Cover Reveal – A Trial by Fire

This June 12!

trial

Most of Nigeria has become a wasteland. Scores of men, women, and children have been slain by the five day sweep of a deadly viral plague. Now, anarchy reigns. The society has failed. Law and order and basic human amenities have become a distant utopian concept to the remnants of the scourging. But it has only been one week, and things are about to get worse because the virus is still mutating.

Kennedy Nwosu has found a cure for the virus: a serum that can confer immunity to the viral disease. He can save the remnants of the viral plague from falling to the virus. However, what he does not yet know is that he and his friends have come under the cross-hairs of an assassin’s gun. The fate of Nigeria, and her heritage, rests on the shoulders of Kennedy and his cure. But before he can save the nation, he must first save himself. A trial has beset him: A trial by fire.

Available everywhere from June 12

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A TRIAL BY FIRE: A SNEAK PEAK

THIS JUNE 12

The pile looked like a garbage dump. It had a wide circumference such that it supported a great height. There must have been over a hundred rotten bodies; bodies that were beyond recognition as being human. The skins were dark black, and areas that were exposed had a disgusting orange rather than the red that meant blood, as well as the occasional patches of white and green that meant mold and algae. Some had parts of their bodies chewed off by the hounds, others were missing hands and heads, but all hung from one another, forming a column that rose to the dark clouds, a pillar of great injustice, of purposeless death, and meaninglessness of humanity without dignity…


In the days that followed the court-martial, the nightmares came more vivid and more forceful. The pain of his sufferings rose high like the waves at the beach, only it did not subside, but rather it rose even higher on the next wave. And in his pain, he saw no light, no hope, he saw no redemption, though he sought it carefully with tears. What would become of him? Where was the devil, the apotheosis of nemesis? Where was God, the symbol of righteous judgment, for if any man had incurred the wrath of the most high, it was him: James O’Riley. Death was too easy; he deserved more…


A glint of recognition fleeted across its eyes, but then the savage beast returned with startling violence. It lurched at him from its position on the car with blinding speed. Ken reared on instinct. His legs caught on each other and he tripped, his gun flying out of his grip. The creature landed on the spot he had been a second ago, but before he leapt again, someone fired a shot. The slug smashed into Gerald’s skull, splattering brains all over the asphalt. The creature remained standing, its one remaining eye wide open in shock. Then it turned to face Mr. Ajayi as if it had only been hit by a fly. Half of its head was gone, still it began to walk towards Mr. Ajayi. After three steps, it broke into a run…


A TRIAL BY FIRE

They’ve found a cure, but can they get the cure to the infected before the infected become the damned?

…a trial has beset them: A trial by fire.

 Available everywhere this June 12!

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On ‘Biohazard: A Trial By Fire’

I had earlier planned to release A Trial By Fire on May 29. This is no longer possible because of some technical issues I’m now facing with the story’s plot. I want to publish a book of the best possible quality, and sadly I cannot do this with a May release date.

So, dear Constant Reader, permit me to move the release date to June. It’s been really exciting for me, writing A Trial By Fire. I hope it would be just as exciting for you, reading the book. When I have a final June release date, you’ll be the first to know!

Thank you for your understanding.


Nigeria has descended into the dark ages…

Biohazard

A TRIAL BY FIRE

They’ve found a cure, but can they get the cure to the infected before the infected become the damned?

…a trial has beset them: A trial by fire.

Available in June

Read Book 1: HERE

Book Cover (JPEG Format)

PS: What do you think of my new theme and blog layout?

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Biohazard: Book 2 – Title Reveal

Nigeria has descended into the dark ages…

Biohazard

A TRIAL BY FIRE

They’ve found a cure, but can they get the cure to the infected before the infected become the damned?

…a trial has beset them: A trial by fire.

Available in May

Read Book 1: HERE

Book Cover (JPEG Format)

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To Hunt A Level Four – Part 9

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To Hunt A Level Four – Part 9

As the last words left her mouth, so did she live the world of the conscious: with the soft exhalation of breath.

Femi laid her head to rest on the floor and sprung from his feet. He jumped over the chasm and made his way carefully to the parlor. Save for the deep trench in the floor, which revealed dark earth, and the crack in the wall, which revealed the street, his sitting room seemed untouched by Destruction’s presence. Femi located the keys to his 2009 Toyota Land Rover. He ran out the house, down the side of the building to where his car was parked, along the length of the building. From this side of the house, it didn’t look like anything had happened to the building. The vanilla paint hadn’t even cracked.

Femi entered the black car, powered it up, and drove it to the front of the house. He ran back into the white room, where he hoisted Scarlett’s form onto his shoulder and carried her into the car. When she was lying safely in the back of his car, he went back into his house to see what he could salvage from the mess.

