The night was restless in Surulere. Lagos, once alive with honking danfos and hawkers shouting "Pure water, ₦50!", now echoed with screams and the crunch of collapsing buildings.
Mela and his family huddled in a partially collapsed church with other survivors. The air smelled of dust, sweat, and fear. Ngozi kept her faint barrier glowing, but it flickered like a dying candle.
Then came the sound — crrrk… A crack splitting across the church wall. Shadows poured through, and with them, a beast — hulking, bone protruding through black skin, eyes burning red.
"Monster!" someone screamed in Yoruba: "Ẹ̀dá burúkú!"
Chaos erupted. People ran, tripping over benches, clawing at locked doors. The beast leapt, its jaws closing on a man who didn't make it to the exit. Blood sprayed.
Mela froze, clutching Amara close. His body screamed at him to move, but his legs refused. The runes on his arm glowed faintly.
Ngozi pushed them back, barrier flaring. "Mela! Take Amara, run!"
But the monster was too fast. It smashed through Ngozi's shield, flinging her across the hall like a rag doll. She hit the wall hard and crumpled.
"Mummy!" Amara cried, rushing toward her.
Mela's chest burned. His legs trembled as the beast turned to him. He grabbed a broken chair leg, but what was wood against that thing? His vision blurred.
The runes seared. His head throbbed. A voice thundered inside his skull — deep, metallic, ancient:
"Ọmọ ilẹ̀ Naija… you carry my mark. You cry for strength but fear the pain. Iron is not gentle. Will you bleed for it? Will you carry its burden?"
Mela dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. It felt like molten metal was being poured into his veins. His body convulsed.
The monster lunged. Mela tried to stand, failed, then tried again. His arm burned, skin blistering. The runes crawled across his flesh, shaping into jagged iron-like scars.
"Arghhh!" he screamed. His vision went white.
The chair leg in his hand melted, reshaping into crude iron. Heavy. Rough. Imperfect. But iron.
The beast struck, claws tearing across his shoulder. Blood gushed. He staggered, nearly collapsing. His body screamed stop.
He forced himself forward, swinging the iron club. The impact cracked against the beast's jaw, sending sparks. It wasn't clean — his grip slipped, his legs wobbled — but it was enough to make the monster reel back.
Pain flared with every movement. The iron grew heavier the longer he held it, like it wanted to drag him into the ground. His chest burned, vision doubled.
The monster roared again, swiping him into a pew. The breath left his lungs. He coughed blood.
"Mela!!" Amara screamed.
His mum, weak but awake, tried to shield him again — but the beast swatted her barrier aside like paper. She hit the ground, unmoving.
Mela's whole body shook. Tears blurred his eyes. "Not here… not like this…"
The voice returned, sharper: "Then STAND, boy. Iron bends only to those who break themselves first."
With the last of his strength, Mela staggered up. His arm burned brighter, molten iron dripping like liquid fire before solidifying into a jagged blade. Not perfect. Not smooth. Just raw power.
He screamed, charging. Every step was agony. Every swing pulled at his bones. But when he struck the beast's chest, the iron blade bit deep.
The monster howled, stumbling backward, dark ichor spilling. Mela collapsed to his knees, body shaking violently. The iron dissolved into sparks, leaving only the scarred runes glowing on his skin.
The beast retreated into the shadows, wounded but alive. Silence fell, broken by sobbing survivors.
Mela gasped, coughing blood, his vision dimming. Amara clutched his shirt, crying. Ngozi, barely conscious, reached for him.
"You… you survived," she whispered.
He didn't feel like it. His body was ruined, every muscle screaming. The iron had answered, but it had nearly killed him.
Somewhere beyond Lagos, in distant lands, news spread like wildfire: monsters rising in Tokyo, New York, Johannesburg. Governments collapsing. Militaries failing. A world breaking.
And in the alleys of Lagos, the Children of the New Dawn watched Mela stumble to his feet, iron scars glowing faintly.
Their leader smiled. "The iron child awakens… and soon, he will choose. Us… or them."