The church didn't last.
By dawn, the air was thick with smoke and screams. The creatures had sniffed out the huddled survivors. The first crack of wood splintering was enough to send panic through the crowd.
"Mummy!" Amara wailed as claws scraped against the doors.
People shoved each other, fighting to get out through the narrow back exit. One man even pushed a child aside to squeeze through first.
The priest shouted prayers, holding up a cross — but the door burst open, and a creature with three arms slithered inside. Its body shimmered like oil, its jaw stretching too wide.
Chaos erupted.
A mother threw her baby to another woman and ran. A man tried to fight with a chair, only to be ripped apart. Blood sprayed the altar.
Mela's mother grabbed him and Amara. "Move!"
They sprinted, shoving past panicked bodies, the creature's hiss crawling up their spines. Mela could hear bones snapping behind him, but he didn't dare look back.
Outside, the street wasn't safer. Smoke creatures prowled rooftops. Looters still roamed, snatching food, stabbing anyone too weak to resist. Lagos had become a hunting ground — by beasts and men alike.
Mela's chest heaved. He could barely think."We… we can't keep running like this," he gasped.
His mother's face was pale, but her grip was steady. "We will not die here. Do you hear me?"
She sounded sure. But Mela saw her hands tremble when another scream cut the air.
Meanwhile, other places in Nigeria weren't better:
In Abuja, the National Assembly building burned. Senators fled while guards turned their guns on each other for scraps of food.
In Port Harcourt, riverside houses were dragged into the water by something massive lurking below. Survivors wailed that the sea gods had risen.
In Kano, mosques overflowed with desperate crowds praying, even as shadows crept through the courtyards.
There was no safe state. No safe city. No safe Nigeria.
That night, Mela's family hid in a collapsed shop. They were alive — barely. Amara clung to Mela, whispering, "I want Daddy."
Mela's mother didn't answer. She only stared into the dark, her lips moving silently in prayer.
And though Mela didn't see it, faint symbols shimmered at the edge of her palms — not fire, not lightning. Something gentler. Something waiting.