Rubble littered the floor. Femi retrieved a black backpack from his room, which seemed to be intact, and packed a lot of money from his safe. He also packed two changes of clothes, his cell phone, a tooth brush, and his 9mm shot gun. His progress back to his car was slow as he took time to espy properly, the extent of damage Destruction had caused to the building.

It was extensive. Through the crack, he could see all the way across to the very end of the building, where a smaller bungalow was built.

Back outside, people had begun to notice the structural changes made to the building. Femi got into his car and drove out the compound. As he navigated the highway, he couldn’t help but feel that he was being followed. Two hours after Scarlett had given him the address, he got to Lagos Island, where the address Scarlett had given him was located. He met another traffic gridlock which he had to grind through before he exited the highway into a residential neighborhood.

It was a church.

It was a structure that spoke volumes. It spoke of a time lost, when it had hosted hundreds, who would come to worship God. It spoke of a time when children danced around its now desolate compound. It spoke of a time when the leaves where green and the windows gleamed in the rising sun. Now, it was a shadow of the past. A mere ghost no one sees or recognizes.

The church’s white walls had undergone a most horrid metamorphosis to the incredibly repulsive black and grey it now was. The structure seemed to be composed solely of ply wood that had rotted to the very core, hence, threatening a collapse. The yard around it had four spiny trees whose branches resembled the tentacle of a giant malevolent creature, whose purpose was to prey on the dying and the old. On this yard, black, crispy-looking leaves carpeted the floor so that it made the church look like a celestial dark house.

Femi would have drove on and forgotten the abandoned church had he not noticed Simon and two other strange men walking up the small path towards the old front door. They seemed to be doing so in a manner suggestive of secrecy. Their furtive eyes swept the surrounding houses and the street. Simon’s eyes fell on Femi’s passing vehicle, but since the vehicle was passing and its occupants prevented from view by the darkened windows, it didn’t hold his gaze for too long.

Femi made a circuit round the church and came to its door once more. By this time, the three men were gone. He pulled into the driveway and parked beside the church. Gently pulling Scarlett’s unconscious body from the car and placing it on his shoulders, he carried her to the front door and pushed it open. The moment the doors swung open, five bright blades were thrust to his face.

“Wait!”

The blades held, a fraction of a second from piercing his throat. Femi let out the air that had snagged somewhere along his respiratory tract. They looked young, and they all wore black robes, meaning they were senior hunters. Two were Caucasian males while the remaining three were black; though, Femi couldn’t tell where they were from. They looked like foreigners.

“He’s one of us.” Femi immediately recognized Simon’s voice, even before he saw him walk down the aisle to the door. The hunters scattered and disappeared back into the shadows.

Simon heaved a sigh and shot him a sharp gaze. Then he looked to the figure he carried and his look of irritation became overshadowed by fear.

“Scarlett,” he whispered and rushed to the door, where he checked her pulse for a moment. While he still ascertained her state of health, he said, “What happened? I told you to stay out of trouble.”

“She found me,” Femi replied. “We got attacked by Destruction.”

As if he had been hit by a ball, Simon jolted backwards a few feet. He glared at Simon for a full minute, then said, “Follow me. She’s barely alive.”

Femi hoisted her onto his shoulders properly and started down the aisle after Simon. The church auditorium was quite narrow. It had only one central aisle and four columns of pews. Much of the sides of the hall was hidden in the dark, which was where the hunters probably inhabited so as to observe what went on outside the building. Down the aisle to the podium and beyond, they came to a non-descript and almost imperceptible door by the side of the altar. There, they were met by a solitary figure, who sat before the door. He seemed to be in some form of trance as he had his head bowed.

“David,” Simon called.

The man snapped up and on seeing Femi, he shot to his feet. “Who is he? And who has he got on his shoulders?” His eyes glared with murderous intensity.

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I’m drawing the curtain here. I’m going to complete the story and publish it, so if you haven’t already, subscribe to my blog to be informed when the book will be available for download.

Cheers!

KU

To Hunt A Level Four – Part 8

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To Hunt A Level Four – Part 8

“For who can stand before Destruction? Hath God not said it? Dust ye came from, to dust ye shall return. I am come to return you to dust. And so shall it be, that I return you to dust.” He laughed them to scorn—a sound most loud, most harsh, and most harrowing.

O for a thousand tongues to tell of the great terror that pervaded Femi’s soul! Terror so great that he did not realize when Scarlett wriggled his right arm to regain his attention. The mere proclamation of Destruction had forced upon himself a depression so great he struggled ten thousand leagues beneath its eternal weight. Indeed who could stand before Destruction? Indeed, who?

