When Mela opened his eyes, he thought he was dead.
Smoke stung his lungs. The ground beneath him was cracked, heat seeping from below like the world itself was bleeding fire. He blinked hard. The monster that lunged at him was gone. Or maybe it had dissolved into the smoke still curling across the road.
But the screams were still there. Lagos was still burning.
"Mela!" His mother's voice cracked. He turned—Funmilayo was clutching Amara, both of them pressed against the wall of a shop with shattered windows. Blood dripped from his mother's forehead, but she was alive.
Mela staggered to his feet. His knees shook. His chest felt hollow. He had no sword, no power, no system. Just fear.
And yet—when he glanced at the smoke on the road, he saw them again. Strange glowing runes, symbols twisting like fireflies in the dark.
"Why me?" he whispered. "Why am I seeing this?"
They weren't the only ones running. The street was chaos:
A danfo still blaring its horn, driverless, rolling downhill until it smashed into a kiosk.
A man in Ankara shirt shouting prayers as he sprinted barefoot.
Children wailing while their mothers dragged them by the arm.
Somewhere, a church bell clanged madly, then cut off with a metallic screech.
And then—another monster appeared.
This one crawled out of a broken manhole, its body a swarm of limbs, all bending the wrong way. No face, just a gaping hole lined with teeth. People screamed as it clawed onto the street.
Mela froze. They're multiplying.
But it wasn't just Lagos.
The vision hit him like lightning, flashing through his skull.
Cairo, Egypt — crowds running through streets drowned in blood rain, while Ra's falcon shadow towered above the pyramids. Soldiers fired useless bullets at a giant jackal-headed beast tearing tanks apart.
Tokyo, Japan — skyscrapers buckling as an earthquake split the city. From the fault lines crawled pale monsters with too many eyes, shrieking as people scattered. Neon signs flickered, then died.
New York, USA — lightning storms ripping through the skyline, Zeus's rage frying entire blocks. A colossal shadow in armor walked through Times Square, each step cracking the earth. Helicopters circled, firing missiles that vanished in the storm.
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil — the statue of Christ the Redeemer cracked, collapsing as fiery wings unfolded over the city. People fell to their knees, praying through screams.
The apocalypse wasn't Lagos alone. It was the whole world.
"Mela! Move!"
His mother's scream dragged him back. The second monster lunged.
He yanked Amara's arm, pulling her away just as the thing's claws scraped the tar where they'd been standing. Sparks flew.
People trampled past them, some dropping their phones, others shoving anyone in their way. A man in a suit tried to fight back with a machete, swinging wildly—but the blade passed through the creature like smoke. It grabbed him, pulled him into its chest, and he was gone.
Mela's stomach churned. This wasn't like manhwa. In comics, heroes had plot armor. Here, extras died like insects.
They ducked into an alley. The walls vibrated with each thunderclap overhead. Amara's lips were still moving.
"They're choosing," she whispered.
"What?" Mela snapped. His throat was raw.
"The gods… they're choosing champions. All over the world. But you—" Her eyes locked on his. "You can see what others can't. That's why it wants you."
Mela's blood went cold.
"I don't want it."
But the truth was, the runes in the smoke were still burning in his eyes. And no matter how much he wanted to be ordinary, something was already watching him.
Somewhere above Lagos, the hammer and the lightning collided again. The city shook. And the monsters kept coming.