Chapter Twenty-One: The Blood That Cries
The land did not forget easily.
Even after the ancestral altar cracked and the symbols lost their glow, the earth around Stephen's father's house still breathed with memory. Morning light crept across the compound, touching broken charms and shattered calabashes, but it did not erase what had been done there for decades.
Stephen stood barefoot on the red soil, eyes closed.
He could feel it.
The land was wounded.
Not cursed—wounded.
Every ritual poured into the ground, every incantation whispered into the night, every sacrifice offered in secret had soaked into the earth like blood into cloth. Though the altar had fallen, its echoes still lingered.
"This place needs healing," Stephen murmured.
Behind him, Favour wrapped her shawl tighter around herself.
"It's quieter," she said. "But not at rest."
Stephen nodded. "Altars die loudly. Consequences die slowly."
A Father Between Worlds
Inside the house, Baba Dagunduro lay motionless, eyes open but unfocused. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling like someone suspended between two decisions.
Stephen knelt beside him.
For the first time in his life, Stephen did not feel fear toward his father. He felt sorrow.
"You stood against me," Baba Dagunduro whispered weakly, his voice stripped of its former authority. "And yet… I still feel you."
Stephen swallowed.
"You don't feel me," he said gently. "You feel mercy."
A bitter smile crossed the old man's lips. "Mercy is heavier than judgment."
Stephen took his father's hand.
"The blood I stand in does not deny your past," he said. "But it offers you a future."
Baba Dagunduro's eyes filled with tears he had never allowed himself to shed.
"Too many spirits know my name," he whispered. "They will not release me easily."
Stephen looked up.
"They don't have to," he said. "Christ already paid."
KOA's Alarm
Far away, in the spirit realm, KOA's headquarters convulsed.
Ancestral chains snapped.
Lineage seals weakened.
Altars flickered.
An alarm echoed across the dark plain—a sound only initiates could hear.
"They broke a blood gate," an elder shouted.
Another staggered backward. "Not just weakened—broken!"
Baba Dagunduro's absence was felt immediately.
Ayanmo writhed violently in the shadows.
"The son has crossed a threshold," it hissed. "He is no longer just redeemed. He is dangerous."
A new voice rose.
"Then we mark him publicly."
Silence followed.
Baba Dagunduro's former allies turned slowly toward the speaker.
"The time for secrecy is over," the voice continued. "Let Nigeria feel this war."
The First Retaliation
Stephen felt it before it happened.
A sudden tightening in his spirit. Like a warning bell struck deep within his chest.
"Favour," he said sharply. "We have to pray. Now."
They knelt on the bare floor.
Before words could leave their mouths, the air shifted violently.
A scream tore through the compound.
Not human.
A young boy collapsed outside the gate, convulsing, eyes rolled back, foam gathering at his lips.
Stephen leapt to his feet.
"They've started," he said grimly.
The Mark of Exposure
By nightfall, news spread quickly.
Three pastors attacked in different states.
Two prayer houses burned mysteriously.
A worship leader collapsed mid-service, screaming incoherent words about shadows and chains.
KOA was no longer hiding.
They were sending a message.
Favour sat beside Stephen, her face pale.
"They're provoking fear," she said. "If they scare the shepherds, the sheep scatter."
Stephen's jaw tightened.
"Then we stop reacting," he said. "We respond."
The Call to the Watchmen
Stephen sent out a single message.
No long explanation. No strategy breakdown.
Just six words:
"The war has entered the open."
Within hours, replies poured in.
We are ready.
We have been waiting.
Tell us where to stand.
Stephen closed his eyes.
He felt them—men and women across campuses, villages, cities. Ordinary believers with uncommon hunger. They were not trained soldiers, but they were surrendered vessels.
"This is no longer about me," Stephen whispered. "This is about territory."
Night of Blood Cries
That night, Stephen dreamed again.
He stood in a vast valley.
The ground was soaked red—not with visible blood, but with voices. Cries rose from the soil—generations calling out for justice, deliverance, rest.
"Why are they crying?" Stephen asked.
A voice answered him.
"Because blood always speaks."
Stephen looked down.
Two streams flowed from opposite ends of the valley.
One was dark—thick with accusation, ancestral claims, broken covenants.
The other was bright—flowing from a hill shaped like a cross.
The streams collided.
The valley shook.
Understanding the War
Stephen woke before dawn, heart pounding.
"This isn't just spiritual attack," he said to Favour. "It's legal contention."
"Explain," she said quietly.
"They're arguing ownership," Stephen replied. "Over people. Over regions. Over bloodlines."
He stood slowly.
"And the only answer to legal darkness is legal light."
The Public Stand
Stephen knew what had to be done.
It terrified him.
He called the watchmen together—not physically, but spiritually.
"At midnight tomorrow," he told them, "we stand openly."
"Where?" someone asked.
"Everywhere," Stephen replied. "Homes. Churches. Campuses. Streets."
Favour's eyes widened. "That will expose us."
Stephen nodded.
"Yes. That's the point."
KOA's Countermove
In the shadows, KOA prepared their response.
"They are challenging jurisdiction," an elder sneered.
"Good," another replied. "Let's see whose blood speaks louder."
Ayanmo hissed with excitement.
"Release the defilers," it said. "Let purity become rare."
Baba Dagunduro's former governor ally stepped forward.
"And if Stephen falls?"
A cold smile spread across the council.
"Then Golgotha becomes a memory."
Midnight
The hour arrived.
Across Nigeria, candles were lit. Knees bent. Scriptures opened.
Stephen stood in his room, hands raised, heart steady.
"For every blood that cries against this land," he prayed, "we present a higher blood."
The air vibrated.
Something ancient shifted.
In the spirit realm, the streams collided again—harder this time.
Darkness screamed.
The Cost Revealed
Stephen staggered suddenly, clutching his chest.
Favour rushed to him.
"Stephen!"
"I'm fine," he gasped. "But now I understand."
"Understand what?"
He looked at her, eyes burning with clarity.
"This war will not spare us," he said. "It will cost relationships. Comfort. Safety."
He straightened slowly.
"But retreat is no longer an option."
End of Chapter Twenty-One
As dawn broke, reports came in.
Attacks halted abruptly.
One altar collapsed mysteriously.
Two pastors regained consciousness, speaking of light.
KOA had not won the night.
But they had not lost either.
The war had crossed a line.
And Stephen Dagunduro had just become a visible enemy of darkness.
"And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony."
— Revelation 12:11