BACK TO GOLGOTHA
Chapter Forty-Five: The Blood Ritual
The night was alive.
Not with wind, not with sound, but with the vibration of power older than any mortal memory. Ikare slept uneasily beneath the unnatural darkness, its streets empty, its roofs silent. But beneath the earth, something stirred—something the town's people could not see and could not name, yet it pressed against the foundations of their homes like a living weight.
Stephen Dagunduro stood at the center of the abandoned compound, Favour by his side. The journals, scrolls, and ancient symbols spread across the floor glimmered faintly under the flickering candlelight. Each mark seemed to pulse as if aware of the presence of their bloodline.
"The ritual begins now," Stephen whispered.
Favour nodded, her eyes scanning the texts as if searching for hidden warnings. "Are you sure you're ready?" she asked softly.
Stephen closed his eyes, letting the Veil stir within him. Its faint warmth had grown into a steady hum, a heartbeat synchronizing with his own. He could feel fragments of memory, long dormant, flickering within his mind—visions of rituals performed by his ancestors, voices echoing from centuries past, the weight of a covenant he had never asked for but had inherited nonetheless.
"I have no choice," he said quietly. "If we wait, Baba Dagunduro will awaken the Ancients fully. And if that happens… nothing in this land will survive."
Favour placed her hand on his shoulder. "Then we do this together."
Preparation
Stephen opened the largest scroll, its edges brittle and cracked with age. The text was a mix of symbols and words in languages older than he could read fully. But he felt them in his blood. Each mark seemed to resonate, unlocking a vibration that stirred the Veil deeper.
The ritual required offerings. Not mere symbols or prayer—but blood. The Veil demanded the union of spirit and flesh.
Favour extended her arm, her eyes unwavering. "Then we give it. Whatever it takes."
Stephen drew a small ceremonial dagger from the chest, its surface etched with unfamiliar runes. He cut his palm lightly, letting the warm blood fall onto the center of the ritual circle. Favour did the same. The red liquid pooled and mixed with the dust, parchment, and candle wax, forming a living sigil that seemed to thrum with life.
The Veil responded instantly. A faint light emanated from Stephen, spreading outward like the pulse of a heartbeat. It vibrated through the room, touching each candle flame, each rune, and even the scattered books.
Stephen's pulse accelerated. This was no longer merely protection—it was awakening.
The Awakening Begins
He began chanting the words written in the ancient texts. They were not his own words, yet they came effortlessly, as though the knowledge had been inscribed into his soul long before his birth. Favour joined him, her voice intertwining with his, forming a harmony that resonated with the Veil.
The room trembled. Candles flickered wildly. The air thickened, heavy with energy that pressed against their chests.
Outside, the ground quivered faintly. Stephen felt it in his bones—the Ancients beneath the earth stirring in response.
The shadows outside the compound twisted, forming elongated figures that pressed against the windows and walls. But they did not enter. The light of the Veil formed a protective barrier, invisible yet palpable.
Then came the first scream.
It was not human. Not fully. It came from the earth itself.
Stephen faltered briefly, but Favour's hand gripped his arm firmly. "Do not stop. Continue."
He nodded, chanting louder. The blood within the circle began to burn, not painfully, but with a fierce energy that felt alive. Symbols etched themselves into the air, glowing faintly as if hovering just above the floor.
The Serpent Returns
Suddenly, the ground outside the compound cracked again. The serpent emerged, larger and more menacing than before. Its black scales shimmered faintly with crimson lines, as though veins of fire ran beneath its skin. Its eyes glowed red, fixed on Stephen.
The Veil reacted instinctively. Light flared outward, meeting the serpent in a violent collision of energy. The force sent shockwaves across the compound, rattling windows and scattering dust.
The serpent hissed, a sound that reverberated directly into Stephen's mind.
"Blood awakens. Power recognizes power. You cannot hide it from us, carrier of the Veil."
Stephen clenched his teeth, raising both hands. "You have no authority here! I am anchored in God!"
The serpent recoiled slightly, hissing, but did not retreat. It circled the compound, pressing the darkness around like a living tide.
Favour stepped forward, chanting prayers from memory. Each word strengthened the Veil, intertwining with Stephen's power to form a radiant dome that held the serpent at bay.
