Global Power International Prophetic Church, GPIPC for short (which was also too damn long), was located nationwide in Ghana. However, Richard had visited the main church in what was known as the Glorious Temple in La Paz. Initially, Narvari had thought the church was in the capital of Bolivia. Richard, however, assured her that La Paz was in Ghana.

Using the geolocation system in the xuul, Azmel configured the location code opening a portal in a secluded alley thirty meters away from the church. They made their way out of the alley into a more bustling part of the town.

People went about their daily lives as if the heaps of rubbish scattered along the pothole-filled streets and stagnant open drainage were just normal. Honking cars were the order of the day. It seemed that it was some kind of a ritual for taxis and minivans to just blare their horns as they passed by.

Narvari noticed that wherever they went, people just stared at them in amusement. At first, she thought the people were staring because of their odd uniforms but she soon realized they were staring at Azmel. He was the only white person in a place full of dark-skinned people. Even Narvari fit right in. Azmel didn’t seem to mind though and just kept walking with his usual grave aura.

Another thing that culturally shocked Narvari was the large billboards advertising so many different churches. The largest one so far was the billboard of the GPIPC, situated right beside the massive conglomerate of a church. All the advertisement boards of the GPIPC had images of a young fair-skinned man (fair-skinned in African parlance) wearing various stylish suits in each image.

Narvari recognized the man as Prophet Daniel Adjei Yeboah. In one of the images, the young prophet sat on a golden throne looking very serious with his sharp jawline. He might be a scheming bastard, but he was photogenic.

A scheming photogenic bastard.

After admiring the splendor of the church’s architecture, Narvari followed Azmel inside. It was only Wednesday, and Narvari had not expected to see anyone in the church. Boy was she wrong. Several dozens of cars parked outside with even more people heading over into the main building of the church. Apparently, Sunday was not the only day people went to church. She was learning a lot of things today.

They were about to enter the church hall when a middle-aged woman in a stylish African print dress approached them.

“Welcome to Glorious Temple, Beloved in Christ,” she said cheerfully. “My name is Sister Abigail.”

Narvari glanced at Azmel but he said nothing. So she said, “We are here to see Prophet Daniel Adjei Yeboah.”

Sister Abigail smiled widely. “Are you here for the consultation? Wednesday is consultation day.”

Narvari narrowed her eyes. She had no idea what this woman was talking about. Luckily, Azmel spoke up. “Yes, we’re here for consultation.”

“Oh, okay. I hope you have prepared your consultation fee?”

“Consultation fee?” Narvari raised a brow

“Oh, yes. It’s five hundred Ghana Cedis. You will only see the prophet when you pay the fee. It’s a small investment for all the big things God is about to do in your life.” She smiled kindly as if she had not just tried to rip them off. Or maybe she truly believed in that.

Did Sister Abigail know that she was going to the church of a literal demon worshipper?

“Of course,” said Azmel. “We have the fee.”

We do? She kept a straight face though.

“Both of you?” asked the woman.

Azmel shrugged. “Sure.”

“That’s good.” She nodded at Narvari. “Where do you come from? You don’t sound like a Ghanaian. Not even like a Nigerian and we have a lot of Nigerians here.”

“I’m from Sharmandi.”

“What country is that?”

“Sharmandi.”

The woman nodded slowly. She looked at Azmel. “What about you, Obroni?”

A vibration jolted inside Narvari’s head. It was painless and lasted for less than a second, but in that same instant, she instinctively understood the word obroni as a white person. Before she could act a fool of herself from the mere shock of what had just happened, Narvari suddenly remembered that there was a language translator in her ear.

She had expected the language translator to verbally translate words. Instead, it was making her understand the language like she had been speaking it all her life.

“Where’s the prophet?” Azmel changed the subject. His expression didn’t change, but Narvari could tell he was getting impatient.

The woman hesitated for a moment. “Prophet is in his office. The consultation will begin soon so he will see everyone. You can pay your fees once you get inside.”

“Where’s his office?”

“Inside. Second floor.”

“Thank you.”

They left the woman and entered the massive church hall. Hundreds of people were already inside sitting patiently. Even with their large number, the church was still basically empty. Narvari wondered what this place looked like when filled. She wouldn’t be surprised if the church could contain about five thousand people.

A man in a blue suit stood before the small congregation, directing the people to their seats. This was not the pastor though he did have similar taste in a shiny suit.

All eyes were on them, the church hall completely silent, as Narvari and Azmel went to the man.

He stopped what he was doing as soon as he noticed the new visitors.

“Welcome to Glorious Temple, Beloved in Christ.” He smiled widely, moving closer to them. “I am Brother Mike. Please, have a seat.” He pointed to some empty chairs. “Prophet will see you soon.”

“I’d like to see him now. It’s urgent,” said Azmel.

“Sorry, but Prophet is busy right now. You have to wait till it’s time for consultation. Even still, you will have to wait for your turn. There are so many people here before you.” Though the man was polite, he didn’t look pleased.

