Cigar Review: God of Fire Serie B Maduro 2020 – Diademas

“A whole box full of lightning.”

Background & Stats

There are cigars you anticipate, and there are cigars you remember. The God of Fire Serie B Maduro 2020 somehow manages to be both. Rolled by Tabacalera A. Fuente and distributed by Prometheus, this limited edition blend features a dark, toothy Connecticut Broadleaf Maduro wrapper over Dominican binder and fillers—a rare combination that trades brute force for elegance, and sweetness for something deeper.

The Diademas vitola is striking: 5¾ x 56 with tapered ends and a regal posture that makes you instinctively reach for your best lighter. In my case, that meant christening a brand-new S.T. Dupont with this very cigar—a fitting match of fire and divinity.

Pre-Light Impressions

This cigar carries itself with quiet confidence. The wrapper is dark and rustic, cloaked in the telltale tooth of Broadleaf but rolled with a precision only Fuente seems to muster. It feels firm in the hand—dense, almost like a scepter of dark tobacco.

The aroma off the wrapper is faint and barnyard-clean, while the foot gives a whisper of dry wood and subtle fruit. Nothing overpowering. Just mature, well-aged tobacco speaking softly. I was too eager to light it to bother with a cold draw—and I don’t regret it.

First Third – The Dance Begins

From the moment flame met leaf, I knew this would be a slow smoke—and I welcomed it. The draw was perfect, and the smoke production ample but never overly thick. This cigar was built to burn slowly, to reward patience, and to savor.

Early flavors were a woven tapestry of wood, spice, and bittersweet chocolate. The dominant note was a deep, resonant woodiness—not sharp cedar or charred oak, but something rounded and almost toasted. The chocolate came through more in the finish, and not in a sweet way—more like 90% dark cocoa or brownie batter. Complex, rich, and layered.

The retrohale was perfectly balanced—a warm wave of spice that straddled the line between baking spice and black pepper. Strong enough to notice, soft enough to indulge repeatedly.

Most striking of all was the aftertaste, which lingered long after each puff—mild, warm, and contemplative. This was a cigar that spoke while you smoked it and sang when you didn’t.

Second Third – Brownie Batter and Broadleaf Grace

The second third marked a shift in tone. The profile deepened. The individual notes began to melt into each other, not in a muddled way, but in a kind of seamless complexity. The cigar started to feel less like a collection of flavors and more like a single unified experience.

The cocoa persisted—still not sweet, but undeniably rich. The best comparison I could make was to brownie batter: not because of sweetness, but because of depth. It was dense, flavorful, and immersive, with a kind of sensory overload that made it hard to pick apart individual flavors—and made you not want to.

The wood note remained, subtly shifting toward something drier, and there was the faintest hint of leather beginning to creep in around the edges. The retrohale stayed smooth, never flaring up, and the burn remained perfect—slow, steady, and candle-like.

At this point, I couldn’t help but compare it to one of my favorite broadleaf cigars, the Feral Flying Pig. But the God of Fire Serie B surprised me. It may not have had the Feral’s maple sweetness or barnyard punch, but it offered more refinement, complexity, and emotional resonance. It’s Broadleaf reimagined—not wild, but wise.

Final Third – Espresso, Echoes, and Fireworks

Even as the cigar entered its final third, it refused to fall apart. The performance remained precise and elegant. The smoke production never dipped. The draw never tightened. The burn stayed immaculate.

Only at the very end did I notice a change: a subtle espresso bitterness began to emerge, adding a balancing note to the lingering cocoa. It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t acidic. It was like the finish of a well-pulled shot—creamy, dark, and just a little sharp. A punctuation mark, not a warning.

A touch of sweetness began to build on the tongue as well, marking the only point in the entire cigar that gave a nod to classic Broadleaf syrup. It was a quiet reward for having stayed with the blend to its final act.

And the retrohale? Still smooth. Almost impossibly so.

This cigar smoked like a master ballroom dancer or an Olympic gymnast—elegant, precise, and completely composed from beginning to end. Even the ash told the story: white, dense, solid as porcelain. I knocked it off voluntarily, but it would’ve stayed as long as I asked it to. Just like the cigar itself.

Final Thoughts – A Box Full of Lightning

I first discovered this cigar by chance—bought as a single in a shop in Oklahoma City. I loved it so much, I ordered a box online with fingers crossed, hoping the magic would repeat. Hoping for lightning to strike twice.

It did.

And then it struck again.

And again.

And again.

I got a whole box full of lightning.

This is one of the finest cigars I’ve ever smoked. It’s rich without being heavy. It’s complex without being confusing. It’s elegant without ever becoming aloof. It reminds me what Broadleaf can be in the hands of someone who isn’t trying to dominate the palate—but rather, guide it.

This was not just a cigar. This was a performance. One I’ll return to again and again.

The Retrohale Score: A (95)

A masterclass in Broadleaf refinement. Seamless construction, layered complexity, and a burn that behaves like it was trained in ballet. One of the most rewarding cigars I’ve reviewed—and one of the few I bought by the box without hesitation.