The church smelled of blood and dust. Survivors huddled in corners, whispering prayers in Yoruba, Igbo, and Hausa. Lagos was breaking, and everyone knew it.
Mela lay slumped against a pew, his body still burning from the awakening. The iron scars on his arm pulsed faintly, a reminder of Ogun's gift. He could barely lift his head.
That's when a familiar voice broke through the fear.
"Na who dey suffer here like this? Ngozi?"
Ngozi blinked, weak but smiling faintly. "Tunde…?"
A tall, broad-shouldered man in his late thirties stepped through the broken doors, carrying a battered cutlass and a small backpack. His shirt was torn, but his face carried a stubborn grin.
"Ẹ káàbọ̀," he said, switching to English. "I thought I lost you people."
"Uncle Tunde!" Amara shouted, running to hug him.
Tunde was not their blood uncle, but he had been Ngozi's childhood friend. After her husband left, he was one of the few who stayed close — helping with school fees sometimes, dropping by with suya for the kids, laughing away hard nights. Everyone in the neighborhood knew him as the type who would fight for his own.
Mela managed a weak smile. "You came…"
"Of course, boy. You think I go leave Ngozi and her pikin for these monsters? Lai lai." Tunde dropped his bag, revealing bottles of water, some garri in a nylon bag, and even a rusty pistol with three bullets.
Ngozi's eyes softened. "You… still protecting me after all these years."
Tunde chuckled. "Na promise I make. You know that one."
For the first time in days, the family felt a flicker of safety. Tunde stayed close, talking to survivors, cracking small jokes in pidgin to ease tension. He even helped Mela sit up, checking his wounds.
"You be strong boy," Tunde said. "But remember — strength no dey save everybody. Sometimes na sacrifice."
Those words lingered.
That night, the monsters came again. Not one this time, but three — slithering shadows with jagged claws, tearing through the church walls like paper. Panic erupted.
Ngozi pushed Amara behind her, barrier flaring weakly. Mela struggled to form iron in his hands but collapsed, too drained.
Tunde stepped forward. He gripped his cutlass with both hands, eyes burning with a mix of fear and determination.
"You wan touch this family? You go pass through me first!" he roared in Yoruba.
The fight was chaos. Survivors screamed, trampling over each other. Tunde swung with everything he had, his cutlass cutting into one beast's neck. Black ichor sprayed.
But the monsters didn't stop. One lunged for Amara — Ngozi blocked, but the barrier cracked. Mela tried to rise, coughing blood.
Tunde didn't hesitate. He shoved Ngozi and Amara out of the way, taking the full brunt of the monster's claws across his chest. Blood splattered the altar.
"No!!!" Ngozi screamed.
Tunde staggered, smiling through bloodied teeth. "Ngozi… at least… I finally keep my promise."
He plunged the cutlass into the beast's eye before it tore him apart. The monster howled, retreating into shadow.
But Tunde was gone.
Silence filled the ruined church. Survivors wept. Amara clutched her mother, sobbing. Mela sat frozen, staring at Tunde's body — the man who had been like family, now just another corpse.
There was no respawn. No second chance. Death was final here.
Ngozi knelt beside him, tears streaming. "He died… for us."
Mela clenched his fist, iron scars burning hotter. A part of him shattered. Another part hardened.
Outside, Lagos burned. And in the dark, the Children of the New Dawn whispered: "Sacrifice births gods. His blood has meaning."