Chapter Fourteen: The Siege of Altars
The retaliation did not come immediately.
That was how Stephen knew it would be devastating.
Darkness never rushed when it was certain of its ground. It studied, calculated, and waited until confidence became vulnerability. Two days passed after the encounter with the ancient shadow, and though the campus appeared normal, the spirit realm churned with quiet movement.
Stephen felt it like pressure in the air—an invisible hand tightening slowly.
KOA Declares Total War
In the depths of the unseen realm, KOA assembled in full.
Not elders alone this time—but generals.
Spirits of regions, territorial entities bound to cities, institutions, and families stood in a wide circle around Baba Dagunduro. Each carried authority forged through decades of compromise, bloodshed, and corrupted covenants.
Baba Dagunduro's voice cut through the gathering like iron.
"The boy has crossed from resistance into offense," he said. "He has confronted what should have consumed him."
One of the generals stepped forward, its form shifting constantly, unable to settle into one shape.
"He is awakening others. This cannot be allowed."
Baba Dagunduro nodded slowly. "Then we do not attack him alone. We destroy his environment. We collapse every altar that feeds him."
A cruel silence followed.
"The city," Baba Dagunduro continued, "will feel this."
Altars Begin to Fall
The first sign came in the churches.
Prayer meetings ended abruptly as confusion spread. Worship teams argued mid-service. Longstanding fellowships fractured overnight over trivial issues. Pastors woke with unexplained heaviness, unable to pray.
Stephen noticed it immediately.
"What's happening?" one of the prayer group members asked, panic in his voice.
"Altars are under siege," Stephen replied quietly. "KOA isn't attacking people first. They're attacking prayer."
Favour's face tightened. "If they silence the altars, the people will fall without a fight."
Stephen closed his eyes. He could feel it now—spiritual fires being quenched, one after another.
This was coordinated.
The City-Wide Spread
The attack moved beyond campus.
Accidents increased. Violence spiked. Nightmares plagued believers and unbelievers alike. Some students woke screaming from dreams of shadows pressing them into the ground. Others felt sudden urges toward immorality, anger, despair.
KOA had unleashed a territorial operation.
Stephen knelt in his room, hands clenched.
"They're suffocating the city," he whispered.
A quiet understanding rose within him.
This was no longer personal.
This was warfare for territory.
Risi Returns
That evening, Stephen saw her.
Risi.
She stood across the road near the faculty building, watching him with an expression he could not read. She looked unchanged—beautiful, calm—but the spirit around her was wrong.
He felt the cold immediately.
She smiled when their eyes met.
That smile was deliberate.
"She's stronger," Favour whispered beside him. "They've promoted her."
Stephen did not respond. His spirit burned with warning.
Risi had not come to seduce this time.
She had come to deliver a message.
The Message of Darkness
Risi approached slowly, unafraid.
"You've caused trouble," she said casually. "The kind that doesn't go unanswered."
Stephen stood firm. "You don't have to do this."
She laughed softly. "You still think this is about choice?"
Her eyes darkened.
"Altars are falling because of you. People are suffering because you won't submit. KOA is giving you one last option."
Stephen's jaw tightened. "I already chose."
Risi leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Then the city burns."
She stepped back—and vanished.
Not walked away.
Vanished.
The Weight of Leadership
That night, Stephen gathered the prayer group.
They met in darkness—no lights, no music. Only whispered prayers and burning resolve.
"This fight is bigger than us now," Stephen said. "If we retreat, darkness wins territory. If we stand, the cost will increase."
Fear flickered in their eyes.
One voice trembled. "People are already suffering. What if this gets worse?"
Stephen nodded slowly. "It will."
Silence.
"But obedience has always been costly," he continued. "Light has never advanced without resistance."
Favour stepped forward. "This is not about being fearless. It's about being faithful."
One by one, they knelt.
The remnant had chosen.
The Counter-Altar
Stephen felt the instruction clearly.
Build an altar.
Not of stone.
Not of blood.
But of consecration.
They fasted through the night, praying in shifts, covering every hour. Scriptures filled the room. Repentance flowed freely. Pride broke. Fear was confessed and laid down.
As dawn approached, something ignited.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But real.
A spiritual flame rose—steady, defiant.
Stephen felt authority settle on him like a mantle.
KOA Responds with Force
The response was immediate.
The ancient shadow returned—but not alone.
Three presences surrounded it, each heavier than the last. The air in the room thickened as pressure mounted.
Baba Dagunduro's voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
"You are defying territorial order," he said. "This city does not belong to you."
Stephen stood, heart pounding, but steady.
"It belongs to God."
Laughter thundered through the spirit realm.
"Then let us see whose altar stands."
The shadows surged forward.
The Breaking Point
The room shook violently.
One of the prayer group members collapsed, overwhelmed. Another cried out in fear. Darkness pressed hard, testing the altar they had raised.
Stephen lifted his voice.
"Jesus Christ is Lord over this city!"
Light exploded outward—not destructive, but authoritative.
The shadows recoiled.
Not defeated.
But stopped.
Baba Dagunduro hissed in rage. "This is not finished."
"I know," Stephen replied softly.
Aftermath
When the pressure lifted, dawn had fully broken.
The city was quiet again.
Not healed.
But stabilized.
Stephen sank to his knees, exhausted.
They had held the line.
But war like this demanded more.
Training.
Structure.
Depth.
KOA had generals.
Stephen had believers.
But believers needed to become warriors.
The End of Chapter Fourteen
Stephen stood on the rooftop later that morning, overlooking the city.
He could feel the spiritual boundaries shifting—not surrendered, not won, but contested.
This was no longer about surviving attacks.
It was about reclaiming ground.
And somewhere in the unseen realm, Baba Dagunduro was preparing something far worse.
The siege of altars had begun.
And Golgotha was calling again.
"For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh."
— 2 Corinthians 10:3