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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To Hunt A Level Four – Part 3

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To Hunt a Level Four – Part 3

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.

A strong force like an explosion knocked him off his feet and sent him flying out of the corridor. He soared through the air and crashed into the road. A yelp of pain escaped his mouth the moment he struck the porthole-ridden road.
For a moment, Femi hovered on the brink of unconsciousness. What had happened? A dark mist clung to him and veiled his surroundings. The moon seemed to have hidden behind a cloud.
Femi heard footfalls approach him. He craned his neck and saw a tall figure from whom the dark mist proceeded. It was a creature of immense evil and power. Draped in black tattered drabs, it ambled towards him, slow, deliberate, its every movement a taunt, a jeer, a torture to Femi’s soul. This figure was cloaked by a mysterious darkness which Femi could not fathom.
Panic stabbed at his heart. There was no way this was a level one witch.
Femi looked around for his sword and found it not. His breathing became erratic, and his heartbeat at that moment would have differed not from a patient’s, who was in cardiac arrest. Femi would have cried out for help, but it was no use because they were in the spirit; even if an armed person passed by this moment, he would see nothing, and he would hear nothing.
Death was a merciless thing. Especially death that was sure. And Femi knew that as sure as the sun would rise again in the morning, he was going to die at the hands of this malevolent creature. As the presence of the dark being neared, Femi remembered a phrase and chuckled. The one that killed by the sword, would die by the sword. He had killed witches, he was about to die by a witch’s hands.

The creature in the dark towered over him and let loose a horrendous shrill scream. Incomprehensible dread fell upon Femi.

The creature pulled back its leg and plowed it into Femi’s side. Femi was airborne—and crashed into the ground with a scream. His heart hammered so hard that his whole body vibrated. Femi scrambled to his feet and backpedaled as the creature approached. Not much could be seen through its cloak of dark mist, however, Femi could make out a bony structure much like a man’s, with flaming sockets seeded into its misshape head.

Whatever this creature was, only level four witches’ could spawn it into existence. The thought further unsettled Femi.

Femi fished out his scriptures and his faith with terribly trembling fingers and found the armory in Ephesians. Now that he had been without his sword for up to a minute, he could summon it again. He highlighted the appropriate portion and returned the sacred objects back into his jacket.

“I believe, I receive!” he yelled, his hands clasped palm against palm in his front. The white glowing blade materialized before him. But before he could bring the weapon to bear on the creature it had gotten to him. So close that Femi could perceive the burning coal from the creature’s body, on which body Femi caught an unmistakable symbol and froze. It was a symbol he had never thought he would see in his life again—that of a cross embedded in the side of a crescent.

The creature struck his face and sent him airborne, again. Femi tumbled through the air at missile speed, senseless for a while. When he crashed into the earth, his body was assaulted by inhuman pain. Femi yelped yet this seemed to worsen the pain. However, what was worst of was the creature that still approached him. As Femi struggled to remain conscious, flashes of painful imageries from his past forced themselves through his mind. That symbol. His mother’s death. The thing that had killed her had had that symbol on its body.

The creature was standing over him now, and Femi’s anger raged. He had searched for the monster who had killed his mother. His handler had told him that creatures like that weren’t easy to find. They only came out of the darkness, when there was a major evil plot brewing. And so, even if he combed the whole earth, he wouldn’t find the creature that killed his mother. But now, that creature stood above him.

Femi sprung to his feet and threw his hand at the creature’s neck for a grab. The creature swatted his hands off course and instead grabbed his neck in a choke hold. Femi struggled, striking the slippery arm of the creature over and over again, but the creature’s grip was firm. It threw him to the ground.

“Finish that hunter off, so we can go to Enugu. It’s no longer safe around these parts,” said a shrill old voice somewhere in the distance.

“Hmmm,” responded the creature.

Femi bit his lips. The dark mist had thickened, threatening to suffocate him. An idea came to his mind. Femi scrambled backwards, putting some space between him and the monster, then he brought out his scriptures and laid it bare before him. He brought out his faith and swiped the pages of the book until it fell on the book of John. He highlighted the portion that said: and the light shinneth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

The creature stood above Femi, its right hand raised to strike.

The green glowed on the highlighted portion.

The creature roared and the flames in its eyes intensified. Claws sprouted out of its fingers.

“I believe, I receive,” Femi yelled, and then he added, “LET THERE BE LIGHT!”