“Snap out of it, Femi!” Scarlett roared, a speck of desperation tainting her voice.

“Leave him!” Destruction boomed in reply. He smashed one feet into the ground and an earthquake immeasurable on the Richter scale shook the building. Splinters flew as darts everywhere. Loose cement fell to the ground. A gaping crack ran the length of the wall. The house divided along its center and separating, it revealed a deep chasm from which white smoke poured into the world. All these happened in a heartbeat, in a flurry that was beyond the grasp of the human mind. One moment, the house was whole, the next, it was a ruin—the result of a devastating war.

“Fear ye not my majesty?” His voice grew more enraged with each utterance. “Are you not terrified by my presence? Worship ye not the magnitude of my power?” Destruction laughed again and Femi could feel himself slinking back into shock.

Scarlett sprung to her feet. At first, she whirled around in the dense white smoke, which had placed in the realm of the unknown the exact location of Destruction. But then, she positioned herself in the direction where his voice had last reached to them from. All Femi could perceive of the hunter were her fists, which were symbols of her fearlessness—something Femi had kicked to the curb the moment Destruction made his appearance.

“He that dweleth in the secret place of the most high,” she said with a little caution, “shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

Destruction roared in laughter—so hard, that a slight tremor developed in the earth. “What is it ye folks say nowadays—are you kidding me?” He laughed hard again.

Not deterred, Scarlett continued. Femi could feel her power build. “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in HIM will I trust.”

“And where is He now?” Destruction interrupted his fits of laughter to proclaim. Shortly after, he continued. Femi could imagine him laughing on his belly, enraptured in boisterous mirth. However, he felt like something was changing in the room, insidiously, surreptitiously, unrevealed and covered in a holy darkness, that change flourished.

Scarlett continued, “Surely He shall deliver me from the snare of the fowler and from the noisome pestilence.”

Destruction choked. There was a startling silence. A wind began to stir in the room.

Scarlett’s voice took on more strength and conviction. “He shall cover me with His feathers, and under His wings shall I trust: His truth shall be my shield and my buckler.”

“No—wait! What are you doing?” Fear filled Destruction’s voice.

“I shall not be afraid for the Terror by night—”

“No! Stop that!”—the wind grew to a noisome whirl.

“—nor for the Arrow that flieth by day.”

Destruction screamed in anger and fear and marched towards them. The smoke parted his way with forceful exertion, however, an invisible force got a hold of him and held him bound in unseen fetters. He struggled and experienced no avail.

Scarlett’s voice rose to a bellow. “Nor for the Pestilence that walketh in the darkness.”

“Wait! Speak it not!”

“Nor for the Destruction that wasteth at noonday!”

The roar of the hurricane in the room drowned her last words. The hurricane swept Destruction off the ground. The smoke, though it still veiled everything perceivable by sight, swung around Destruction with the speed and violence of the winds.

“I charge you in the name of God: be gone!

The hurricane leapt to put into execution Scarlett’s command. It sprung off the ground and carried Destruction, who still screamed—bound—in fury, out of the room. Soon after, the smoke dissipated. Soon after, Scarlett collapsed into Femi’s hands, weak and falling unconscious. Her face had wetted with perspiration; every muscle was slack as though she was on the brink of death. The very breath of her nostrils were shallow and hot.

For a moment, Femi shifted his gaze from her pale face and swept in his surroundings. The room had totally cleared of the smoke: it was a sight of true and utter destruction, a scene of profound desolation. The house had separated along an axis less than four feet from him, revealing the parlor, the compound, and the street outside through a gaping crack. The crack ran for at least twenty feet into the ground, forming a chasm. Loose sand and rubble fell to the ground at the corners; the ceiling threatened to cave in. It would, Femi noted, in a few minutes.

Femi looked back down at Scarlett and saw that she had been looking on him the whole time. She smiled, her eyes drooping. “Twenty six, Allen Avenue. Take us there now.” She paused. Femi saw from the tightness at the corner of her eyes that each word she spoke required an exertion of strength. “Ask for Jonathan,” she breathed, “he can locate the witch and you can help him. Destruction will be back.” As the last words left her mouth, so did she live the world of the conscious: with the soft exhalation of breath.

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To Hunt A Level Four – Part 7

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To Hunt A Level Four – Part 7

When he finally regained his wits, he found himself on the floor and a blade pointed to his forehead.

Femi heard a wail proceed from his lips. It was a pathetic sound that remained aloft in the small room. The lady sniggered and shoved the blade to his chin. Femi’s body trembled at the mortal cold touch of the bright blade and let it raise his head such that he gazed upon this beautiful death. For she was both beautiful and deathly.

