The evening sun dipped low over the bustling streets of Lagos, casting a warm orange glow across the cracked pavement outside Mama Gee supermarket. It was 07:13 PM, and the air hummed with the casual rhythm of life. Prince sat slouched on a weathered bench, his orange polo shirt a bright splash against the muted tones of the market. His glasses glinted as he adjusted them, watching the world go by with a lazy curiosity. Around him, vendors called out to customers, their voices blending with the rustle of polythene bags and the distant blare of a danfo bus. A woman in a vibrant ankara headwrap haggled over a pile of yams, while a young boy darted past with a loaf of bread tucked under his arm. Everything felt normal, almost too ordinary for a Friday night.
Then, a scream pierced the air.
Prince jolted upright, his heart skipping a beat. A woman staggered into view, her market basket crashing to the ground as tomatoes rolled across the pavement. Her eyes were wide with terror, her voice raw and trembling as she shrieked, "Bandits are coming!" The words hung like a thunderclap, silencing the chatter for a fleeting second before chaos erupted.
People scattered like startled birds. A man dropped his sack of rice, the contents spilling in a white cascade as he bolted. A mother clutched her child, her cries mingling with the frantic shouts of others. The once-peaceful market square transformed into a whirlwind of panic—feet pounding, bags tearing, and voices rising in a desperate chorus. Dust kicked up from the ground, blurring the scene into a haze of fear.
Prince's mind raced as the reality sank in. He leapt to his feet, his glasses slipping down his nose as he stumbled forward. "What's happening?!" he thought, his breath catching in his throat. His legs moved instinctively, carrying him toward the safety of the supermarket's glowing entrance. The crowd surged around him, elbows jabbing, bodies colliding in a frantic dance of survival.
But fate had other plans.
A sharp crack split the air, and time seemed to slow. Prince's body lurched forward, a searing pain exploding in his head. He collapsed, his vision blurring as the world tilted. A dark hole marred his temple, blood pooling beneath him like a crimson halo. Behind him stood a shadowy figure, their face obscured by a hood, the glint of a gun still smoking in their hand. The bandit loomed silently, a predator watching its prey fall, as the screams faded into an eerie stillness.
The world dissolved into darkness, and with it, Prince's fleeting consciousness. The last thing he felt was the cold pavement against his cheek, the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, and the weight of an unseen gaze. Then, silence.
When his senses flickered back, he found himself in a strange, subterranean chamber. The air was thick with the hum of machinery, a stark contrast to the chaos above. Dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting eerie shadows across rows of lab equipment—beakers bubbling with unknown concoctions, wires snaking across metal tables, and monitors flickering with cryptic data. Prince's body lay still on a steel slab, his orange polo stained with blood, the bullet hole in his head a grim testament to his fate. Yet, somehow, he was aware—trapped in a liminal state between life and death.
The heavy creak of a door broke the silence. A man stepped into the room, his presence commanding despite the soft smile beneath a neatly trimmed mustache. His suit was impeccably tailored, a stark contrast to the gritty surroundings. He approached the slab, his eyes scanning Prince's form with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction. Behind him, the hooded bandit knelt on one knee, head bowed in deference.
"Hope his body is intact," the man said, his voice smooth yet edged with authority.
"Yes, my lord," the bandit replied, his tone low and reverent. "The shot was precise."
The man nodded, stepping closer to Prince. He adjusted his cufflinks, then turned to address the room, where a handful of shadowy figures lingered in the corners. "My name is Lord Bush," he declared, his voice resonating with an unsettling calm. "As you all know, I hired you to help me cleanse this world. But for now, I don't need your help." A faint smirk played on his lips as he raised a hand, revealing a glowing sigil etched into his palm.
Before anyone could react, a rift tore open in the air—a swirling portal of crimson and black, reeking of sulfur and despair. From its depths, demons surged forth, their forms a nightmare of twisted horns, clawed limbs, and glowing eyes. The room erupted into chaos once more, but this time, there was no escape. The bandits and lab assistants screamed as the demons descended, tearing into flesh with savage glee. Blood splattered across the equipment, the monitors sparking as they shorted out. Lord Bush stepped back, watching the carnage unfold with a detached gaze, the portal humming behind him.
Prince's awareness lingered, a silent witness to the slaughter, as the last of the human cries faded into the guttural roars of the infernal horde.
