Chapter Twelve: The Night of Silent Knives
The silence before the attack was unsettling.
Stephen sensed it long before it came—not as fear, but as absence. The usual spiritual pressure that hovered around him had thinned, like a predator holding its breath before pouncing. Even the night insects outside his hostel window were quiet.
Darkness had learned to be patient.
Stephen sat on his bed with his Bible open but unread. His spirit refused distraction. Something was coming.
A New Order from KOA
In the shattered halls of KOA's spiritual headquarters, rage simmered.
The Bloodline Altar lay cracked, its authority wounded but not erased. Baba Dagunduro stood before the elders, his face hardened, his voice stripped of ceremony.
"Rituals have failed. Blood has failed. We will not summon—we will strike."
An elder tilted his head. "You mean directly?"
"Yes," Baba Dagunduro replied coldly. "Silent knives. No altars. No chants. End the vessel."
The elders murmured approval.
KOA had shifted strategy.
This would not be a spiritual tug-of-war.
This would be an execution.
The Betrayer Among Them
On campus, the prayer group gathered as usual.
But one seat was empty.
Tunde.
Quiet. Observant. Always present—but never fully engaged.
Stephen noticed the absence immediately.
"Has anyone heard from Tunde?" he asked.
Favour's spirit stirred uneasily. "No. And that worries me."
What Stephen did not know was that Tunde had already crossed a line.
KOA had found him weeks earlier—exploiting insecurity, fear, and hunger for power. He hadn't been initiated with rituals or blood. He was recruited with promises.
Influence. Protection. Escape.
Now, he served as their eyes.
The Marking
That afternoon, Stephen felt a strange sensation—like being brushed by cold air.
He paused mid-step.
Someone had marked him.
Not cursed.
Not bound.
Tracked.
Stephen's spirit flared in warning.
"Lord, expose every hidden thing," he whispered.
But the mark remained.
KOA had locked onto his physical location.
The Night Falls
The attack came after midnight.
Not with thunder.
Not with screams.
But with movement.
Three figures slipped through the hostel corridors, unseen, unnoticed. Their faces were blank, their spirits hollowed by allegiance to KOA. They carried no visible weapons—but each one was a carrier of spiritual death.
Silent knives.
Stephen stirred in his sleep.
His spirit jolted him awake seconds before the door handle turned.
The Clash Between Worlds
The door opened.
The air in the room shifted violently.
Stephen sat upright, heart pounding, every nerve alert.
The attackers froze.
Something stood between them and their target.
Light.
Not blinding—but immovable.
They lunged anyway.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the unseen collided with the seen.
One attacker screamed—not in pain, but terror—and collapsed, clutching his head.
Another staggered backward, gasping as though suffocating.
The third—stronger, more prepared—pressed forward.
Stephen stood.
"In the name of Jesus," he said calmly, "this ends now."
The room shook.
The attacker was thrown backward, crashing into the wall, unconscious.
Silence returned.
Exposure
Security arrived minutes later, drawn by the disturbance.
The attackers were found alive—but broken, confused, unable to explain why they had come.
One name slipped from trembling lips.
"KOA…"
Stephen said nothing.
He only prayed.
The Cost of Betrayal
The next morning, Tunde was missing.
By evening, news spread quietly: he had been found wandering outside campus, disoriented, muttering apologies to no one.
Favour looked at Stephen with sorrow.
"He opened the door," she said softly. "But darkness always consumes its own."
Stephen felt no anger.
Only resolve.
KOA Regroups
In the spirit realm, Baba Dagunduro received the report.
"They failed?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
His grip tightened on his staff.
"Then the boy has crossed another line."
An elder swallowed. "What now?"
Baba Dagunduro lifted his eyes.
"Now," he said, "we stop reacting."
A cruel smile spread across his face.
"We go to war."
The Call Deepens
That night, Stephen knelt alone.
The weight of leadership pressed on him—not chosen, but unavoidable.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered.
A still voice answered—not audible, but unmistakable.
But you were prepared for it.
Stephen bowed his head.
"Then use me."
The Line Is Drawn
The assassination attempt failed.
But the message was clear.
This war would no longer hide in shadows.
KOA had drawn blood in intent.
Stephen had stood.
And now—there was no turning back.
Golgotha was no longer behind him.
It was before him.
"No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper."
— Isaiah 54:17