The sun had barely risen over Yaba when Aduke lit her small burner. The oil warmed with a soft hiss while schoolchildren gathered, already arguing over who would get the first batch of puff puff. She moved with the quick grace of someone who could read crowds at a glance. In the day, she was known as the cheerful girl who mixed her batter with nutmeg and a little ginger.
No one guessed she carried two knives hidden beneath the folds of her apron.
The truth belonged to the night.
By the time the last danfo roared past and the sky darkened into deep blue, Aduke packed her pans, tied her hair with a black scarf and left the market behind. She walked down a narrow street behind the old railway line. It looked empty, but she could feel the energy waking like a beast beneath the stones.
A blue sigil shimmered under her feet, and the air snapped open.
The Night Watchers stepped through. Their bodies looked like shadows stretched into human shape. Aduke bowed slightly.
“Target?” she asked.
Their voices echoed like wind in a tunnel. “A soul corrupted. Name: Damilare Osho.”
She nodded. “Corruption type?”
“Greed. He feeds on others. He has stolen life from three victims already.”
Aduke blew out a slow breath. Greed born of spiritual rot could twist a man until he could drain the will of anyone he touched. Left alone, people around him would weaken, lose sense, fall into despair. Capturing such souls was not punishment. It was containment.
She tightened the wrap around her wrist. “Location?”
“Third Mainland underpass.”
The bridge loomed like a sleeping giant when she arrived. Cars thundered overhead, sending tremors through the concrete. Somewhere below the noise, she felt the pulse of a corrupted soul.
A man stepped into view, tall and composed. His smile was too smooth. Shadows clung to him like smoke.
“You should not follow people at night, my dear,” he said calmly.
“I am not your dear,” Aduke replied. “And you… are not people.”
He lunged faster than a human should move. His hand struck the concrete where her head had just been, cracking the surface. She spun past him, knives flashing in the moonlight. When she slashed at his arm, threads of black energy oozed out like ink.
He grinned. “You Watchers are always too late.”
Aduke did not answer. She shifted her stance and pressed her fingertips to the ground. The sigil drawn on her wrist glowed. The air behind Damilare rippled. A spectral chain snapped forward, catching him around the torso.
He snarled as the chain dragged him backwards. Corrupted souls hated the pull. It reminded them of what they once were.
He fought the chain with raw strength and nearly tore through it.
Aduke leaped, driving her heel into his back, forcing him to the ground. “Stay down.”
He twisted, catching her ankle, and flung her into a concrete pillar. Pain raked through her ribs. She tasted blood. He charged again, his eyes swirling with darkness.
Aduke threw a puff puff.
It hit his chest with a soft tap.
He blinked, confused.
The sigil inside the puff puff activated in a burst of blue light. It expanded into a net of pure energy that wrapped around him. He screamed as the net tightened.
“You hide seals in food?” he shouted.
Aduke wiped her mouth and stood. “You would be surprised how much power batter can hold when mixed properly.”
He collapsed. The net sealed shut. The Watchers emerged through a ripple in the air, their forms taller than before.
“Containment successful,” they intoned.
Aduke nodded once, letting the adrenaline fade. Her ribs still burned, but she stood straight. “What happens to him?”
“Judgement. Cleansing. Memory rewritten.”
She rubbed her palms. “Give him a chance to rebuild. Greed grows from fear.”
One of the Watchers tilted its head. “Your compassion will weaken you.”
“Or strengthen me.” She picked up her knives. “Who knows?”
The portal closed.
By morning, she was back at her stall, stirring batter with slow, careful circles. The children arrived again, laughing, arguing about who saw what on TikTok. The bus drivers shouted greetings. The city carried on.
Someone asked, “Aduke, why do your eyes always look like you did not sleep?”
She laughed lightly. “Because night is busy.”
And as she dropped fresh puff puff into the hot oil, she felt the sigil on her wrist warm against her skin.
Night would come again. And Lagos would always have more corrupt souls to capture.