Her face must have been divinely sculptured, no doubt created to lead the legendary amazons. Her skin was pale and smooth, a supple combination that called and pleaded and appealed for a touch or at least a longing for a touch. Her lips were thin and pressed into a line, but they were luscious. They were blood red. Her eyes…her eyes were a startling hazel.

Scarlett snarled deeply. Yet, twisting her face in the most grotesque of ways did nothing to ruffle her splendor. She had a powerful energy revolving her being, crashing into the walls of the room, and reverberating back upon them. She was in control. She was in charge. She was a senior witch hunter.

She looked deep into his eyes. “You failed,” she whispered, like the whisperings of lovers in the night. “You have failed your sacred duty. The Conclave has sent me to clean things up.”

“Is that why you came?” Femi’s hurt had evolved to anger. “To rub in my failure and then kill me?”

She gave a sarcastic smile. The whole room lit up like the first few minutes of dawn as her lips revealed a perfect set of white teeth. She descended to her knees—a fluid and graceful motion that could have fooled the eyes for the pleasure it gave. There was an erotic softness to her eyes, to her gaze, and to the way she held her lips. “If I wanted to kill you,” she breathed, causing Femi to pull nearer to hear, “you’d already be dead.” She rose to her feet, turned, and walked back towards the mirror.

Now that she wasn’t so close, Femi realized he was short of breath. He sucked in a lungful of God’s precious air and let his heart calm down, all the while observing the witch hunter. Femi felt two emotions towards her. Envy and yearning. She possessed an uncanny audaciousness that bothered on impudence. The way she strode, you could have mistaken her for a king—not a queen, but a king! A brash king. Yet, there was no atom of masculinity to her. He found himself envying these qualities and yet yearning for the girl that she was.

Femi was close to twenty six and had no person in his life. It was a cold and dark place to be, and it was where Femi had made a home.

“Why have you come, then? Where have you come from? You are not from these parts are you?”

Scarlett stood before the mirror gazing around the frame as if observing the complexities of the artlessly designed glass. Whatever had piqued her interest about the mirror, it could not be observed by the mere eyes.

“Where I come from is none of your business,” replied Scarlett. “Why I’ve come is to kill the level four that you failed to kill.”

Femi scrambled to his feet. “Hey, I was told it was a level one. I certainly wasn’t expecting a level four! Someone messed up at the Conclave.”

Scarlett swung around to face him and took two quick steps towards him. Femi took an equal number of steps backwards and tried to force his body out of the fits of trembles that had wrapped around him.

“Are you listening to yourself?” She had a look of disgust on her face. “There’s a powerful witch running amok and you’re playing the blame game?” She drew nearer. “You know why I attacked you? It was to test you. To see if you were worthy of a promotion. But you failed. And Simon’s request will be denied.”

For a few seconds, they glared at each other.

“The Conclave has placed you under my direct command. You will do whatever I say.”

A spirit of anger fell upon Femi’s heart. He felt a great urge to grab a hold of the girl’s head and smash it into the wall. But even that couldn’t have quenched his fury. He bit his lips. “What do you need?”

“Look,” Scarlett started after a deep breath. Her demeanor seemed to have softened. “There was a breach at the Great White Temple. You were never meant to go up against a level four. You could have been killed. I’m sorry about that. But I need to locate this level four and find out what evil plan it has.”

Femi nodded. “How can I help?”

“Last night, when you were attacked, what did you see? What did it look like?”

“Nothing,” replied Femi. “It was definitely not human. But it had the form of human and was cloaked in a thick darkness that covered the whole street.”

“What?” Scarlett must have meant that as a question to him, however, it came out as a whisper and her eyes had already lost focus. She was in shock.

“Why? What kind of creature is this?” Fear taunted Femi’s heart. He furiously fought to keep from falling into it.

Scarlett’s gaze slid to him. “Open your scriptures to Psalms ninety one and verse five and six, and read aloud.” Then she turned and looked away.

Femi brought out the black book and searched out the passage. He felt like there was a swirl of utter despair around him, and that at any moment, he would fall in, never to see the light of life again. His finger settled on the scripture and he read. “Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.

Femi heard it—an almost imperceptible sigh escape the mouth of the red draped figure before him. Her shoulders were slack in resignation. Her head a little hung in submission. “The world is a very dangerous place, Femi,” she said wistfully, “a very dangerous place.” Her tone carried a hopelessness that made Femi want to cry out in distress.

“What does that mean?” Femi asked.

