Chapter Seventeen: The Shepherd of Ashes
The city did not wake the same way it used to.
Stephen noticed it in the morning light—how the sun rose but warmth lagged behind, how people moved with subtle heaviness, as if hope itself had thinned. The first strike of Ayanmo had shaken more than walls; it had unsettled spiritual foundations.
And KOA was not finished.
A New Strategy Emerges
In the depths of the spirit realm, Baba Dagunduro stood before a different altar—one not built on bloodlines, but on influence.
"Power is not always seized," he said calmly. "Sometimes it is handed over."
A figure stepped forward, robed in the remnants of prayer and stained with compromise. Once a pastor. Once called. Now hollow.
"This city still listens to the pulpit," Baba Dagunduro continued. "So we will speak from it."
The figure bowed slowly.
His name in the spirit realm was now The Shepherd of Ashes.
Confusion in the Church
The first sermon aired that Sunday morning.
Stephen heard about it before he saw it.
Students whispered. Believers argued. Scripture was quoted—but twisted. Grace was preached without repentance. Power without holiness. Freedom without truth.
Stephen sat frozen as Favour played a recording.
Something was terribly wrong.
The words sounded Christian, but the spirit behind them was dead.
"This man is dangerous," Stephen said quietly. "He doesn't oppose the gospel—he dilutes it."
Favour nodded grimly. "KOA has learned. They're not attacking faith anymore. They're redefining it."
Risi Walks Again
That evening, Stephen felt her before he saw her.
Risi stood at the edge of the campus field, dressed simply, almost modestly. No seduction. No theatrics.
Just presence.
"You survived Ayanmo," she said calmly.
Stephen stopped a few steps away. "You didn't come to congratulate me."
She smiled faintly. "No. I came to warn you."
"About what?"
"About what's coming next," she replied. "The city won't fall through fear. It will fall through agreement."
Stephen's spirit burned. "You can still leave this."
Risi's eyes darkened, not with rage—but sorrow.
"I already crossed that door," she said. "And so will many others."
She turned and walked away.
Stephen knew she was telling the truth.
The Fracture Among the Watchmen
The poison spread quickly.
Some members of the watchmen grew confused. "He's still preaching Jesus," one argued. "Maybe we're overreacting."
Stephen felt the weight of leadership again.
"This is how darkness survives," he said carefully. "Not by denial—but by distortion."
Not everyone agreed.
A few stepped back. A few stopped attending prayer. Exhaustion, fear, and doubt began to creep in.
KOA was winning ground without lifting a blade.
A City Divides
By midweek, churches were divided.
Prayer meetings shrank. Arguments replaced intercession. Some pastors publicly mocked spiritual warfare, calling it extremism.
Stephen watched it unfold with grief.
"They're dismantling discernment," Favour said quietly. "Once people stop recognizing darkness, they stop resisting it."
Stephen clenched his fists.
"Then we teach them to see again."
The Confrontation
Stephen did something unexpected.
He went to the church where the Shepherd of Ashes preached.
He sat quietly at the back, listening.
The sermon was smooth. Intelligent. Convincing.
But beneath it was emptiness.
When the altar call ended, Stephen stood.
The room stilled.
"Sir," Stephen said respectfully, "you speak of peace. But peace without truth is surrender."
Murmurs rippled.
The pastor smiled. "Young man, you are passionate—but immature."
Stephen nodded. "Then answer me this: where is repentance in your message? Where is holiness? Where is the cross?"
The air thickened.
The pastor's eyes flickered—just for a moment.
Stephen felt it.
The Shepherd of Ashes had noticed him.
The Mask Slips
The pastor's voice hardened. "Sit down."
Stephen didn't.
"You preach comfort," Stephen continued, "but you carry ashes. You feed people what sounds good while starving their spirits."
The congregation stirred uneasily.
The pastor's hand trembled slightly.
"Security," he snapped.
But before anyone moved, the lights flickered.
A cold wind swept through the sanctuary.
Stephen spoke softly—but with authority.
"In the name of Jesus Christ, every lying spirit here is exposed."
The pastor staggered backward.
For a split second, something dark surfaced—then vanished.
The congregation gasped.
Stephen left quietly.
He had done what he was sent to do.
KOA Reacts
Baba Dagunduro was furious.
"He challenged influence publicly," he snarled. "He's teaching them discernment."
Ayanmo stirred in the shadows.
"Then we silence him," it said.
"No," Baba Dagunduro replied slowly. "Not yet."
He turned toward Risi.
"Prepare the next phase."
Her eyes gleamed.
The Cost of Truth
That night, Stephen felt the backlash.
Accusations spread online. Rumors followed him. Some called him proud. Others called him dangerous.
The weight pressed in again.
Stephen knelt alone, weary.
"Lord," he whispered, "I'm tired."
The answer came gently.
So was I.
Stephen wept.
A Stronger Resolve
Despite everything, something beautiful happened.
A few pastors reached out quietly. Prayer resumed in hidden places. Discernment began to awaken.
Light never moves loudly at first.
But it moves.
Stephen gathered the remaining watchmen.
"This is the war now," he said. "Not screams—but lies. Not demons—but agreement."
They nodded.
Sharper.
Wiser.
The End of Chapter Seventeen
The city stood at a crossroads.
One path was easy. Comfortable. Popular.
The other was narrow. Costly. True.
Stephen stood firmly on the narrow path, knowing full well the price would rise.
And somewhere in the unseen realm, KOA prepared its boldest move yet—one that would force the city to choose.
Golgotha was drawing nearer.
"For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ."
— 2 Corinthians 11:13