Light exploded from the scriptures with the force of a whirl wind. The darkness flushed backwards and the creature was pushed several feet away. The creature roared and pushed back the light. It opened wide its mouth and like a flood, greater darkness rushed out into the world and overwhelmed the light. The light receded, weak. The creature pushed harder, its hands still poised to slay.

Femi knew the only reason why this was happening was because his faith was failing. He didn’t have a strong enough faith to fight this witch. Femi bellowed. “LET THERE BE LIGHT!” And struck that portion of the scriptures with his stone. The light exploded outwards with renewed vigor, sending the creature backwards a few feet. But it was only a few feet, because it began to push back.

Femi’s hands were weak. He couldn’t keep this up any longer.

“Leave him and let’s go. He’s living or dying is of no consequence to us or to our plan,” the shriveled old voice said again.

“Hmmm,” the creature said, turned, and vanished. The light, now unopposed, shot outwards, expunging the dark mist from the area. The night became as it was, when Femi had first walked down the street: silent and dead with no soul around.
The world became dizzy and Femi realized that his body was falling to the ground. He lay motionless for a second, his chest rising and falling, and then the world turned black.

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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To Hunt A Level Four – Part 1

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Witch hunters have existed for as long as witches and witchcraft have existed—since the creation of the first man. They live among us—no different from us—yet, they possess the skill and weaponry to slay witches wherever they are. There’s much contention as to who was the first witch hunter, Cain or Moses. Remember that bible tale about Cain killing Abel and God punishing Cain? Well, it turns out that Cain had thought Abel was a devil worshiper and had gone ahead to kill Abel.

But he had been wrong and had gotten what he deserved. However, Moses received a word from God—a word that would go on to form the sacred mission of the witch hunters: thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. And so right from Moses, the first great witch hunter, down to Paul of Tarsus, the witch hunters have hunted down and killed those who practiced the dark arts. Great men of history like Joshua, Elijah, David, Solomon, Isaiah were all members of this sacred order of witch hunters.

And now, Femi Johnson, a middle level bank executive, was part of that order.

Femi wriggled his fingers as his emotions rode high on the waves of Frank Edward’s song, Bianule. He observed himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the white room. His black velvet jacket gleamed in the harsh fluorescent tube affixed to the ceiling. His matte black jeans clung to his thin legs. His black overcoat gave him that desperado feel. Today, he was going to kill a witch. Today, he was going to carry out his sacred duty.

Of course, all that was unnecessary. He didn’t need to have a special white room in which to prepare for his assassinations. He didn’t have to dress in black to hunt and slay witches. It was just that Femi had a proclivity for over-mystifying even the most mundane of tasks.

Femi picked up his scriptures, a squat thin book, and his faith, a small chalky stone. He placed both sacred items in his jacket and left the room.

During the day, he worked in a bank, but during the night, he sought witches’ covens and slew witches. It was his thirst, his hunger, to see the blood of those who practiced witchcraft run as the river Nile.

Femi wished he could say that he got his targets from the ‘spirit,’ but really, he got his targets from a dedicated website on the internet. Yesterday night, he had received a message. There was a witch somewhere near Mile Twelve. A level one witch, the message had said. He should have no problem dispatching the poor soul to Hell.

Femi was not one given to fear. However, the mysterious circumstances surrounding this mission caused his excitement to dampen. When a mission was given, a time frame was never given. Usually, he had enough time to scout the area, understand the terrain where the witch lived, and then plan an attack. But the message he had received was specific; he had less than thirty six hours to execute the witch.

Outside his apartment, Femi powered up his bike and rode out of the house. In minutes, he was gunning his vehicle down Ikorodu road. The highway was devoid of cars, so Femi drove in the middle of the road. His overcoat wriggled with a raping sound in the air behind him. At this time of day, when the sun was on the other side of the Earth, it was easier to kill a witch—potential suspects were sleeping.

Killing a witch wasn’t murder because God had commanded it. So, every time Femi went out hunting, he knew he was in the service of God. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live, God had told Moses. In modern day English, that could easily translate to: kill every goddamn witch alive.

THE WITCH HUNTERS: To Hunt A Level Four – A Contemporary Fantasy

Witch hunters-1

Femi Johnson is a junior witch hunter who wants to be more. But when he discovers a daring, evil plot by an extremely powerful coven of witches, he realizes that being more isn’t always good.

The Witch Hunters; To Hunt A Level Four

Copyright 2015

by Kachi Ugo

It’s gonna be serialized here. So stay glued to your phones, laptops, and devices! I hope you enjoy it! To keep updated, you can subscribe to my blog (Left Side Bar).

Part 1 soon coming…