Still backing him, she said, “There are four of them. Four spawns of a level four. Terror. Arrow. Pestilence. Destruction. You fought Pestilence, the one that walketh in darkness.” She was quiet for a while, then she added, “you shouldn’t be alive. They want you alive. Which means whatever they’re planning, you’re an important piece.”

“How can that be?” Femi replied, few seconds from irreparable panic, “the witch said my living or dying was of no consequence to their plan.”

“Does it surprise you? Are they not children of the one who is father of all lies?”

There was a silence.

“There’s one more thing.” Scarlett turned.

“What?” asked Femi.

“These four: Terror, Arrow, Pestilence, Destruction—they are related. Pestilence and Terror are night creatures and so they only operate in the night. Arrow and Destruction are day creatures and so they only operate in the day. When one comes—”

“Others will follow,” Femi cut her off with a whisper. “Terror, Arrow, and Destruction.”

She nodded. “There will be deaths. Deaths on an unimaginable scale. We can’t let that happen. I can’t let that happen.” Her resolution was evident both in her tone and in her eyes.

“How can we stop them, then?”

Scarlett shook her head. “You don’t seem to understand.” She came up so close to him that he could perceive the alluring freshness in her lustrous black hair. “Going up against any of these dark spawns is suicidal. We go after the level four. We kill her, and they’ll vanish.”

“Simon says the level four witch went to Enugu. But Enugu is a large place. It’s like finding a drop of water in an ocean.”

Scarlett smiled. “I know a guy.”

That was all she got out of her mouth before the door broke free of its hinges with an explosive sound and flew into the room. Scarlett jerked him down in a duck as the door tore over their heads and smashed into the mirror.

A deep laughter rumbled into the room from the adjoining parlor. Smoke flowed in overlapping waves into the room and soon, they were engulfed in a flood of white smoke. A figure stood in the doorway and remained. From this figure proceeded forth another deep and dreadful laughter.

“Who are you?” Scarlett’s voice was hard and strong, but her hands still gripped Femi’s body, and they trembled with fear.

The figure came into the room and let loose a guttural laughter that shook every bone of Femi’s body. It was fear unspeakable—full of terror!

“I am the Destruction that wasteth at noonday. I am the father of Pandemonium, and Chaos and Mayhem are my children. All die before me and behind me there’s only grief and sorrow. Darkness is my birthright, eternal sadness for menfolk is my earnest desire and sole purpose. I am the author of fear and the messenger of death. None can stand before me. No life can exist in my presence. I have come to finish what Pestilence started. And I shall finish what Pestilence started.” He laughed again. And again. And again—an unending melody of their departure from this life. The white smoke had thickened such that nothing was visible save the figure of a man, which man was no man, but Destruction that spoke with a deep rumble of a voice. “For who can stand before Destruction? Hath God not said it? Dust ye came from, to dust ye shall return. I am come to return you to dust. And so shall it be, that I return you to dust.” He laughed them to scorn—harshly, loudly, and harrowingly.

To Hunt A Level Four – Part 6

Witch hunters-1

To Hunt A Level Four – Part 6

“I go kill you if you no commot here, now,” the man roared with a sharp, evil look.

The short man remained unfazed. “Kill me?” His features took upon themselves a fearful display of fury. “KILL ME?” Then without warning, he vaulted forward.

Femi’s breath held in his chest as he watched the short man bring his weapon to bear on the taller man. The machete came up quickly and deflected the shard of bottle. A rapturous gasp rippled through the multitude. For a second, the two men were separated by the force of the deflection; but it was only a second. The two men snarled and attacked each other again.

Femi turned his back on the scene. His heart was already pounding away. He had two choices: abandon his bike and run or stay. However, abandoning his bike wasn’t an option he could afford. It had cost a fortune to acquire such finely sculptured piece of machinery. Having made his decision, he retrieved his book and white stone from his jacket. He found a scripture in the book of Philippians chapter four and verse seven, and with his faith, he highlighted: and the peace that surpasseth all understanding. “I believe, I receive,” he muttered. And just as the words escaped his lips, a boldness like an overcoat was thrown on him. Suddenly, he felt like he had power of this crisis.

He turned around and marched through the cheering crowd into the safe distance they had left between themselves and the wrestling men. As he approached them, the crowd fell to whispers. And then to silence. The men, who were now on the floor, devoid of their weapons which were strewn about, paused for no reason and looked up at him. There was a confusion in their eyes, like the transient confusion that is the remnant of a long sleep.

Femi towered over them. “This is my bike,” he said, feeling his words flow forth from his mouth in waves of irresistible power, exerting irresistible control upon all who would dare listen. “I will mount it and drive away. And as I do, you will not fight over this matter again. You will forget you ever saw me.” Femi swiveled on his heels and faced the crowd, who looked upon him, aghast. “And that goes for all of you.” His hands traced an arc along their faces.

