THE BATTLE FOR A SAINTESS | PART SEVEN
Days passed in the visible world, but something far deeper unfolded beyond human sight.
Training began.
Not beneath the open sun, but within unseen realms where shadows held instruction and power flowed from a throne that heaven had never ordained.
Excel’s presence slowly transformed. Her posture carried command. Her voice gained strength. Her confidence grew sharper with every passing moment.
But the power that shaped her no longer flowed from heaven.
Yet every Sunday morning, she entered the church dressed in white.
Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, scattering colored reflections across the tiled floor.
The iron-cushioned chairs creaked beneath the shifting weight of worshippers filling the sanctuary.
The choir’s voices rose boldly into the warm air as the congregation clapped in rhythm.
She stood among them gracefully.
Her white dress flowed modestly around her figure. Her posture was elegant, composed, admired.
Young women gathered around her for counsel as she spoke with polished wisdom.
When the moment of prayer arrived, she lifted her hands publicly toward the ceiling as if reaching for heaven itself.
Her chest rose with a deep breath, and when her voice broke forth, it rang clear and strong, carrying across the room with unwavering conviction.
Excel (fervent):
“Father, we thank You for Your faithfulness!”
The congregation erupted with agreement as hands lifted and voices echoed through the sanctuary.
Congregation (joyful):
“Amen!”
The sound rolled through the building like a wave of devotion. Chairs shifted, feet tapped, and the choir’s harmony swelled with celebration.
Smiles spread across faces. Some closed their eyes in worship.
But beyond the stained glass windows and the rising sound of praise, heaven remained silent. No divine response stirred the spiritual air above the church.
Yet deep within the unseen realm, something darker lingered quietly behind the polished devotion.
Night carried a different story.
When darkness covered the streets, the gates of her home opened quietly beneath the faint glow of outdoor lights.
Visitors arrived one by one. Men crossed her doorway with hopeful smiles and confident laughter.
But days later, their lives began to unravel.
Their laughter slowly disappeared. Peace evaporated from their homes like mist beneath harsh sunlight.
Some found themselves drowning in alcohol they had never needed before.
Some burned with strange anger that rose without cause. Some grew violent toward those they once loved.
Some died prematurely. Some could no longer pray. Some opened their Bibles and felt nothing stir within their hearts.
Some lost every desire for holiness and righteousness.
And none of them understood why.
Those she had once led to Christ slowly drifted back into the very sins they had escaped.
They still called her for counsel, trusting her voice. But what they received was corruption they could not see.
The church saw elegance. Pastors praised her publicly from the pulpit. Leaders applauded her influence among the young generation.
No one saw. No one discerned.
Her beauty remained. Her elegance remained. Her speeches inspired gatherings and conferences across the land. Her modest appearance continued to earn admiration.
But heaven saw absence.
Years passed.
Campaign banners began to fill the streets of the city. Large posters carrying her smiling portrait hung from electric poles along busy roads.
Loudspeakers blasted campaign music while crowds gathered beneath the blazing afternoon sun in an open square, waving bright flags with her name printed boldly across them.
“Excel! Excel! Excel!”
Dust rose beneath the movement of excited feet as the crowd shouted her name repeatedly.
High above them on a wide campaign platform, Excel stood confidently, waving her hand with a politician’s ease.
People moved to their polling stations across the city. Ballots dropped into sealed boxes. Officials counted votes carefully through the night.
Then the results were announced.
She had won.
Fireworks exploded into the night sky, scattering brilliant colors above the glowing city.
Red and gold sparks burst across the darkness while cheers thundered through the celebration grounds.
Inside the grand celebration hall, her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wonder sat in the front row, their faces wet with proud tears.
Massive speakers blasted triumphant music while bright cameras flashed endlessly.
Excel stepped forward to the podium, her smile flashing brightly as the roar of the crowd swelled around her. She lifted her chin, one hand rising slightly to steady the noise.
Drawing in a deep breath, she leaned into the microphone—her voice bursting forth, clear, powerful, and charged with conviction.
Excel (powerful):
“Together, we will build a stronger nation!”
The hall erupted instantly. Applause thundered like rolling drums across the wide room. Flags waved in the air while cameras flashed rapidly, capturing every angle of the historic moment.
Around the world, screens displayed her victory as nations celebrated her rise.
She had risen above all.
Fame. Wealth. Influence. Authority.
Power stretched across the nation like a crown upon her head.
Her presence touched every corner of the land, leaving her mark in the history of the people.
But that night, long after the fireworks faded and the crowds disappeared, silence returned.
Inside her private chamber, the room stood vast and quiet. Soft golden lamps illuminated the polished floor and tall walls decorated with rich designs.
A tall mirror framed in gold stood against the far wall.
Excel slowly removed the crown of celebration from her head.
The room held its breath.
She stepped toward the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her. Her eyes looked powerful.
Empty.
