The power of witchcraft, part two

09:58a.m, inside the new lecture hall.

Chaos had claimed the room. The sharp glare of fluorescent lights reflected off rows of desks as hundreds of students scrambled in a frenzy. Their faces glowed with the pale light of phone screens, fingers flying across keyboards, voices overlapping in a frantic symphony of desperate calls and hurried whispers. The air was thick with urgency, confusion, and rising fear.

"A coup in Zambia." The words felt foreign, unreal. Yet the grim reality played out on their screens: shaky footage of soldiers moving through the streets, plumes of smoke rising in the distance, and whispers of people performing impossible, superhuman feats. The lecture hall buzzed, the atmosphere vibrating with unanswered questions.

Demetrius weaved through the restless crowd, his face partially obscured by a simple mask and hat. He moved with purpose, careful not to attract attention. His jaw tightened as he muttered to himself, his voice almost lost in the din. "Of all the days to ask Anne out for lunch, Meech...you picked this one? Perfect timing, man. Couldn't have picked a worse day if I tried."

He scanned the room, his sharp gaze flicking over familiar faces, but none of them were hers. "Where is she? I can't see her anywhere."

Finally, he reached his seat. Dropping into a crouch, he stretched his arm toward his bag, the cool fabric brushing against his fingers—

"Excuse me, what are you doing? That bag isn't yours."

The voice, calm but firm, pierced through the chaos. Startled, Demetrius froze and looked up. Anne stood over him, her sharp, unwavering gaze a mix of suspicion and something deeper.

He sighed, tension flooding his chest as he straightened. "Anne, it's me. Meech."

For a moment, she didn't move. Then, recognition dawned, her expression softening before she lunged forward, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Her body trembled against his as she spoke, her words spilling out in a frantic rush. "Oh my Gosh, Meech! I've been looking everywhere for you! Are you okay? What happened?" She pulled back, grabbing his arm, her fingers brushing against his hand. Her eyes widened in horror. "Jesus Christ, your hand. What's this? Are you hurt? Demetrius, what is going on? And why are you wearing a mask and a hat?"

Demetrius winced, his head swiveling to check if anyone nearby was paying attention. He leaned in, his voice low and urgent. "Shhh. Anne, I need you to calm down. Please. I don't want anyone noticing me. Can we talk outside the hall? Just grab your phone—we need to go. Now."

She stared at him, uncertainty clouding her features. "Why just my phone? What about my bag? What about Taonga and Natasha? They're still in here"

He's jaw clenched, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I can't save everyone, Anne. Trust me. I wish I could."

Her frown deepened. "You're scaring me, Meech. What's going on? Just tell me!"

He stopped abruptly, placing his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. His voice softened, but his intensity didn't waver. "Anne, do you trust me?"

Her breath caught, fear momentarily giving way to something steadier, more certain. She nodded. "Yes. Of course I trust you."

"Good," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then come with me. We're out of time."

"Out of time?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Is this about the countdown?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his expression grim. "It is. And trust me, things are about to get bad—really bad. I can't let anything happen to you."

Without waiting for her response, he grabbed her hand and led her out of the lecture hall into the wide corridor beyond. The chatter of the students still inside faded into the background, replaced by the echoing hum of air conditioning and faint footsteps against polished tiles.

Two figures waited by the wall ahead. Dante leaned casually against it, his glossy black tracksuit gleaming faintly under the dim overhead light. His expression was hidden by a mask and hat. Beside him stood Mandamus, posture rigid, arms crossed over his chest, his face equally obscured.

"Just her?" Dante asked, his voice light but laced with curiosity. His dark eyes flicked over Anne, assessing.

"Yeah," Demetrius replied curtly, leaving no room for argument. "Is it time yet?"

Mandamus glanced down at the phone in his hand. The screen displayed a red countdown ticking toward zero. "Ten seconds left," he said simply.

Anne stiffened beside Demetrius. She recognized Mandamus from earlier—though they hadn't exchanged more than information about what was happening, his presence had left an impression. Now, seeing him here, her unease deepened.

"Ah ah, it's you again. Is this your shawty Meech?" Mandamus asked, glancing at them.

Demetrius didn't answer but wondered momentarily how the two knew each other.

Anne's voice trembled. "Meech... what's happening? Who are these people to you?"

Demetrius didn't answer. He pulled Anne closer, his gaze locked on his phone as the final seconds ticked away. Across Zambia, phones and televisions blared a synchronized alert. Screens everywhere displayed a single, unyielding message:

COUNTDOWN: 00 MIN:03 SEC

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, like a dam breaking, a collective gasp erupted from the nation. The ground beneath their feet seemed to hum with energy as the countdown ended.

Anne's grip on Demetrius's arm tightened. She didn't know what was coming, but deep in her gut, she knew it would change everything. This wasn't just the beginning of a new chapter—it was the end of the world they'd known.