The men remained locked in a motionless wrestle, looking too stunned to fight. The crowd had stilled, not a muscle moved, yet they looked at him, eyes full of wits, minds muddled by a power that was beyond them. It was peace: power over crisis.

Femi felt a smile slither onto his face. He walked around the men on the floor and mounted his bike. Producing the keys to his bike from his pocket, he fired the engine. He remained motionless, unnecessarily, on the bike for a full minute, just to remain within the vicinity of his great display of power. It gave him pleasure to see the multitude remain gripped by an unseen force—a force he commanded. He revved the engine.

The moment he started moving, they parted, creating a path for him. He drove through the path until he was through the last row of people; he zoomed off into the early morning traffic.

Before he turned into the highway, he looked back and saw that the crowd had begun to disperse. Femi chuckled. Power over crisis.

He got to his house less than twenty minutes later. It was a respectable three story building, home to four families and two singles, him included. His apartment was the forward one on the ground level, near the gate, the one with the small verandah. The house was empty and silent—in fact, the whole street was silent, unlike where he was coming from. Most people were already at work or toiling in the traffic snarl that stretched the distance between Ikorodu and Mile Twelve.

Femi brought the bike to a stop in his parking space and dismounted the vehicle. He basked in the euphoria he felt about handling the situation with his bike until he got to the door that led into his house. The moment he was by his door, memories of last night’s encounter came back to him forcefully. Bitterness settled in afterwards. He turned the knob and let himself in. Once he was sure the door was locked behind him, he threw himself on top of his sofa. There was a level four on the loose. How had he survived? Simon said he had been spared. Why? Witches, especially level fours, didn’t just do anything. Whatever they did, it was for a reason.

For what reason had he been spared? As Femi yet pondered these things, he heard a most peculiar sound come from his white room. Peculiar because it would have belonged to a man had his mind followed logical reasoning. But Femi refused to believe there was a man in his house. Maybe because the ramifications were too severe to contemplate; maybe because he was scared. He remained riveted to the sofa, his breathing becoming a terrifying sound to his ears.

The sound came again. There was someone walking in his white room. The hellish terror of a thousand damned souls gripped his body. Why, he did not know. Femi wrestled with his jacket to get out his faith and his scriptures. He sprung to his feet once he had the two sacred objects in his hands. He had the scriptures open to the armory in Ephesians and activated the sword of the spirit.

Femi held the white gleaming blade to his face and drew nearer to the door. The door handle looked as pale as death. Femi understood quite well that the moment he touched that handle and confronted this trespasser, death could fall on him swiftly. Grabbing a hold of his mind before it became ensnared by fear unspeakable, Femi gripped the handle and twisted. He rushed into the room until his eyes fell on he who had entered his house. Then, his legs lost its impulse and froze, leaving his body standing immobile at the center of the room.

There, before his mirror, stood a tall figure draped in a red robe. This figure became aware of his presence and yet remained facing the floor-to-ceiling glass. Femi peeked beyond the slender shoulders into the mirror and observed that this figure was that of a lady; a stunning half caste. Her eyes darted across the surface of the mirror to look into his: they were a storm of burning concentration. A swirl that could only be described by two word: eternal deepness.

Femi looked away.

He felt the air charge with power; power that was quickly building.

“Who are you?” Femi dared a question at the senior witch hunter. “And why have you come?”

The lady straightened her robe and turning to face him, she said, “I am Scarlett. And I have come to slay you.” Without warning, she vaulted into the air. Around her, gravity seemed to lose its meaning because she skipped higher into the air, when she should have been falling. At the top of her ascent, a blade much similar to his appeared in her hands. She descended upon him with a snarl, a poised blade, and a deadly beautiful face which wanted nothing more than to see his head roll off his body. Her read robe rapped in wriggles around her in an unending song of his demise.

Her blade struck his with a blinding flash—a flash that disoriented him. A sudden space emerged between his palms. Where the sword had been a moment ago, held in his grip, a volume of air occupied. His palms clasped each other, his sword shattered by the force of impact. Still shocked, he felt a fist strike his chest, sending him reeling, breathless, to the back of the room. When he finally regained his wits, he found himself on the floor and a blade pointed to his forehead.

To Hunt A Level Four – Part 5

Witch hunters-1To Hunt A Level Four – Part 5

Simon pushed the sheet of paper into his robes, looked around the scraggly, little apartment with disgust, and left the room. At his car, he said to Femi. “You survived the impossible today, Femi, for this I commend you. And I will make sure I petition the Conclave to consider you for promotion. However, I fear I know why you were spared. If what you have described here is correct, then something big is afoot. The witches are mobilizing for a major attack.”

