In a state of unconsciousness, Mohammed struggled with his breath. He tried to scream but couldn't. He laid still, entranced, materializing in a darker realm. He watched his remains, sustained by life support.
He was wrestling against forces both seen and unseen. Every time he tried advancing, he fell and was ran over by a stampede. He shielded with his hands but the stampede crushed against him. He felt his breath cease.
He screamed but couldn't be heard. He was reliving the torment he had experienced in his home, re-enacting in the spirit all that occurred in the flesh.
In two places, simultaneously, he suffered from bullet wounds and a stampede that matched fervently. He learned that the strike of Boko Haram was a physical reflection of everything that happened in the spiritual.
"Denounce your faith or die." A wounded man covered in blood stood before him, raising both hands in masterful choreographed rendition.
As he spoke the grounds and waves responded in unizm, waving as though in response to his oscillating intonation.
Mohammed opened his eyes for the first time since this happened, and looking on, he felt his spirit and all that was left of him lift from the earth and drift towards the one who spoke.
Though he appeared huge and tall to the heavens, his entire being seemed not larger than six feet. It was as though this wasn't entirely the battle that unfolded today.
Drifting to the heavens, he saw remains of the dead, burnt and destroyed in rituals pay obeisance to the one who roared.
Meandering, he could tell that his was all that was left, and in it was him struggling with raining bullets. He watched his wife ripped out of her room and taken to the slaughter by men of the dead.
She was buried in a cocoon of her blood and put before the altar for the sacrifice of death.
"Mohammed," the voice started again, this time a little louder.
He turned around to be confronted by he who had spoken. His voice raised louder and his hands stretched farther, sinking him in a sphere of void, chocking him in a cocoon of his own helplessness.
"Mohammed," he called again.
"Denounce your faith!"
While he yet spoke, Mohammed saw the bunker materialize before him. In it, his daughter was taken out of the room for the slaughter. She had been by the entrance of the bunker, wounded, groaning, but was also in another world led to be sacrificed to the one who spoke with a roar.
On the altar was the symbol of the faith, an arrow and bow, tilted towards the heavens. This was the sacrifice to the eternal order of all faiths.
"Why have you done this to me?" Mohammed asked, scowling, shivering as he tried shielding from the forces that struck further still.
"You killed my family," he started, stuttering, crying.
"You wiped away my family, my people, my congregation and faithful." He coughed, letting anguish resonate.
It was as though the more he spoke, the more his words tormented him. His flesh tore from his words, his strength dissipated and at this the one who spoke before him laughed. The earth trembled.
"Do you know what happened today?" He asked, roaring with strength and majesty.
"You were attacked and killed by the very people you sought safety from," he continued.
At this a trumpet sounded. It was as though this set him back in time.
His eyes opened, and in the midst of the torment that throbbed sorely, he saw his family led to the slaughter. Observing, he noticed the altar and the men that sacrificed the living. He looked under their white hood and could tell these were the leaders of the church.
"Do you know what happened today?" The voice started.
Watching the procession, he noticed hanging on their chest a pendant of the star and horns. This was the symbol of defiance, the symbol of the faith against the church. But they that held it were leaders of the church.
The truth was unveiling before him and for a moment he refused to take evidence.
Could this by why they refused to take my calls? He thought, pondering what this meant.
He watched armies multiply over the Kaura, killing en masse and destroying in large scale. In another reality he saw demon forces rent and destroy the souls of inhabitants, taking them to the slaughter. This was torment. This was horror.
"This is they you sought help from, the very lot that wrestled against you and yours. They that killed your son and tore his soul, that kept his spirit away from paradise. This is they. They that lead the church and are holies of the church.The ones working against the advancement of the church and faithful of the Christ. This is they."
He looked on, listening, pondering.
In the procession to the altar were church leaders, ushering them with the incense that was for worship. A bishop took the incense, blessed the girl on the altar of the sacrifice and offered her as burnt offering.
"I don'tbelieve this," Mohammed protested as he slowly lowered to the earth from the heavens.
He tried reaching out to the procession but couldn't. There was an invisible barrier hindering him from reaching them.
Looking on, he observed the head of the church recite an incantation, speaking in unknown tongues. He took a knife, passed it through fire, and after calling the name of Lucifer, he killed the girl. This was a reality.
Mohammed groaned. It was by this his wife died.
"You must denounce your faith. You must serve the living God." The wounded one spoke.
"But who is this living one," he asked, almost protesting.
"It is I, the one who was and is and is to come," he spoke in response, sounding as the voice of trumpet and the roar of thunder.
He stretched forth both hands to reveal his palm and in it were holes. "The nails from the cross of Calvary came through my palms for the sake of mankind."
Mohammed recoiled.
He continued. "These have gone, and their remains gone past the point of return," he said, gesturing to the remains of the many dead that now littered the streets.
