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The knocking continued.

GBAM! GBAM! GBAM!

Under the ground…

Tunde was still alive.

Inside the coffin, his fingernails tore against the wood as rainwater leaked through the soil above him.

“Father! PLEASE!”

But above the grave…

Nobody answered.

The villagers had already started running home in fear.

Because the storm had suddenly changed.

The rain was now black.

Chief Adigun staggered backward in horror.

“What have we done…” he whispered.

Then—

The earth beneath the grave moved.

Slowly.

Violently.

Mama Dara screamed.
The coffin began rising from the ground by
itself.

The masquerades stepped back for the first time.

Afraid.

One of them shouted:

“Seal the grave before midnight!”

But it was too late.

KRAAAK!

The coffin exploded open.

Tunde sat upright inside the mud.

Breathing heavily.

Alive.
Lightning flashed across his face—
And his eyes were no longer normal.

One eye had turned completely white.

The villagers watching from afar fell to their knees.

An old woman cried:

“The spirit has entered him…”

Tunde looked around slowly.

Confused.

Weak.

Then he saw his father.

“Why did you bury me?” he asked quietly.

Chief Adigun broke down instantly.

Tears mixed with rain on his face.

Before he could speak—

One masquerade threw a burning powder into the air.

WHOOSH!

A circle of fire surrounded Tunde.

The tallest masquerade pointed his staff at him.

“The boy d!ed the moment the mark appeared.”

“What stands before us now… is not human.”

Mama Dara jumped into the fire without fear.

She grabbed her son tightly.

“He is MY CHILD!”

Suddenly—

The ghostly grandmother appeared again behind Tunde.

Only this time…

Everybody saw her.

Villagers screamed and scattered.

The de@d woman slowly pointed toward the palace.

Then she spoke with a cracked terrifying voice:

“The king knows the truth.”

Thunder exploded across the sky.

And at that exact moment—

The palace gong rang by itself.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The sign of death.

Inside the palace…

The king opened a hidden room beneath his throne.

And chained inside it…
was a creature breathing heavily in darkness.

Then two glowing eyes opened.

And the creature smiled.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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The day fuel became gold in Nigeria, nobody laughed anymore.

At exactly 5:30 a.m., the queue at the filling station in Ajegunle had already stretched like a wounded snake across the road. Angry drivers slept inside their buses. Bike men argued over empty gallons. Women carrying babies stood under the hot morning sun, hoping the station would open before nightfall.

But everyone feared one thing:

“What if there’s no fuel again?”

Twenty-three-year-old Chike tightened his faded shirt and looked at the fuel gauge of his keke. Empty.

Completely empty.

And without fuel, there was no work. Without work, there was no food.

His mother had been sick for weeks, and the hospital had refused treatment until they paid the remaining bill. Chike had only ₦2,300 left in his pocket.

Then the station manager stepped outside.

“Fuel don finish!” he shouted.

The crowd exploded.

People screamed. Some cried. A man fainted beside his car.

Chike stood frozen.

That was when he noticed the black Prado jeep parked behind the station. Tinted windows. Armed escorts. Air-conditioned comfort while the poor roasted under the sun.

A fat politician stepped out laughing on a phone call.

“Buy all the remaining fuel and take it to my warehouse,” the man said casually.

Chike’s chest burned with anger.

So this was the secret.

The scarcity was not accidental. Someone was making billions from people’s suffering.

That evening, Lagos changed.

Commercial buses disappeared from roads. Workers trekked for hours. Hospitals shut down generators. Restaurants closed early.

Even churches reduced services because fuel was too expensive.

Darkness swallowed the city.

At home, Chike found his mother struggling to breathe.

“Did you get fuel?” she whispered weakly.

He looked away silently.

Then suddenly, his younger sister rushed inside, terrified.

“Brother… people are burning filling stations in Mile 2!”

Outside, smoke rose into the night sky.

The fuel crisis had become war.

And Chike was about to discover something even more d@ngerous…

The politician in the black Prado was the same man responsible for his father’s de@th ten years ago.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Rain swallowed the entire village of Ajele that night.

Women locked their doors early. Dogs refused to bark. Even the elders avoided eye contact.

Something evil was happening.

Inside a mud house lit by a dying lantern, Mama Dara cried uncontrollably while holding her teenage son, Tunde.

“Please don’t let them take my child!” she screamed.

But Chief Adigun could not look at her.

His hands trembled.

“The council has spoken,” he whispered.

Tunde looked confused.

“Father… what did I do?”

Before the chief could answer—

BAM!

The door burst open.

Seven masquerades entered silently.

Their white robes were soaked in rainwater.

Each carried a burning torch.

The tallest one pointed at Tunde.

“The marked child must come with us.”

Mama Dara held him tighter.

“No! He is only sixteen!”

The masquerade bent slowly…
and revealed a strange symbol carved into his chest.

The exact same symbol suddenly began burning on Tunde’s shoulder.

Tunde screamed in pain.

Everybody in the room froze.

One elder whispered fearfully:

“It has chosen him…”

Outside, lightning flashed.

And for one second—

Tunde saw something impossible.

A woman standing in the rain.

Watching him.

Smiling.

The same woman they buried twenty years
ago.

His dead grandmother.

Then suddenly—

All the lanterns in the house went off.

Darkness.

Heavy breathing.

Silence.

Then a terrifying voice echoed from outside:

“If the boy survives till sunrise… the kingdom will burn.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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The road to lagos. Episode 2

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The road to Lagos. Episode 1