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Chapter 30 – Shadows at the Lagoon
The night was thick with heat, the lagoon breathing a humid mist into the UNILAG compound. The air smelled of algae, rust, and the faint iron tang of blood. Lanterns flickered along the cracked walkway, their glow barely holding back the dark. The survivors huddled close, weapons clutched tight — sticks, rusted pipes, machetes, anything that could kill or at least slow down what hunted them.
But Dele walked ahead of them all. His steps were deliberate, his shoulders straight, his machete gleaming under the fractured moonlight.
Behind him, Amara whispered sharply. "We should not be here at night."
Musa, sweat running down his brow, nodded quickly. "Na true. Lagoon side no dey safe after dark. You know wetin dey wait here?"
Dele didn't look back. His voice was calm, almost too calm. "Danger waits everywhere. But power waits here. You think survival is just hiding? No. You take it, or you die."
Silence spread among the survivors. Even the night seemed to pause, listening.
Then came the sound.
A low, guttural growl that rippled across the lagoon, vibrating the water's surface. It was not the mindless groan of a common zombie. This was deeper, heavier, like a drumbeat from something larger, something more deliberate.
The survivors stiffened. Weapons rose, breaths caught.
From the shadows ahead, it emerged.
The creature was not like the others. Its frame was swollen, muscles stretched too far for the skin that contained them. Veins glowed faintly green, pulsing like molten wires under its flesh. Its mouth gaped unnaturally wide, lined with jagged, overlapping teeth. Long claws scraped against the concrete, sending sparks flying.
The group froze.
"Jesu…" Musa muttered, stumbling back.
Amara's grip on her metal rod tightened, but her voice shook. "Dele, this… this is not ordinary."
Dele's gaze did not waver. His jaw tightened, his grip on the machete shifting with precision. "Fall back," he said, sharp and commanding. "This one is mine."
"Dele, no!" Amara shouted, stepping forward, her fear clear. "You can't—"
But Dele had already moved.
The monster roared, the sound rattling bones. It charged, the ground trembling under its weight.
Dele sprinted to meet it, machete raised, his entire body coiled like a spring. They collided with a sound like metal against stone. His blade bit into its arm, but stuck halfway, caught on bone. The creature swung its free claw — a wild, murderous arc.
Dele dropped low, rolling aside as the air split above him. With a wrenching pull, he ripped the machete free, blood spraying across the concrete.
The survivors screamed as the monster slammed its fist into the ground, shattering a concrete slab. Musa fell backward, nearly tumbling into the lagoon.
"Dele!" Musa shouted, panic in his voice.
But Dele wasn't listening. His world had narrowed to rhythm: strike, dodge, breathe, repeat. He slashed across its chest, but the beast barely staggered. Instead, it grabbed him by the shoulder and hurled him into a broken bench.
Pain shot through him. His ribs burned, but he forced himself back up. His breaths were sharp, deliberate. His eyes, however, glowed with an unyielding fire.
"Ìbẹ̀rù ò ní jẹ́ kí n ṣubú… Fear will not bring me down," he whispered, steadying himself.
The creature snarled, advancing, saliva dripping in thick strands.
Behind it, more zombies spilled into the walkway. Their groans blended into a grotesque choir, surrounding the survivors on every side. Lagoon on one side. The horde on the other. And the monster in between.
Amara's voice broke. "Dele—what do we do?"
He didn't answer her directly. He tightened his grip on the machete, feeling the hum beneath his skin — that forbidden energy, that knowledge only he carried. Mana. It pulsed with him, in sync with his breath, each beat a reminder that he was more than a survivor.
He smiled — grim, deliberate.
"If this is the beginning," he whispered, low but steady, "then let the world learn my name."
And he lunged.
The monster roared, claws slashing, teeth gnashing. Dele met it head-on, machete cutting arcs of steel. The lagoon walkway erupted into violence, screams, and blood, the first true battle of man against the evolving plague.
The night would never be quiet again.
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