The street stank of burning fuel. The danfo conductor still crackled with faint sparks, his teeth gritted as he stood between the monster and the crowd. Each blast of electricity bought only seconds, but those seconds meant life.
"Run!" he screamed again, voice hoarse.
Nobody needed convincing. Mothers dragged children, boys leapt over gutters, a man abandoned his wife when she fell. The world was breaking apart, and it showed.
In the chaos, other monsters appeared — not from cracks this time, but from the shadows of men.
Two young men, barely older than Mela, slipped into a shop. Their eyes weren't wide with fear, but with hunger.
"Guy, see flat screen! See generator!" one hissed.
Instead of fleeing, they began looting, stuffing bags with electronics as though the world wasn't ending.
When a screaming woman ran past, begging them to help lift her son from the ground, one of them swung a cutlass.
"Carry your wahala go!"
The blade missed her but sliced the boy's arm. She shrieked, clutching him. The looters just laughed and kept stealing.
Mela's stomach churned. These weren't monsters. They were Nigerians too. But in this new world, the line was blurring.
Down the road, a group of men in military vests stopped a fleeing crowd. Their rifles glistened in the firelight.
"You wan pass here? Drop money. Drop phone. Or you go die here."
Some obeyed, trembling as they handed over their last belongings. Others argued. Shots rang out. Bodies dropped.
Mela's mother pulled him and Amara deeper into the alley. "This world don spoil finish," she whispered, voice shaking.
The danfo conductor finally collapsed, his sparks gone. The monster loomed over him, ready to strike. But before it could, a shotgun blast ripped through its head.
A man stepped out from behind a broken kiosk. His beard was thick, his eyes cold. He wore a torn agbada over combat boots. The crowd gasped. Some whispered his name.
It was Alhaji Sanni — a man once feared in the underworld. A cult leader, smuggler, and "businessman." Now, with law gone, he was more dangerous than ever.
He reloaded slowly, casually.
"Make una calm down," he said, his voice calm but heavy. "This Lagos no get government again. From today, na we dey in charge."
The crowd looked at him with a mix of fear and relief. He had killed the monster. But his smile promised something worse.
Elsewhere in the world:
In New York, gangs took over entire blocks, using the chaos to crown themselves kings.
In Mumbai, slumlords barricaded water supplies, forcing survivors to "pay or die."
In South Africa, a militia leader declared himself "the Lion of the New Age," slaughtering those who refused to kneel.
The gods and monsters weren't humanity's only threat. Humans were already claiming the ruins.
Mela clutched his sister's hand. His mother whispered shakily, "We must survive. Whatever it takes."
But Mela wasn't sure who was worse anymore — the creatures, or the men smiling as the world burned.