As the demons rampaged through the lab, tearing apart the remaining bandits with unholy fervor, one figure emerged from the portal that stood apart from the mindless horde. It slithered out like a shadow given form, its red skin gleaming under the flickering lights, horns curling menacingly from its head. The air grew heavier, charged with an ancient malice that made even the other demons pause in their slaughter. Lord Bush's eyes widened in recognition—this was no ordinary fiend. It was Trix, the last son of Lucifer himself, his grin a slash of jagged teeth that promised oblivion.
"Perfect," Lord Bush murmured, his mustache twitching with excitement. He raised his hands, the sigil on his palm pulsing with dark energy. In a swift motion, he channeled the power toward Prince's lifeless body on the slab. "If I merge you with this human vessel, you'll be mine to command. A demon bound by mortal frailty."
The ritual began in an instant. Trix's ethereal form dissolved into swirling smoke, drawn inexorably toward Prince. The air crackled with infernal lightning as the two essences collided. Prince's body convulsed violently, his chest arching off the table as if struck by lightning. A guttural scream tore from his throat—not his own, but a raw, agonized wail that echoed through the chamber. Pain exploded through every nerve, a fire that burned from the inside out. His skin rippled unnaturally, veins bulging black against his flesh, as Trix's demonic essence burrowed deep. Prince's mind flickered back to awareness, trapped in a storm of torment. This isn't death, he thought amid the haze, this is worse. He clawed at the air, his glasses shattering on the floor, his body on the brink of shattering too. For a moment, it felt like his soul would unravel entirely, lost to the void.
Lord Bush watched with a triumphant smirk, believing victory was at hand. But as the merger completed, Prince's eyes snapped open—now glowing with an unholy red light. The body rose, no longer just Prince, but a fused entity radiating power. Trix's influence surged to the forefront, his demonic instincts overriding any semblance of control.
"What... what have you done?" Lord Bush stammered, stepping back as the figure approached.
The fused being lunged with blinding speed. Lord Bush's screams filled the room as claws raked across his chest, tearing through his suit like paper. He fought back futilely, his sigil flaring one last time, but it was no match. The demon—now fully in command—ripped into him with savage hunger, devouring flesh and bone in a grotesque feast. Blood sprayed across the lab equipment, the monitors flickering out as Lord Bush's final, gurgling cries echoed into silence.
The portal hummed on, the remaining demons bowing in deference to their new master. Prince's body stood amid the carnage, a vessel reborn in fire and pain.
The lab lay in ruins, its walls stained with the remnants of Lord Bush's ambition and the blood of his fallen minions. Trix, now fused with Prince's broken body, rose from the carnage, his glowing red eyes fixed on the shattered door. A hunger for chaos burned within him, the last son of Lucifer eager to claim this world as his own. With a snarl, he took his first step toward the surface, his clawed feet leaving scorched marks on the concrete floor. The city of Lagos awaited—its lights, its people, all ripe for his dominion.
But the moment his foot crossed the threshold, a sharp, searing pain lanced through his skull. He staggered, clutching his head as a vision forced its way into his mind. Within the bloody, cavernous expanse inside their shared consciousness, Prince emerged—his form battered, his orange polo torn and soaked in crimson. Chains of dark energy bound him to the walls of this inner prison, his wrists raw and bleeding. Yet, in a desperate act of defiance, he sank his teeth into one of Trix's horns, gnawing with a ferocity born of survival. The pain doubled, a clash of wills echoing through their fused soul.
Trix turned his gaze inward, his demonic eyes narrowing at the sight of Prince. The human froze, terror flooding his face as he met that unholy stare. His jaw slackened, the horn slipping from his mouth as he shrank back against the chains, trembling. Trix's lips curled into a sneer—weakness was beneath him. Shaking off the internal struggle, he pressed forward, determined to reclaim control and unleash havoc.
Each step outside the lab brought him closer to the city streets, where the night air of Lagos buzzed with the hum of generators and the distant cries of those who had fled the earlier chaos. Trix's clawed hands flexed, ready to tear through the fabric of this world. But before he could fully assert his dominance, Prince's voice erupted within their shared mind, raw and pleading. "What do you want from me? Please, free me!"
Trix's response was a cold silence, his will unyielding. He didn't care for the human's cries. With a guttural roar, he surged into the city, his presence a storm of destruction. Buildings trembled as he tore through markets, his claws rending stalls of yams and fabrics. Screams filled the air as Lagos descended into pandemonium, the demon reveling in the chaos, indifferent to the chained soul within him fighting for release.