The sound of the drums still lingered in the air, even though it was gone. It was like an echo that refused to leave their minds. Each dum-dum-dum rattled in Mela's chest as though something ancient was calling out to him. He clenched his fists, refusing to show the fear creeping up his spine.
"Let's move," he said quietly, his voice shaky but determined. "We can't stay here."
His mother nodded weakly, her wrapper torn, sweat dripping down her face. She was holding Amara, who was barely conscious. The girl's body was hot, glowing faintly at times as though something deep inside her was trying to awaken.
They staggered through the broken streets of Lagos. Burnt cars lined the roads, the smell of smoke and blood hanging heavy in the humid night air. Somewhere in the distance, gunshots rang out. Screams followed. The world had fallen apart.
"God abeg…" his mother whispered in Yoruba, clutching Amara tighter. "Ṣe gbogbo ohun tí a ń rí yìí ni òpin ayé? (Is all this what we are seeing the end of the world?)"
Mela didn't answer. His throat was dry. He just kept looking left and right, searching for somewhere they could hide.
Then he spotted it — an unfinished two-storey building, its walls bare concrete, scaffolding still in place.
"Mummy, there," he pointed.
They rushed inside, their sandals crunching on broken blocks. The building smelled of dust and urine, but it was empty — or so they thought.
A shadow moved.
Mela froze, raising a rusty piece of iron rod he had picked up earlier. "Who's there?"
Out of the darkness stepped two men. Their eyes were bloodshot, clothes torn, machetes in hand. They looked like they hadn't eaten in days.
"Ah," one of them said, smiling, his teeth yellow. "We don catch better meat tonight." His Igbo accent was thick, his words cruel.
Mela's heart sank. These weren't just survivors. They were predators.
"Bros, abeg," Mela said carefully, forcing calm. "We no get anything. Na just me, my mama, and my sister."
The taller man licked his lips. "Even better. You drop the iron, small boy. Women dey valuable now. Either you leave them… or we take all of you the hard way."
Mela's mother pulled Amara close, her eyes wide with terror. "Ẹ má ṣe bẹ́ẹ̀! (Don't do this!)" she cried.
The shorter one laughed. "Shut up, woman. Today na survival. No law, no police, no army."
They stepped forward.
Mela's whole body trembled. He wasn't strong. He wasn't Ogun's chosen warrior yet. But he knew one thing — if he didn't fight, they were finished.
He gripped the iron tighter and swung wildly. The taller man blocked with his machete and shoved him back. The blow sent Mela crashing against the wall, pain exploding in his side.
"Mela!" his mother screamed.
The shorter man grabbed her arm, yanking her away from Amara. "Shut up before I cut your throat."
Something in Mela snapped. He stumbled up, vision blurry, and charged again. The iron rod clashed against machete, sparks flying. He screamed like a cornered animal, pushing with everything he had.
Then —
DUM-DUM-DUM.
The drums again. Louder. This time, the attackers heard it too.
They froze, fear flashing in their eyes. "What the hell is that?"
Suddenly, from the shadows of the unfinished house, something crawled out — a monstrous hound, black as night, eyes glowing red, saliva dripping like acid. A dungeon beast.
The men cursed, panic taking over. "Run!" one shouted.
Too late. The hound lunged, tearing into the shorter man's chest. His screams filled the night as blood sprayed across the concrete.
Mela's mother dragged Amara toward him, her hands shaking. "We must leave!"
But the taller man wasn't done. He grabbed Mela by the neck in desperation, using him as a shield. "You want to live? You better fight this thing with me!"
The beast turned its eyes on them, growling low. Mela could feel its killing intent — sharp, suffocating. His knees buckled.
He was going to die.
And then — Amara stirred. Her half-lidded eyes opened, glowing faintly gold. Not fully awake, not yet, but her presence alone made the beast hesitate for a second, like it recognized something.
Mela used that second. With a desperate cry, he slammed the iron rod into the man's foot. The grip on his neck loosened. He broke free just as the beast pounced — on the taller man instead.
The sound of flesh tearing filled the unfinished house.
Mela pulled his mother and sister into a dark corner. His chest heaved, his eyes wet with tears. For the first time, he realized how fragile they were in this new world.
No gods came to save them. No heroes. Just them — and the monsters.
The drums faded into silence, but the fear they left behind stayed.