The street was silent, except for the crackle of distant fire and the faint whimpers of the weak. Sanni sat on a broken slab of concrete, the night's breeze carrying the stench of blood and smoke. His machete dripped red, but his face was calm, almost serene.
Around him, three survivors huddled together — two men, one woman — their eyes wide, darting like trapped rats. They hadn't realized yet that they weren't survivors. They were prey.
The shadow at Sanni's back stretched unnaturally, even though there was no light behind him. It twisted, coiled, almost alive. From it came the voice — oily, deep, and layered, as if a thousand whispers spoke at once.
"Well done, my vessel. You carve the world open… and I drink."
Sanni wiped the blade against his jeans, leaving a streak. His lips curled into a grin. "I told you before, I no dey fear blood. This world don turn madness — and madness na my home."
One of the men stammered, "P-please, bros… we fit follow you. We get food. We go obey."
Sanni turned, his eyes gleaming unnaturally in the dark. "Follow me? You think say this na church? You wan join choir?" His laughter was sharp, cutting. "I no need worshippers wey dey beg. I need sacrifice."
Before they could run, shadows erupted like black spears, piercing the men through their chests. They gasped, choking on their own blood, their bodies twitching before falling limp. The woman's scream tore through the night.
The demon purred. "Yes… feed me. Every death strengthens the tether. Every soul sharpens your blade."
Sanni stepped closer to the woman, who crawled backward until her hands hit a wall. Her tears streaked her dirtied face. "Please… abeg… I no wan die…"
For a moment, Sanni crouched, studying her. Then he tilted his head. "Look around you. People dey die everywhere. Monsters dey crawl out from nowhere. Even your government no sabi wetin dey happen. You still dey beg for mercy?"
He touched her cheek, almost tenderly. "Relax. Death na only the beginning."
The shadows rose, wrapping around her neck. She thrashed, kicking, eyes bulging as the life drained out of her. When she fell limp, Sanni stood, exhaling deeply.
The voice rumbled again. "This world unravels because the gates have cracked. Gods stir, demons hunger, and the stars themselves turn their gaze. Chaos is the new law… and you will be my blade within it."
Sanni smirked. "Gates, gods, stars… you dey yarn like pastor. But I like am. Keep talking."
The demon's chuckle slithered through his skull. "Mortals will seek strength. Some will kneel to gods. Some will crawl to devils. But only the ruthless will survive. You… were born for this stage."
Sanni rose, stretching his arms as though embracing the night. "Born for it? Heh. Na now wey I dey live. Before, I dey hide inside cult, fighting for scraps. But now?" He spread his arms wider, his grin widening. "Now the whole world dey inside darkness. And darkness dey my side."
The shadows pulsed, whispering promises.
In the distance, he saw the glow of fire from another cluster of survivors. He could hear their faint voices — desperate, clinging to hope, calling out in prayer. A twisted excitement sparked in his chest.
The demon whispered again. "Go. Cull them. Let their screams sow terror. Every whisper of your name will spread, until even gods take notice."
Sanni's grin widened. He twirled his machete, stepping into the darkness.
Behind him, the corpses of his victims twitched unnaturally, their shadows writhing even in death.
And somewhere, faint but undeniable, came the echo of drums. Ancient. Rhythmic. Not of man.
The world was changing. And Sanni walked like a man who knew he belonged to its future.