would be a Sir Garnet.

Still, that was not his problem. Compared to when he entered Fort James and he was full of indignation towards his ancestors and tried to rewrite history in a clever way, he now understood the purpose of these history-based instances and treated them as a lens to the past that cannot be altered.

After all, Ghana, or even Africa as a whole, were far from the only ones who wished to rewrite their history. Those from the Middle East, upon entering instances were they would repel the crusade with Saladin, would they not weep thinking about their glorious history compared to the modern day?

The Hindus of today, would they not beat their chests with anger upon entering an instance to follow Vishnu to defeat Ravana in order to rescue Sita?

Right now, Damon was seated opposite Yaa Asantewaa whose intense glare was trained on him.

"How did you accomplish such feats of godly ability? Are you not a human like the rest of us? Or are you a land demon in human skin?" Yaa Asantewaa asked coldly, her warriors in the room tensing up as they gripped their weapons.

Damon, however, remained seated, one leg lazily crossed over the other, his expression an infuriating mix of amusement and indifference. His Ga warriors, though outnumbered, stood firm behind him, their hands hovering near their weapons, ready for the worst.

"Is this how the noble Queen Mother of the Ashanti treats her saviors? Its seems my father was wrong for sending me to assist such an ungrateful clan." Damon shot back, not taking a step back at all.

Yaa Asantewaa’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her piercing gaze locking onto Damon like a lioness sizing up an intruder in her territory. The flickering torchlight cast ominous shadows across the war tent, amplifying the suffocating tension in the air.

Yaa Asantewaa’s voice was sharp as a blade. "You call yourself our savior? Have you forgotten whose war this is? Whose people suffer and bleed for this land? We did not ask for you to win this battle in our stead."

Damon smirked, his eyes flashing with challenge. "No, you did not ask. And yet, had I not intervened, how much longer would you have thrown yourself at the fort’s walls, hoping to wear the British down with sheer numbers? Another week? A month? How many more warriors would you have sacrificed before realizing that sheer willpower alone does not break steel and gunpowder?"

A ripple of unease spread through the Ashanti warriors at his words. They knew the truth in them but dared not acknowledge it so openly and definitely not in front of the Queen Mother who would rather die than back down.

Yaa Asantewaa’s expression darkened, but she refused to be shaken. "You speak with such arrogance, yet you forget one crucial detail. You currently stand on my land, among my warriors. If you wish to mock our struggle, then be prepared to answer for your words."

Damon chuckled, shaking his head. "Mock you? No, Queen Mother, I admire your spirit. But admiration does not blind me to reality. My warriors and I fought alongside you, yet who do you direct your anger at? The one who helped you win the battle? Or the invaders who forced you to fight it in the first place?"

One of the Krontihene’s warriors growled, stepping forward. "Enough! You speak as if you are beyond reproach, yet we know nothing of your true intentions. Who sent you here? Why do you fight?"

Damon’s eyes turned cold, the amusement draining from his face rapidly. "My father, the Ga Mantse, sent me, as you well know. But as for why I fight? I fight because unlike you, I have already seen how this story ends."

Yaa Asantewaa’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Damon’s expression became serious. "I mean that this battle, this war... it does not end with your victory. No matter how many forts you take, no matter how many British you kill, they will return. Again and again. And one day, they will not just fight with guns and swords; they will bring ships that blot out the horizon, armies that stretch farther than your eyes can see."

The tent was deathly silent. The warriors around him exchanged glances, some scoffing, others shifting uncomfortably.

Yaa Asantewaa’s fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair. "And yet, you still fight?"

Damon’s smile returned, gentle and seemingly amiable. "Of course. Because even if history is written in blood and iron, it does not mean that those who fight are forgotten. And because in the end, the difference between a legend and a footnote is how long one chooses to stand before they fall."

Yaa Asantewaa studied him, her gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk of her own began to form. "You speak like a man who has already seen his death."

Damon chuckled. "My death? No, I am still writing the story of my life and that story will astound not just the entire planet, but the entire universe!"

...................

The thick West African jungle trembled under the rhythmic march of British boots, the steady drum of disciplined steps echoing through the dense foliage.

Over a thousand soldiers moved in formation, their red coats dulled by the humidity, their weapons gripped tightly as they trudged along the uneven terrain.

The Union Jack fluttered at the front of the column, a mark of British imperial might.

At the helm of this force rode Colonel Edward Hastings, a seasoned officer with graying temples and a deep furrow in his brow. His blue eyes, which were shadowed with worry, scanned the jungle ahead.

Somewhere beyond the trees, Sir Frederick Hodgson and his besieged men had been awaiting reinforcements for far too long. The last messages they had received from Kumasi Fort had been grim—rations running low, morale dwindling, and the Ashanti resistance growing bolder by the day.

But it was not only the Ashanti warriors that troubled Colonel Hastings.

Reports from traitors among the Ashanti who wanted to lick their feet had come in about a new force, some ally clan or the other fighting alongside the Ashanti whose warriors had displayed unnatural skill and power on the battlefield.

At first, Colonel Hastings had dismissed such tales as exaggerations, the kind warriors conjured to make their enemies seem more fearsome. However, after the latest dispatch, which spoke of the entire British fort being shattered in one swift assault with his allies captured, he could no longer afford the luxury of doubt.

He turned to his adjutant, Captain Morris, a younger officer whose face bore the confident arrogance of a man who had yet to taste true defeat. "How much farther to Kumasi?"

"Another two days, sir, if the jungle allows us," Morris answered dutifully, not daring to disrespect the older man.

Still, that did not stop him from throwing in his own two shillings. "Though, if the enemy truly has taken the fort, we should expect an ambush well before we arrive."

Hastings clenched his teeth, marking his sharp jawline. "We must assume the worst. If Hodgson has fallen, then we will be marching into a slaughter. And if he yet lives, his forces may be too battered to hold out much longer."

Morris hesitated before asking the question that had been troubling many among the ranks. "And this... phantom force that fights with the Ashanti? Do you think there’s any truth to the rumors?"

Hastings exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the reins of his horse. "We are British soldiers, Captain. We do not entertain superstition."

His eyes gleamed with solemnity. "But I will say this... if there is a new player on the battlefield, one capable of turning the tide against us, then we must be prepared for a war unlike any we have fought before."

The jungle ahead remained eerily silent, save for the rustling leaves and the occasional cry of unseen creatures that caused the tension to heighten.

The British column pressed forward, rifles at the ready, as the weight of a coming battle loomed over them dangerously.

Meanwhile, in the depths of the forest, unseen eyes watched their every move, waiting for the moment to strike and destroy this batch of reinforcements for good!