"Your wife is dead," he paused and pointing inthe direction of where the remains of the daughter was, he said, "and your daughter is dead."
Mohammed mourned in inaudible balderdash.
"But is there anything too difficult for the risen Christ?" He asked.
While he yet spoke, Mohammed saw Zahra reduce to nothingness and pour into the abyss of hell. He bewailed.
"You must pledge your allegiance to the one true God, the Christ and saviour of the world."--
"But he is who I serve and worship in all the earth," Mohammed returned, interrupting,
"Is he?" the Christ asked.
"You have being led by false doctrine," the Christ continued.
"You have chosen to follow they that serve the devil rather than stand with the true Christ. What you serve today is not what you converted to."
The vision of the one percent of church leadership flashed before him. It was they he saw conduct the ritual of Christians, sacrificing them to an invisible God. Mohammed pondered, probing , questioning.
"But who are you?" Mohammed asked again, confused by all he heard.
"I am the Christ, the son of the living God, the second person of the trinity. I am the living God."
As he spoke, the heavens bowed and the earth basked in worship.
"I am the one who is betrayed by the head of the church. They let my death and blood be in vain. They crucify me again."
Mohammed felt forces lift him from the earth to be faced with the Christ.
"Is this you Lord?" He asked, now standing before his grace.
Looking sternly at him, he saw his face and on his forehead he saw written in white the words, the Lamb.
"I am the one that was slain on the cross. By not recognizing me, isn't it obvious that the truth is not in you?" He paused, and after Mohammed said nothing, he continued.
"You are led by evil, an adulteration of what the gospel is. You are corrupted and from you all of the earth is corrupted with evil. You are led by evil and have left the doctrine of the cross, to be of they that worship the evil of the land. You have come against your God and against the authority of his Christ. You have fallen."
"But what must I do?" he asked, as he wondered what was said.
"You must destroy the church. This church is not my church. This church is corrupted, led by men sworn to the star and horns. They have killed and destroyed the innocent and have sacrificed their remains to the gods they worship."
He hesitated, listening, thinking. Did his lord just ask him to kill and destroy?
"Will I repay evil with evil, will I do vengeance, what has been written to be the Lords?" He asked, but before an answer came, his heart throbbed.
"Papa," he heard a faint voice call from behind. He turned around and strained to make meaning of what he saw.
"Papa," the voice started again. "It is me Zahra. It is me."
His heart broke. She was nothing but fainting fume.
"You must do as the Christ says," she started. He listened intently but feared as her voice simmered and as her presence diminished.
"When you called for help they laughed in their heart, rather gathering in the spirit realm to destroy everything that is you, even to the corruption of your body and the defiling of your soul. The love is not in them. The truth is not in them. They seek to destroy only the good of the faith and till there is no resistance to their converting the heart of the frail, they plot to keep destroying."
"But Zahra," he tried protesting
"But father," she interrupted," you must do as the Christ says. You must avenge my death,"--
"And my death," another voice interrupted.
He turned in the direction of the interruption. His wife. He felt his heart fail him.
"The reason why the church of the North is destroyed by the forces of darkness, camouflaged in the physical as Boko Haram," the Christ started, continuing, "is that it is the only church that follows truly after the Christ. The church of the south has deviated from the truth. The church of the south is not of the one true God. They know that if the church be not destroyed, then there lies resistance to the rise of evil." He paused, waiting on Mohammed to object. He didn't.
"This is why you must fight the good fight of faith--to quench their evil rise and destroy the church of the south."
As she spoke it was as though he was taken away from where he was, and projected to look over the land he once led as shepherd. He saw the multitudes of beasts take turn to destroy the living. He saw the multitude of militant soldiers take turn to slaughter the living.
"Father," Zahra started, "we must act now. You must do as our Lord commands."
As she spoke, Mohammed looked through her and saw how she was killed. He saw how rebels of Boko Haram dragged her through the window and opened fire on her. In another realm, he saw beasts pull her to the ground. He saw flying creatures pour fire over her and saw forces invisible rent her asunder. Two realities afflicting torment on one soul.
"This is a fight against the church." Zahra said, defiantly." This is a fight against the soul of the Christ. They have won and have destroyed us all. It is now your choice to listen to the Lord and avenge our death." At this she vanished into nothingness.
He stayed helpless, watching his wife struggle from the strikes and burnt of both physical and spiritual.
"Listen to the Lord and fight for us. Avenge our death Mohammed. Fight for the Christ and his church. Fight."
Upon this he turned now to the Christ, and falling on his knees, he worshiped.
"Send me and I will go," he started, worshiping and praising as he bowed his head to the ground.
"I will wipe away the enemy and I will fight the foes of the Lord to a standstill. I will destroy them from the face of the earth. We shall prevail."
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