But Stephen knew it was not enough.
The ritual demanded more.
The First Convergence
Stephen felt the Veil pulsing violently now, almost beyond his control. The blood, the words, the faith—all of it converging into a single point inside him. A faint whisper echoed through his mind, older than time:
"Awaken fully. Claim what is yours. Or be consumed."
He understood. The Veil was more than a shield. It was a weapon, a conduit, and a key. But the key demanded sacrifice.
Favour noticed the strain. "Stephen… it's too much. You need to pace yourself!"
He shook his head, voice strained but resolute. "No. This is the only way. If the Ancients awaken fully outside… nothing will survive."
He focused on the blood in the circle, letting it merge with the Veil. Light flared violently, casting shadows across the walls that twisted into impossible shapes. The serpent shrieked, pressing closer, but the barrier held.
Then, a new presence emerged. Not the serpent. Not the possessed. Something older, darker, and more powerful. It radiated authority. Stephen felt it in his bones: the Elder Ancients themselves.
Communion With the Ancients
The ground trembled violently. Cracks opened along the earth outside the compound, from which tendrils of darkness rose. The serpent writhed at their base, almost submissive.
Stephen's voice rose with the chant. The Veil flared brighter than ever before, reaching outward, connecting with the blood, the symbols, the prayers.
And then… he saw them.
Shapes beneath the ground, vast and monstrous, moving through the darkness. Eyes like molten gold, bodies larger than any structure above. Their voices, layered and echoing, spoke directly into his mind:
"Carrier of the Veil… your blood is recognized… your faith acknowledged… but the debt is not yet paid."
Stephen fell to his knees. Favour reached down to support him. "You can do this," she whispered.
He forced himself upright. "I will do this," he said. "By the power of God, I will not yield!"
The light from the Veil surged, bursting outward, colliding with the darkness of the Ancients. The entire compound shuddered, as if the land itself was screaming. Windows shattered, candles extinguished, and the air filled with a roar that was part wind, part beast, part voice of the earth itself.
The Sacrifice
Stephen knew what was required. The Veil demanded not just blood, but the complete surrender of self—mind, body, and soul—for a fleeting moment. Only then could the Ancients be repelled, only then could Baba Dagunduro's plan be disrupted.
He closed his eyes and let the Veil consume him fully. The energy coursed through him, a fire and ice combined, burning and healing simultaneously. Pain lanced through his body, but he welcomed it. It was the cost of standing against the darkness.
Favour knelt beside him, laying her hand over his heart, offering her own blood into the ritual. The two of them became conduits, channels through which divine and ancient power collided.
The light exploded outward, a radiant surge that split the night. The serpent screamed in fury, tendrils of darkness recoiling violently. The cracks in the earth began to close, and the massive shapes of the Ancients paused, as though hesitating before a force even they could not fully comprehend.
The ritual reached its apex. The Veil and the blood, the faith and the sacrifice, converged into a single, blinding point of light.
Aftermath
When the light finally subsided, the compound was silent. Broken. Dust hung in the air. Candles lay shattered, windows gaping.
Stephen collapsed to his knees, drenched in sweat, blood, and exhaustion. The Veil retreated into him, calm now, almost gentle, as if acknowledging his mastery.
Favour held him, supporting his weight. "It worked," she whispered, though her voice trembled.
Stephen nodded slowly, staring at the faint glow still emanating from the blood-stained circle. "For now," he said. "But this… this is only the beginning. Baba Dagunduro will not stop. The Ancients… they will not forgive. And the serpent… it will return."
The wind outside stilled. The shadows recoiled from the compound's edges, hesitant. But Stephen knew the truth: the war had escalated. The Veil had awakened, yes—but so had the forces seeking to claim it.
And somewhere in the darkness beyond Ikare, Baba Dagunduro watched, smiling.
Stephen rose slowly, hands trembling, eyes blazing with determination. "No matter the cost… I will not bow. I will not give in. And I will protect this land… even if it drains every drop of blood from me."
Favour squeezed his hand. "Then we continue. Together."
Stephen looked toward the dark horizon, where clouds twisted unnaturally above the distant hills. He felt the Veil thrumming in response—alive, aware, and ready.
The night had been survived. But the storm… was far from over.
"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind."
— 2 Timothy 1:7