This struck a chord of utter despair within Femi.

Simon got into his car and started the engine. The glass rolled down and he stuck his head outwards. “Stay out of trouble, Femi. Stay away from hunting for a while, at least until I’m sure of what we’re dealing with.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

“Well, I have to consult with my superiors. We have to get through to the Conclave. They might require you to give a detailed account of what you experienced. So return home, stay away from work, and rehearse in your mind all that has happened today. I’ll contact you soon.”

Simon revved his engine, pulled away from the side of the road, and drove down the street towards the highway. Femi wanted to say more—to know more—to be involved in a greater degree in hunting this level four—yet, it was not his place to question a superior for he had to count those who labored in the service of God above him of double honor. Resignedly, he began his ascent up the street till he got to his bike.

The street on which he had parked his bike—the one that twenty minutes on adjoined the highway—bustled with streaming workers on their way to their jobs, salesmen hanging around the opening of their shops, soliciting patronization, children in flocks trekking to their schools, cleaners in orange uniforms, sweeping the sandy asphalt with long brooms, and the area boys—full grown men of great disrepute, of a hardened heart, and of a great and rabid penchant for violence that was nothing short of demoniacal.

As usual, three of such men were involved in a brawl that was quickly drawing the attention of passersby. Naturally, Femi couldn’t care less if they stabbed themselves to death as they threatened to, however, as he drew nearer the mouth of the street, when he realized that the object of this quarrel was his bike—or rather, who gets to extort money from him for parking his bike on their turf—a sudden fear gripped his frame.

He paused first, mere feet away from his bike and the attending throng of muscular, bare bodied men—bare bodies that revealed hideous scars, some old, most fresh. Femi took notice of one particularly short man whose features belonged to the devil—belong to the devil for who else save the evil one would wield a weapon (a shard of bottle which at some time had belonged to the whole of a wine bottle) against a man with gleeful eyes?—because he was the one who held claim to Femi’s bike. His opponent, a rather tall and lanky fellow yet not lacking in rigid qualities and his own large number of scars, stood him up with a weapon of his own—a long machete that was sharpened perhaps for the sole reason of splitting the air to its components—though with an uncertainty about him and certainly without delight.

This ghastly company was not without movement and sound. They moved, as one, in sweeps and lurches around his bike and a cacophony of shrieks and yells held around them. A small crowd had already gathered though at a safe distance.

Femi pondered on his next course of action. He—or more appropriately, his red bike—was the reason for this bitter scuffle. It would be no great exertion of will power for one of the foul characters to bury an axe in his head, thus ending the fight. He had to act with caution. But what could he do?

As he was yet considering the matter, he heard a sharp and swift grating sound. This dreadful sound was attended by flying sparks that originated from the ground between the two protesters. Femi fled the scene just as his heart fled his chest. Once he was several yards away, he turned and observed that the mass of area boys that had attempted to settle the wrestle and prevent it from ascending to an all-out provocation had dispersed as well, leaving the two men facing each other without fence. The small crowd had increased to a multitude.

Femi looked more closely at the ground and realized the cause of the sound and sight. The one wielding the machete had scrapped the ground with it, sending forth sparks in all directions and letting loose that horrendous grating sound. Now he had the sharp end of the murderous instrument of death pointed down at the short man.

“I go kill you if you no commot here, now,” the man roared with a sharp, evil look.

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To Hunt A Level Four – Part 4

Witch hunters-1

Before today’s update, I’d like to say that I got off to a rough start with this story. But I think I’ve got my footing just right. The writing has been a little dis-satisfactory (at least, I think so–what do you think?) but this is a first draft, so it’s kinda okay ish. Before I publish this story as an eBook, it’ll go through series of edits. However, from hereon out, the writing should improve a bit. ENJOY this part!

To Hunt A Level Four – Part 4

A hand prodded his shoulder. “Femi. Femi. Are you alright?”

Femi came around with a resounding headache. At the first, his body refused the commands he gave it—stand up!—eyes open!—lips apart!—choosing rather to remain sprawled on the rocks ridden ground under the reviling and scorching gaze of the sun. But soon, after much prodding and pleading (at the mere thought of waking in the middle of the road in the middle of the day, Femi’s mind had become inundated with insufferable shame) his body began to respond, if mournful, slight movements could be regarded as a response.

The figure standing over him belonged to that of a young man. He leaned in so that his plump form blocked the sharp rays of the sun. The man’s eyes were a constant swirl of consternation and glee. This man that had brought him from the pit of a swoon wore black regal robes that twirled gracefully around his shape. The bare skin on his ebony head shone with all the radiance of a glittering surface.

