The church stank of sweat, smoke, and hopelessness. Survivors were pressed against the walls, their whispers filling the air like mosquitoes.
Ngozi sat with Amara, quietly humming a hymn under her breath. Mela leaned against a cracked pillar, his iron scars throbbing faintly. He hated the quiet — quiet meant something was coming.
But the survivors had other problems.
"Abeg, who chop the last garri wey I soak yesterday?" a wiry man shouted, waving an empty plastic plate.
"I no touch am!" another woman snapped. "Na you wey dey thief food since yesterday night. You think say we no dey see your belle?"
Laughter erupted from the corner. A bearded man clapped his hands and said in Yoruba, "Ẹ̀yin ọmọ aráyé, ẹ jẹ́ ká jẹ́wọ́ — if anybody go die, make e die with belle full. Na fasting dey kill pass monster!"
Even in the gloom, people chuckled.
One teenage boy, jittery from fear, tried to sneak a boiled egg from his mother's wrapper. She smacked him across the head before the whole room. "Ṣé o fẹ́ kí monster kill you because of egg?!"
The laughter this time was louder. For a moment, they almost forgot the shadows outside.
But trouble always had long legs.
The same wiry man who had shouted earlier grabbed a bottle of water from a small pile near the altar. "If una no wan share, I go take by force!"
Before anyone could stop him, another survivor — a stocky Yoruba trader with a booming voice — stood and clapped his hands.
"My brother," he said in pidgin, puffing his chest. "You wan thief? For my front? You no dey fear Ogun wey dey watch this place?"
The wiry man sneered. "Ogun? Abeg, Ogun no dey feed me water. Abeg commot road!"
The trader roared, "Ah! You dey mad!" and launched himself forward. The two men rolled on the floor, wrestling.
Mela tried not to laugh, but it was impossible. The sight of two grown men, one yelling "Ẹ má jẹ́ kí n fi ẹsẹ̀ kọ lu e!" (Don't let me use my leg on you!) while the other screamed "Leave my throat!" had the whole church bursting into laughter.
Even Amara giggled behind her hands.
Ngozi sighed. "Nigerians… even end time reach, una no go change."
The fight ended quickly when one of the women broke a broom in half and smacked both men with the speed of a village mother. "Una dey craze? If monster no kill us, hunger and foolishness go kill una!"
The room roared with laughter again.
But just as the mood lifted, the ground trembled. A deep rumble rolled under their feet, shaking the broken walls. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Mela froze. His scars pulsed faintly.
The survivors went silent, their laughter dying in their throats.
Amara clutched his arm. "Brother… is it another monster?"
Ngozi shook her head slowly. Her eyes were sharp, full of dread. "No. This one… different."
Another rumble. This time, cracks split across the church floor. Strange, glowing light seeped upward, like fireflies trapped beneath the earth.
The bearded man who had cracked jokes earlier muttered in Yoruba, half laughing, half terrified: "Ẹ̀yin ọmọ aráyé… maybe na God open new market under us."
Nobody laughed this time.
Because deep below Lagos, the first dungeon was rising.