Chapter Sixteen: The Strike of Ayanmo
The night was silent.
Too silent.
Stephen Dagunduro felt it immediately, even before the first shiver ran down his spine. The air had changed—it was thick, almost tangible, as though the very wind had been replaced with shadow. The city outside his window appeared normal, but his spirit cried out that it was not. Darkness had moved again, but this time, it did not crawl or whisper. It advanced with intent.
He rose from his bed, eyes scanning the room. Favour was already awake, kneeling in prayer, her lips moving silently. Other members of the prayer circle slept in nearby rooms, unaware of the looming threat, vulnerable to the unseen.
Stephen closed his eyes.
This is it, he thought. The first strike.
The Arrival of Ayanmo
He felt the pressure before he saw anything—a surge of spiritual malice unlike any before. Then, in the corner of the room, the shadows deepened and condensed into a form.
Tall, imposing, wrapped in an aura that seemed to consume the light around it, Ayanmo had arrived. Its presence was oppressive, a physical weight pressing against Stephen's chest, making breathing difficult. Unlike previous spirits or agents of KOA, this was precise, calculating—ancient power honed for one purpose: annihilation.
"You are far from ready," the voice came—not spoken aloud, but directly into Stephen's mind. Low, guttural, and ancient. "You think you lead? You think you command? Tonight, all that you have built will crumble."
Stephen did not flinch.
He is mine in Christ, he whispered internally. I have authority over all darkness.
The spirit laughed—a sound like metal grinding against stone. "Words. Empty words. Faith will not shield you when the body fails."
The First Assault
Without warning, Ayanmo struck—not with physical blows, but with waves of spiritual assault. Stephen felt his mind attacked, memories twisted and replayed like nightmares. The failures of his past—fear of his father, the charmed name Ogundare, the moments he had nearly succumbed—were hurled at him like daggers.
One member of the prayer group, asleep in another room, woke screaming. Shadows coiled around them, invisible yet palpable, pressing down as though the weight of centuries sought to crush their spirit.
Stephen sprang into action, raising both hands and shouting:
"In the name of Jesus Christ, I rebuke you! You have no authority here!"
The wave of darkness faltered slightly. Ayanmo hissed, recoiling from the authority that pulsed from Stephen, but it did not retreat fully.
"You cannot command what you do not fully understand," the spirit growled.
The Betrayal Within
Amidst the chaos, Stephen felt a new disturbance—closer, subtle, human.
Tunde.
The boy who had faltered once had been planted again, this time willingly. Fear, doubt, and exhaustion had broken his spirit. KOA had whispered promises of safety, power, and recognition. Tunde had agreed to betray—not fully understanding the forces he was serving.
Stephen realized immediately. The spirit did not act alone tonight. Human agents of darkness moved with it, opening doors, lowering defenses, and weakening the resolve of those who had not yet awakened spiritually.
He called out in prayer, louder than before:
"Lord, expose every hidden thing. Bring the betrayer into the light. Shield my people!"
Favour's hands trembled as she prayed with him, discerning the betrayal. "Stephen," she said sharply, "look at Tunde!"
Stephen's heart sank. The boy's eyes were glazed, shadowed by fear and manipulation. He moved closer to the prayer group, silently, almost as though he was part of the assault.
The Clash of Authority
Stephen knew the only way forward: direct confrontation.
He stepped toward Tunde, speaking clearly, with authority that cut through the spiritual fog:
"Tunde, I command you in the name of Jesus Christ. Stop this work of darkness!"
Tunde staggered, his body twitching as though invisible chains were pulling at him. His lips moved, forming words that were not his own. The spirit of KOA had nested within him, attempting to dominate.
Stephen reached out, not with anger, but with authority:
"You are not yours. You are God's. Break every chain, every whisper of the enemy!"
Ayanmo screamed in the spirit realm, sensing its vessel falter. Light flared from Stephen, pushing back the shadows, piercing into Tunde's very being.
The boy collapsed, crying, sobbing for mercy. Stephen knelt beside him, laying hands on his head, praying aloud:
"Father, restore him. Deliver him from every deception. Let your Spirit reclaim every part of him."
The Counter-Attack
Ayanmo did not relent.
If anything, it became more precise, more lethal. It launched spiritual daggers—not at Stephen physically, but at his soul, his authority, testing his endurance. Every prayer, every act of worship, was challenged. He could feel the spirit clawing at the foundation of his faith, replaying every doubt, every compromise, every temptation he had ever faced.
Stephen staggered, knees hitting the floor. Sweat poured down his face, and every muscle ached from exertion. But he would not break.
"Greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world!" he shouted, every syllable shaking the room.
Light exploded outward from him, expanding, filling every corner, every crevice, suffocating the shadow. Ayanmo shrieked, retreating temporarily into the far corner.
A City Trembles
Outside, the city itself began to react. Small fires sparked in abandoned buildings, alarms rang, and people felt an unexplained fear. KOA's influence reached outward, seeking to destabilize the city while the spiritual war unfolded in Stephen's dormitory.
He could feel it—every corner, every street, every heart being touched by invisible forces. This was not just a campus battle anymore. KOA had escalated to urban warfare, targeting souls en masse.
Favour whispered, "It's spreading. We must pray for the city as a whole. Light must rise, not just in this room."
Stephen nodded, pulling out a worn Bible. "We will not fight alone. Every altar of prayer, every believer willing to stand tonight—we claim them in the blood of Jesus."
The Breaking Point
Hours passed. The spiritual assault did not relent. Every attempt to speak scripture was tested. Every prayer felt heavier. The group staggered, nearly exhausted.
Then Stephen realized the truth: endurance alone would not win. The battle required sacrifice. Not death. Not failure. But total consecration.
He stood, voice rising:
"Tonight, I declare this altar a boundary! Every dark spirit, every agent of KOA, every tool of deception—you have no claim here! By the blood of Jesus, every attack is nullified! Every human and spirit aligned against God's will is bound and exposed!"
The pressure lifted slightly, as though the words had sliced through centuries of darkness. Ayanmo hissed and withdrew, its presence thinning, though not vanishing.
The room was still. Exhausted, trembling, but alive.
The Aftermath
When dawn broke, the city seemed calm once more.
Tunde sat quietly, hands folded, tears running down his face. He had been freed—but not without cost. The attack had drained him spiritually, physically, emotionally. Stephen helped him to his feet, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You are free," Stephen said gently. "Walk in the light you've been given. Stand firm."
The other members of the prayer group emerged slowly from their rooms. They were bruised in spirit, but their faith had been tested and strengthened.
Favour approached Stephen. "This is only the beginning," she said softly. "Ayanmo will return. KOA will not be denied."
Stephen nodded. Exhaustion weighed him down, but determination rose higher. "Let them come. This city, these people, this ground belongs to God. And we will fight."
The Weight of Victory
That night, Stephen knelt alone, hands lifted, eyes wet with exhaustion.
He had survived his first direct strike from Ayanmo, countered betrayal, and held the line for the city. But he knew this was only the first wave. The war would escalate, and the cost would increase.
Yet, a deep certainty settled in his spirit: the authority of God was stronger than any shadow. KOA could send generals, spirits, human agents, or ancient powers. But the blood of Christ, flowing in him, made him unbreakable.
He whispered a prayer:
"Lord, protect them. Strengthen me. Let your kingdom advance in this city. Let every darkness tremble before your name."
Outside, the first light of morning crept across the campus, weak but steady—a promise that even after the darkest night, the dawn would come.
"Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."
— James 4:7