The old warehouse stank of sweat, fear, and blood. People huddled in corners, clutching bags of garri, biscuits, and sachet water like they were gold. The monsters outside had quieted, but the silence only made the tension sharper.
Mela sat close to Amara and their mum, eyes darting around the dimly lit room. He had seen this type of thing in anime—temporary alliances that never lasted. "This is just like the calm before betrayal…" he muttered under his breath.
Across the room, the gang leader—the tall, scar-faced man everyone called Eze—was pacing. He had a crude machete strapped to his back, and two boys at his side like bodyguards. His eyes scanned the crowd like a predator choosing meat.
"Una dey hear me so?" Eze's voice boomed, switching between English and Igbo. "Nobody go chop anything unless we fit organize! If you hide food—" he smirked, drawing out the pause, "—we go collect am by force."
Some people murmured in anger, but none stepped forward.
An older man tried to reason with him. "Biko, we are all suffering. Let's share like brothers—"
Before he could finish, one of Eze's boys slapped him to the ground.
"Shut up there!" the boy barked.
Mela clenched his fists. His anime brain was screaming at him: This is the part where the villain shows his hand. But unlike anime, he didn't have powers yet—just fear and a cheap knife.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air. A young woman had collapsed, clutching her arm. Her skin glowed faintly, and strange lines appeared, burning across her flesh. She gasped—and then, with a terrified cry, flames burst from her hand, scorching the wall.
People panicked, scattering. "Blood of Jesus!" someone shouted.
The girl sobbed, holding her hand as the fire fizzled. "I-I don't know what's happening to me!"
Eze's eyes lit up with greed. "Power…" he whispered. Then louder: "You—come here! You're useful now. You go dey my side."
The girl shook her head. "No! Leave me alone!"
Mela recognized the look in Eze's eyes. He had seen it in every villain introduction in the mangas he loved—the hunger for control.
As tension built, another man suddenly fell to his knees, shadows writhing at his feet like snakes. His voice deepened unnaturally: "Obey… or die."
The warehouse erupted into chaos. People screamed, pushing and trampling each other to escape.
Mela grabbed Amara's hand. "Stay with me!" he shouted. Their mum pressed close, eyes wide with fear.
Eze grinned in the madness, drawing his machete. "Now we go see who fit survive."
Mela's heart pounded. He wasn't strong, he wasn't chosen, and yet—if anime had taught him anything—it was that sometimes survival meant being smart enough to read the scene before the blood spilled.
And right now, blood was definitely about to spill.