The knock on the door came just before dawn sharp and insistent, like a warning bell cutting through the night's fragile quiet.
Iyi's eyes snapped open. His heart hammered, a wild drum beating in his chest. For a moment, he lay frozen, breath caught between fear and instinct. The city outside was still shrouded in darkness, the usual morning chaos not yet begun. But here, in his small room, something had shattered the calm.
He stayed silent.
The knock came again louder this time.
Iyi forced himself to rise, his limbs heavy and stiff. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the moment. Was this the unknown catching up to him? The debts whispered in the emails? Or something darker, more immediate?
He crept to the door and peered through the cracked frame.
Three men stood in the dim streetlight, their faces half-hidden beneath heavy jackets. Their eyes glinted coldly, their movements sure and practiced. They weren't here for small talk.
One of them held a thin leather bag that looked too worn to carry much but Iyi had learned that appearances in Lagos were deceptive. It was what wasn't seen that mattered.
"Open up," the leader said, voice low and gravelly.
Iyi swallowed. He knew better than to hesitate.
The door creaked as he pulled it open just enough to keep the shadows outside.
"We need to talk," the man said, stepping closer.
Iyi's stomach twisted. He wanted to ask who they were, but the words died on his tongue. Instead, he stepped aside, letting them in.
The men entered quickly, eyes scanning the cramped room. The stale air smelled of sweat and cheap cigarettes. Iyi's hands trembled as he closed the door behind them.
The leader dropped the leather bag onto the small wooden table. It thudded heavily, echoing in the silence.
"Your debts are overdue," he said flatly. "Time to pay up."
Iyi's mind reeled. He had no money no gold, no riches, no way to settle whatever bill they meant.
"Who—who sent you?" he stammered.
The man's lips twitched into a cruel smile. "Doesn't matter. You accepted an offer, and now the price comes due."
Iyi glanced at the bag, then back at the men. A cold fear settled like ice in his veins.
He was trapped.
One of the men produced a thin envelope black, sealed with the same crimson wax and serpent symbol that haunted Iyi's thoughts. He slammed it onto the table.
"Recognize this?"
Iyi nodded, unable to speak.
The leader leaned in, voice dropping. "The spirits don't forget. Debts unpaid don't disappear. They come for you in the flesh."
A sudden pounding on Iyi's chest startled him. It wasn't physical it was something inside, a pounding like a second heartbeat, irregular and urgent.
He staggered back, clutching his chest.
"What is this?" he gasped.
The man who held the envelope fixed him with a hard gaze. "The debt you owe isn't just money. It's blood, hunger, and silence. You stepped into a world you don't understand."
The men exchanged glances and pulled out small knives, their blades catching the dim light.
Iyi's breath hitched. This wasn't about money. This was a warning. A brutal reckoning.
The knives traced patterns on their palms ancient symbols Iyi recognized from the whispered stories of his childhood. Marks of binding and blood pacts.
His mind spiraled.
He had crossed a line.
The men's eyes glowed faintly, not human but something else spirits, enforcers of debts long owed.
One of them stepped forward and pressed a cold blade against Iyi's wrist. He winced as the metal bit into his skin.
"You cannot run from this," the leader said, voice now deeper, edged with something unearthly. "The debt in your flesh is waking."
The blood trickled down Iyi's arm, warm and sticky. The pain grounded him even as panic threatened to consume his mind.
He wanted to scream, to fight, to run.
But he was rooted to the spot.
The leader pulled back the blade and touched Iyi's wrist with a finger, tracing the blood as if reading an invisible script.
"Your hunger isn't just for food," he said softly. "It's for power. But power always has a price."
The men turned to leave, their footsteps fading into the waking city.
Iyi sank onto the floor, trembling. The room felt colder, emptier.
He stared at his bleeding wrist, the thin line of red a mark of a world he was only beginning to see.
Outside, Lagos roared back to life.
Horns honked. Vendors shouted. Children laughed.
And somewhere, deep in the shadows, something waited.
The hunger in Iyi's chest was no longer just emptiness.
It was alive.