The cracks in the church floor widened, glowing brighter and brighter. The faint light became blinding, painting everyone's faces with ghostly blue.
"Ẹ̀ṣé o, Jesu mi!" someone screamed, clutching a Bible.
Ngozi pulled Amara back as the tiles caved in, revealing a yawning pit below. From deep within, a sound rose — a guttural roar, layered with whispers in languages no one should understand.
The survivors panicked. Some ran to the doors. Others prayed aloud. Mela, his iron scars glowing faintly, felt his knees tremble.
Then it happened.
From the pit, black smoke poured out, twisting into shapes. Monsters crawled up — twisted hyena-like beasts with glowing red eyes and bone spikes along their backs. Their laughter was like children screaming.
"Ẹ gbà mí ooo!" (Somebody save me!)
The church exploded into chaos.
—
The first beast pounced, landing on a fleeing man and tearing into his chest. Blood sprayed across the cracked altar. People shrieked and shoved one another.
One woman fell, screaming for help, but another survivor kicked her aside in panic, scrambling for the door.
"Nigeria don spoil finish!" someone yelled in pidgin.
Mela felt frozen, powerless. His scars tingled, whispering, but Ogun's blessing was faint — not ready to awaken again. He clenched his fists, cursing his weakness.
Ngozi's voice cut through the madness. "Amara, stay behind me!" Her palms glowed faintly, a shimmering barrier flickering into life for just a second. But it was weak, barely holding back a beast's swipe before shattering.
Another survivor — the Yoruba trader who had fought over water — suddenly screamed as his body caught fire. Flames burst from his arms, uncontrolled, burning a nearby pew. His eyes rolled back.
"Ọlọ́run!" he gasped. "Sango… Sango dey my blood!"
The monster leapt at him — and he roasted it alive with a fiery burst. The crowd screamed in awe.
Drops fell from the burning corpse — glowing fragments that shimmered like gemstones. One man rushed forward, grabbing the loot before anyone else.
"Mine! Mine!" he shouted, eyes wild.
But the moment he touched it, his skin blackened, and his body twisted into something monstrous. He fell to the ground, screaming. His humanity dissolved before everyone's eyes.
"Ha! No be every blessing be blessing o!" someone cried, horrified.
—
In the chaos, strange whispers spread among the survivors.
A broken radio in the corner crackled to life with static. A voice shouted through the interference:
"…reports from New York… Mount Olympus… Zeus seen in the sky…"
Another voice: "…Japan! The gods of Shinto, Amaterasu, Susanoo… people manifesting powers…"
A third: "…Germany… Odin's chosen warriors…"
The radio cut out.
Ngozi whispered shakily, "It's not just Nigeria. The whole world…"
Mela's chest tightened. If gods were truly returning, if people everywhere were awakening… then what chance did ordinary humans have?
—
The monsters surged again. One beast tore through the pews, charging at Amara. She screamed — but a glowing hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back.
It was a stranger, a tall man with tribal marks along his face. He moved with sharp precision, his blade shimmering unnaturally.
"Stay alive," he muttered. "Oya has chosen me. I'll clear the way."
Wind roared as his weapon cut through two beasts, scattering their bodies across the floor. The survivors cheered, desperate for hope.
But hope was short.
The man turned too slow. Another beast lunged from behind. It slammed him into the wall, ripping his side open. He coughed blood, but still pushed Amara away to safety.
"Nooooo!" she cried, reaching for him.
The man smiled faintly. "Tell… the storm… I answered." His body went limp as the beast finished him.
Mela felt rage swell in his chest. This man had saved his sister, given his life without hesitation — and Mela could do nothing.
—
Outside, the streets were no better. Explosions echoed across Lagos. Plumes of smoke rose above the skyline. From a distance, Mela could see more pits opening across the city. People screamed, ran, fought — some with glowing weapons, others with powers they couldn't control.
Across the radio waves, news continued to slip through:
"…Brazil — Yemọja's waters flooding Rio…""…Russia — Perun, Slavic god of thunder…""…Egypt — Ra's fire in Cairo skies…"
The gods of old were returning. Everywhere.
And in Lagos, the first dungeon had opened — and it was just the beginning.
—
As night fell, the survivors barricaded themselves in the half-ruined church. The ground still trembled faintly, the dungeon pulsing like a heartbeat beneath them.
Mela sat in silence, staring at his scarred hands.
Ngozi placed a hand on his shoulder. "You must survive. For us. For Amara."
He clenched his jaw. His iron still felt heavy, unfinished. He wasn't ready. But if Ogun had chosen him, then he would have to learn.
Because tomorrow, more dungeons would open.
And tomorrow, the gods would demand more blood.