Chapter Thirteen: The Ancient Shadow Unleashed
The campus was quiet, but Stephen Dagunduro could feel it. Darkness had shifted, grown heavier, and more patient. The failed assault of the previous night had not weakened KOA; it had only sharpened its purpose.
By dawn, the air carried a chill that seemed unnatural. Even the rising sun could not pierce it. Shadows moved without form, flowing like smoke over the grounds, clinging to corners, seeping into dormitories.
Stephen felt the weight of it pressing against his chest, the remnants of fear he thought he had left behind returning in waves. Something old, older than his father, older than the charms, older than the land itself, had awakened.
Favour's Dire Warning
Favour found Stephen beneath the mahogany tree, their usual meeting place. Her face was pale, and her hands trembled.
"It's worse than before," she whispered. "KOA has called upon something ancient. Something… uncontrollable. It's not just human agents, not just shadows. It's a spirit older than any we've faced."
Stephen's heart tightened. He had felt spiritual pressure before, but this was different. It did not just press; it consumed, clawing at his spirit as though it wanted to erase him from existence.
"What do we do?" he asked.
Favour took a deep breath. "We stand. And we fight—not with weapons, but with the authority God has given us. But you must be ready… ready to face what no man before you has faced."
Stephen nodded, swallowing the fear that threatened to rise. He knew she was right. The battle was no longer subtle. The war was now openly upon him.
The First Encounter
That evening, Stephen returned to his dormitory, cautious but determined. The charm that had once pulsed with dark power lay broken in the corner, powerless against God's authority in him. Yet, he knew KOA would not stop at objects.
No sooner had he entered his room than he felt the air shift. The temperature dropped, and the shadows on the walls began to stretch and twist, forming shapes that were more than mere darkness.
A whisper echoed through the room, ancient and low:
"You cannot escape. You cannot hide. Ogundare… you belong to the night."
Stephen knelt immediately, arms raised, heart open to God's power. "In the name of Jesus Christ, I rebuke you! You have no authority over me!"
The shadows surged, writhing violently, and a figure slowly emerged. It was tall, impossibly thin, with eyes that glowed like molten gold. Its mouth twisted into a grin that spoke of centuries of malice.
"You are a fool," it hissed. "Do you truly believe your light can stand against what has ruled before your birth?"
Stephen's voice did not falter. "I do not believe—I know. Christ is my strength. His blood covers me. And no darkness, no spirit, no curse, no father, no ancestor can take me from Him."
The figure recoiled slightly. The room trembled with a clash not of flesh, but of spirit. Light flared from Stephen's chest, pure and unwavering. Shadows shrieked and scattered into corners, but the figure remained, circling him with a predator's patience.
The Spirit of the Ancients
Favour's voice rang in Stephen's spirit. She had prayed and fasted that day for discernment. "It is an ancient spirit," she whispered. "Older than your father's generation. It is ancestral, but corrupted. It knows your bloodline, your weaknesses, your fears. Stand firm!"
Stephen's knees pressed into the cold floor. Sweat poured down his face, but his eyes never left the spirit. He opened his Bible and began to speak scripture aloud, each word striking the figure as though a blade had been cast against it.
"Greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world!"
The spirit hissed and recoiled, but it did not flee. Its form shimmered, as if dividing itself between physical and spiritual presence.
"You cannot comprehend me," it growled. "You are a child of man. I am the shadow of your bloodline. Your father called me before you were born. You are mine."
Stephen swallowed his fear, his hands raised higher. "You are a liar. I belong to Christ. His blood has redeemed me. His power lives in me. And in Him, I am free."
The spirit recoiled again, this time more violently. The air in the room felt charged with static. Papers scattered, candles flickered, and a wind howled through the dormitory, though no door or window had been opened.
The Test of Faith
Hours passed, though time seemed distorted in the clash of spirits. Stephen prayed, rebuked, and proclaimed scripture repeatedly. The spirit tested him—replaying his doubts, calling up memories of the charm, showing images of his father, the sacrifices, the rituals he had avoided.
"You are weak," it whispered, showing him visions of failure. "Join us. Accept your heritage. Embrace the power of your bloodline, and you will never be afraid again."
Stephen's voice trembled but did not break. "I am weak, yes—but His strength is made perfect in my weakness! I reject your lies. I reject KOA. I reject all darkness. I follow Christ, the only true power!"
A scream tore from the spirit's throat, echoing through the walls and deep into the shadows. Its form shivered, fractured, yet it would not flee. Stephen could feel the magnitude of its age and malice—it had survived centuries. Yet, it had never faced faith like his.
The First Strike of Light
Stephen raised his hands and began to move forward. The Bible still open, he recited psalms of protection, blessing, and authority. Light poured from his chest, forming a wall of power between him and the shadow.
The spirit lunged. Stephen felt the collision like a shockwave through his soul. Every muscle, every nerve, every spiritual fiber was tested. But he held firm.
The shadow shrieked, and for the first time, it recoiled completely. It retreated to a corner of the room, hissing like a wounded beast. Stephen took a step forward, advancing not in arrogance but in faith.
"You have no hold here. This body, this soul, this life… is mine in Christ!" he shouted.
The spirit screeched, twisting and unraveling, but before it could flee entirely, it left a mark—subtle, dark, yet permanent.
Favour's voice echoed in his heart: "It is not finished. KOA will retaliate. But you have struck first, and that matters."
Stephen sank to his knees, trembling with exhaustion, sweat pouring, yet he felt a peace he had never known. He had faced the ancients, and survived.
The Dawn of Leadership
The following morning, Stephen called his small prayer group together. His voice, calm yet powerful, carried the weight of authority and experience beyond his years.
"This is no longer just about prayer," he said. "This is about spiritual warfare. Darkness has been gathering for centuries, and now it has focused on us. KOA is organized, patient, and ruthless. They will send humans, spirits, and agents of darkness to break us. But we are not alone. Christ fights for us. His light is stronger than any shadow."
The students nodded, awe and fear mingling in their eyes. Favour stood at his side, her heart swelling with pride. The boy who had once trembled before the charm and the shrine was now a leader—a soldier standing in the forefront of a spiritual battle that few could comprehend.
Stephen continued: "We will train. We will pray. We will fast. And we will confront the darkness—not as victims, but as warriors. KOA has underestimated us. And they will regret it."
KOA's Frustration
Far away, in the spiritual realm, Baba Dagunduro slammed his fist against the remnants of the broken altar.
"He fights in light!" he roared. "His faith… it burns through everything we've built!"
An elder bowed his head, whispering, "We underestimated the boy. His heart is stronger than blood, stronger than charms, stronger than ritual."
Baba Dagunduro's eyes blazed. "Then we escalate. Not subtlety. Not tests. Not influence. Total war. We will break him, or we will destroy everything he loves."
The End of Chapter Thirteen
Stephen stood at the edge of the campus fields, watching the sunrise. The wind carried the faintest echoes of distant shadows, yet the warmth of the morning sun touched his face. He knew the battle was far from over. KOA would strike again, more viciously, more strategically, more destructively.
But he had faced the ancient shadow. He had survived. He had declared God's authority over his life, his bloodline, and his soul.
The war had only just begun—but Stephen Dagunduro had taken his first real victory.
The light would not waver. Darkness would not conquer. And the boy who had once been Ogundare was now a soldier of Christ, armed for war in the spiritual realm.
"Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."
— James 4:7