To Hunt A Level Four – Part 2

To Hunt A Level Four – Part 2

In modern day English, that could easily translate to: kill every goddamn witch alive.

Femi relented on the accelerator and turned into a small road adjacent to the highway. He rode for twenty minutes before he found the street he was looking for. He parked the bike at the mouth of the street and started down the rough road.

The buildings in this area could have been mistaken for the rubbles of Hiroshima after the nuclear explosion. Though they still stood, Femi had no doubt that the dilapidated structures would come crashing down with the push of his finger.

Femi came to a halt before a fenceless multi-tenanted bungalow, popularly known as face-me-I-face-you.

The street was dead and silent. Femi felt an odd presence envelope him. His heartbeat picked. Could the information have been wrong? He shook the thought out of his head. The information has never been wrong, he thought.

Femi brought out his scriptures and realized he could read it clearly in the strong moonlight. He found the armory in the book of Ephesians chapter six. All he needed was a sword and three minutes with the witch, and this would be a wrap-up.

Femi held the scriptures open to the armory in his left palm and withdrew the white stone—his faith—from his jacket with his right hand. He highlighted the part that said the sword of the spirit; the white chalk left a green luminescence on the written words. Femi stowed away the stone, stuck his hand forward as if holding a sword, and said, soft, “I believe, I receive.”

A long white sword shimmered into existence in his grip, first a shaft of white light, then a glowing white blade. The weapon pulsed with an ethereal power. An ethereal power that sent jolts of excitement through his veins.

Femi tucked the book back into his jacket. Before he approached the house, he glanced up and down the street once more. The street was devoid of life—devoid of sound. Good, he thought. No one to witness the great dispatching with which he was about to dispatch the witch.

Femi stepped over the gutter, which was the only structure that separated the compound from the street, and approached the open corridor.
Strangely, with each step he took towards the house, his trepidation abounded. Femi became worried. Why was he acting strange? This was not his first witch. As he pondered on his predicament, a thought availed itself to him. Maybe it was a warding spell. Maybe the witch was trying to repel him. Nice try, Femi scoffed and entered the house.

The strong glow from his blade chased away the darkness that had a moment ago abided in the corridor. There were four doors, two on the left and two on the right. According to the information he had received, the witch’s room was the second one on the left. Femi stood facing that door and listened intently.

No sound proceeded forth from the room.

But that didn’t mean nothing was being said. It could mean that he just didn’t have a strong enough hearing. It was at times like this that Femi wished he had a bigger faith. Then he would have activated Elisha’s hearing—when Elisha was able to hear what the king was saying in his bedroom. Then, instead of biking to his targets’ houses, he’d use Phillip’s teleportation—when Phillip teleported to Azotus. Then, instead of using a sword, he’d use Elijah’s fire—when Elijah called down fire from heaven with just a word. But now, all his faith was able to do was activate any weapon in the armory.

Femi decided he needed to talk to his handlers about increasing his faith. He was no longer a junior witch hunter. Though he had only been a hunter for less than a year, he had put in the grave close to seventy witches, some of which were level two witches! He was no longer a junior hunter, so his handlers needed to stop treating him as one.

He had proved to his superiors over and over again that he was capable of much more. Though it was against regulations for junior hunters to hunt witches without the whole armor of God, Femi never took the whole armor to kill level one witches. All he needed was the sword of the spirit and he was good. Senior witch hunters didn’t need breastplates and shields and helmets to kill a level one. Why should he?

Femi exhaled softly and slid his hand to the door knob. The moment his fingers touched the cold metal, there was a great sound like a giant bell.

Femi froze.

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