The chamber remained still, wrapped in a silence so deep it almost felt sacred.
And somewhere far beneath the layers of applause, authority, and victory, a faint question echoed quietly within the dark corners of her soul.
She gained the world…
But what of her soul?
She is excelling in the world while exiting from Heaven.
The air in the chamber felt strangely clear as the echo of that question lingered, suspended between heaven’s watchful silence and the fading shadows of unseen powers.
The afternoon sun hung low over Golden Nation, casting long amber shadows across the tiled compound of Excel’s luxurious mansion.
The heat shimmered against the tall cream-colored walls, and the interlocked pavement inside the compound held the warmth of the day like a silent furnace.
Beyond the gate, bougainvillea flowers trembled along the fence as a dry breeze swept dust into slow circles across the compound entrance.
The iron gate stood half-open, its hinges creaking faintly whenever the wind nudged it.
Security men leaned lazily against the metal bars, their uniforms slightly wrinkled from the long heat of the afternoon.
From the distant main road, the faint cries of hawkers drifted through the air, mixing with the muffled horns of passing cars beyond the tall perimeter walls.
Outside the compound, Orean walked slowly along the roadside pavement. His worn sandals scraped softly against the dusty ground. Sweat soaked through the back of his shirt, clinging to his thin frame.
For five long days he had wandered through the city—asking, searching, knocking. Five days of unanswered questions.
Five days of doors closing gently in his face. Five days without food had carved hollow shadows beneath his eyes.
Even the small roadside vendors had shaken their heads when he stretched out trembling fingers, begging only for water.
The wind carried a swirl of dust across the road as he paused at the compound gate. His weary eyes lifted toward the towering mansion rising beyond the walls. He tried to steady his breathing.
His lips were cracked. His steps were unsteady.
Two house staff walked past him through the gate carrying grocery bags filled with vegetables and bottled drinks. Their shoes tapped lightly against the compound tiles.
Orean’s dry lips parted slightly, gathering what little strength remained in his chest. His throat tightened as if words themselves had become heavy stones.
But before any sound could escape him, the workers brushed past him without looking, their conversation continuing as though only the wind had stirred beside them.
A motorcycle slowed briefly near the gate, its engine rumbling low. The rider glanced once toward Orean’s weak frame, then accelerated down the road again.
No one met his eyes.
A dry gust swept across the compound entrance as Orean swallowed hard and staggered forward. The sunlight was beginning to dip lower in the sky.
Above the gate, the golden inscription mounted on the mansion arch shimmered faintly under the fading light.
Orean tried to lift his hand toward the gate to knock.
But the strength in his arm failed him. His knees buckled suddenly beneath him. The world tilted.
The cream-colored walls blurred into streaks of glowing gold. The pavement beneath his feet seemed to melt into a haze.
His body gave way.
He collapsed onto the warm tiled entrance just outside the compound gate. Dust rose softly around him as his frail body struck the ground.
For a moment, the breeze carried the dust upward like a thin veil hovering over the fallen young man.
Inside the compound, the security men shifted slightly but did not step forward.
People walked past along the street.
A woman selling roasted corn slowed when she noticed the body lying near the gate. The scent of charcoal smoke drifted from her tray as she studied him briefly.
Then she adjusted the tray on her head and continued walking.
Two young men approached from the opposite side of the street, laughing loudly as they spoke about something on their phones. Their shoes crunched softly against the gravel near the gate.
They stepped around Orean’s body without interrupting their conversation.
One of them flicked a brief glance downward, lips curling faintly. A dry scoff slipped out under his breath before his tone followed—flat, careless, stripped of concern.
Man (dismissively):
"Another madman."
The breeze pushed dry leaves across the pavement as they stepped over Orean’s legs and continued down the road, their laughter fading into the distance.
The evening sky slowly deepened into darker shades of blue.
Within the compound, the security lights flickered on one by one along the walls and pillars.
The white bulbs hummed faintly in the growing darkness, casting pale light across the silent entrance.
Orean lay motionless.
Only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved that life had not yet fully left him.
Night passed quietly over the compound.
Somewhere beyond the walls, dogs barked in the distance. A passing car’s headlights briefly swept across the gate before vanishing again into the city’s night.
Morning came.
Golden sunlight filtered through the frangipani trees lining the compound walkway, their leaves trembling gently in the cool breeze.
Birds chirped brightly in the branches, filling the quiet morning air with life.
The compound gate opened and closed as cars drove in and out of the mansion. Engines hummed. Footsteps echoed across the tiles.
But no one stopped.
Orean remained lying near the gate.
Dust clung to his hair and the edge of his clothes, settling upon him like the slow hand of time.
By the second day, he still lay there.
The sun climbed again over Golden Nation, and the compound walls cast their long silent shadows across the pavement.
And still, no one helped him.
The air around the gate felt strangely heavy, as though heaven itself watched in silence—waiting.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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