Femi soon recognized the man that now looked deep into his eyes. And with this recollection came a sudden flush of anger which quickly fizzled, giving way for exasperation. For this man that looked at him was his superior, his handler. He was a senior witch hunter, something Femi desired to be and wasn’t.

The man offered a hand which was veiled in the expensive black he wore. Femi took it and was jerked up to a sitting position. Muscles snapped. Femi let out a loud groan.

Now he was sitting, he could see that a small crowd had gathered around him. Curious eyes gazed upon him, some with confusion, others with contempt. This crowd was not without murmurs for they babbled as he stretched his muscles. They babbled even when he became still with the contemplation his last encounter.

“What happened?” Simon asked. He descended the air to a crouch. Yet, for his tall person, he still towered over Femi. There was an energy to his presence, a vitality to his eyes. He exuded power. Boldness. Courage. Traits that Femi desired to exhibit.

Femi shook his head. “I don’t know. The witch was more powerful than I anticipated. It couldn’t have been a level one. The message I received was wrong.”

“The information we receive is never wrong, Femi.” There was the hint of a scold in his voice. Though he put a veil of confusion around it with his blank expression.

Femi looked back down on the ground. “It must have been wrong because the witch spawned a creature. Only level fours and beyond can spawn dark creatures.”

Simon nodded for a while as his eyes lost focus on ruminations that were beyond this plane of understanding. “Indeed, it was a level four. And how is it you’re still alive?”

“I fought it with the light.”

Simon seemed to stiffen at this proclamation. There was a visible change in the air around him. An uncertainty had snuck up on him and now had him in its tightening embrace. “Say that again,” replied Simon in a whisper.

“I fought it with the light.”

This time a tiny, almost indiscernible, wail escaped his lips. A question came in his eyes—a question he dreaded to ask for he knew the answer and feared its import with morbid passion. “This creature you fought,” said he alas, “did it walk in darkness?”

Femi observed Simon’s accelerated heartbeat from the ripples in his robes. It gave him a twisted satisfaction to see that the power figure could be unsettled, too. “Well, yes, sort of—I mean, there was darkness everywhere and it seemed to release this darkness from its whole being. I never got a real good look at it.”

Simon shot to his feet. “Get up and follow me.”

Femi slowly got to his feet. The crowd had started to disperse, though they still shot him glances, some of confusion, others of contempt.

People were everywhere. On the road. In fenceless compounds. In verandahs of multi-story buildings. The whole place pulsed with a vibrancy that contrasted starkly the experience of last night. Mysterious exotic sounds, noises, sharp arguments, loud hawkers—all these synchronized into a steady melodious drum that flowed up and down the street.

Soon, Femi was forgotten by the hundreds of people on the street. He followed Simon to where his black SUV was parked, beside the witch’s house.

A couple walked out of the corridor with their child. They passed by Simon and Femi without as much as an acknowledgment and headed up the street. Simon crossed into the compound and approached the house.

“We need to find out where the level four witch went to,” Simon said, on entering into the corridor. A nauseating smell slithered into their nostrils—a mix of vomit and excreta, Femi supposed. He gagged on the odor, turning away from the depths of the corridor to the source of light and air, the doorway to the open.

When he had recovered from his nausea, he turned around and saw Simon no more. The door into the witch’s house, a door he had failed to open—a sign of his apparent failure to stop the witch—stared open at him. Femi hurried to the door. He stood at the door way and peered into the dark room.

The air in there was stuffy, yet this did not deter Simon because he tore through every property in sight. The small room was tightly parked. Barely twenty square feet in area, the enclosure—because that was all it was, an enclosure formed with brick and mortar—was packed to the ceiling with bags and bags of cloths. A small bed took up the whole left wall, leaving a tiny area in the center for transit.

“What are you looking for, sir?” Femi whispered. He glanced back into the corridor to make sure it was still clear.

“Any evidence that tells us where this witch went to.” Simon paused. “Aha…” he whispered and held up a sheet of paper.

Femi resisted the urge to plunge into the room so as to scrutinize what had settled his handler’s curiosity. “What is that, sir?” asked Femi after another sweep of the corridor.

“It’s a train ticket. Our witch has gone to Enugu.”

Simon pushed the sheet of paper into his robes, looked around the scraggly, little apartment with disgust, and left the room. At his car, he said to Femi. “You survived the impossible today, Femi, for this I commend you. And I will make sure I petition the Conclave to consider you for promotion. However, I fear I know why you were spared. If what you have described here is correct, then something big is afoot. The witches are mobilizing for a major attack.”

This struck a chord of utter despair within Femi.

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