The city’s power grid collapses in a single
night, leaving Lagos under perpetual dark. Water
pumps fail. Traffic halts. The old order
crumbles.
A new hierarchy rises: those who control the
flow of prayer, fuel, and information.
The heir, son of a fallen oil magnate, returns
to a Lagos unrecognizable. His father’s empire
is gone. His name is cursed.
He builds a sanctuary in a derelict church,
using his inherited wealth to fund a network of
underground water wells.
Rival syndicates target him. One sends a
preacher to curse his wells. Another hires a
hacker to steal his data.
He survives by trading in prayers. A pastor’s
blessing costs 100,000 naira. A spirit’s
protection costs a life.
His rival, a former business partner, sabotages
his wells with poison. The heir’s followers fall
ill.
He confronts the rival in a warehouse, where
they barter not with money but with blood. The
heir offers his own, sealed in a vial.
The rival refuses. He wants the heir’s soul.
The heir agrees. He signs a contract in his own
blood, binding himself to the city’s unseen
forces.
The wells heal. The city breathes again.
The heir walks away, no longer a man, but a
legend.
The city remembers him as a saint. Or a demon.
No one knows which.