Azmel, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. He stood casually, hands buried in his pockets. Then he walked past the man towards the winding staircase. Ignoring the scowl deepening on Brother Mike’s face, Narvari brushed past him right after Azmel.

Brother Mike shouted after them to halt. Prophet was busy, he said, and they would have to wait. Yes, well, they did not have the luxury of time. The life of their client literally depended on it.

Brother Mike started speaking in another language. Narvari instantly understood that he was calling for backup. He told security to come out and throw the troublemakers out. She wondered what kind of security the church had.

She soon found out.

A group of men all in glittering suits poured out of the rooms like bees. They rushed down the stairs, blocking Narvari and Azmel’s path like some kind of human wall.

“Sir, what is this?” Brother Mike asked when he reached their side. He glared at Azmel. “I told you to wait. You can’t go upstairs without an invitation. You need to leave now.”

“Tell them to get out of our way. Or I will do it for them.” Azmel’s hazel eyes turned icy.

Narvari bit her upper lip. She was confident Azmel alone could easily take down all these men with his bare hands. Yet it didn’t feel right to fight people who had done nothing wrong to them. Especially in a church. “Maybe we should think about this,” Narvari whispered to him.

“Why?” He didn’t even bother to whisper back.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“We are only here for the prophet.”

“Well, not anymore. These men are working for the Vessel.”

Narvari narrowed her eyes. Was this church really run by a Vessel? They had only made an educated guess based on the things Richard told them. What if they attacked the men only to realize that their hypothesis was wrong?

“Do you see the ring on their fingers?” Azmel asked.

Narvari’s eyes darted towards the black rings on their right index fingers. “What about them?”

“Those are a Vessel’s relic.”

Oh, snap.

“Sir, you and the young lady need to leave now,” one of the security men said. Honestly, Narvari wasn’t sure if they were security men or fellow prophets. They were dressed in the same style of suit as Prophet Yeboah did in most of his pictures. They must like their shiny suits.

“Narvari, I need you to get the congregation out of the church premises. Once they are safely outside, put a holy veil over the entire building.”

Narvari nodded. She quickly ran in front of the congregation. Most of them were on their feet, gawking at the unfolding scene. Narvari frowned when she saw that some of the people had the hexing rune on some parts of their bodies. Some had it on their arms while others had it on their necks. She balled her fist, rage slowly taking over. The prophet had something to do with the hex and all these people were going through the same thing as Richard. Little did they know that the man they thought could help them was the same person putting them through all their pain.

Narvari took in a deep breath, forcing her murderous thoughts out of her mind. She had other things to worry about.

“Hello,” she announced as loudly as she could instantly garnering everyone’s attention. “I need you all to move outside right now.” As an afterthought, she added, “Please.”

“But why?” A woman shouted in the same language Brother Mike had spoken. “We came here to see Prophet. We won’t leave until we see him.”

“Yes, we won’t leave,” said another

“Why can’t you and your obroni friend join the queue too? Do you people think you are better than us or what?” This man spoke in English.

The church erupted in chaos, everyone wanting to speak their mind. Narvari sighed.

I don’t have time for this.

She released her sacros. The people didn’t react any differently. So they really can’t see sacred energy. Once her sacros disappeared, her savaz materialized in her hands. She raised one of her savaz in the air, ready to fire.

“Eii, she has a gun oo,” yelled a woman.

That was all it took for everyone to bolt towards the door like a mob of kangaroos.

First problem solved. Her savaz vanished and with her sacros around her again, she zoomed out of the church towards the gate. Most of the congregants had already rushed outside, and those remaining had no intention of staying behind. There was noise everywhere. Narvari patiently waited for the last person to leave then she went to work. She touched the black gate releasing her sacros.

Her black and red sacred energy crept up the gate, extending over to the wall until it was like a massive black and red tent over the entire building of the church. If anyone could see what she had done, which she doubted they could, they would see that a massive black dome had covered the entire church. This was her holy veil. While it was up, no one, not even a vanquisher, could enter the church from the outside.

A lesser demon who tried to breach the holy veil would instantly be incinerated. Even a greater demon would suffer grave injuries. While a royal demon may not be harmed by it, it still would not be able to get past it. Only Narvari was immune to her holy veil. But of course, the church was rather massive taking up a lot of Narvari’s sacros. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to keep it up for long.

Satisfied with her handiwork, Narvari sped back into the church.

Narvari whistled at the heaps of bodies in shiny suits on the ground. While a few groaned in anguish, unmoving, many of them lay unconscious. What the hell did Azmel do to them? She had been gone for like five minutes.

“Who are you people?”

Standing immaculately on the staircase, with his hand resting on the banister, was the man of the hour. Of course, he wore his signature shiny suit, fancier and shinier than the others. He climbed down the stairs, glaring at them.

“What is the meaning of this? How dare you cause trouble in the house of God, huh?” The man lifted a finger at Azmel. “Do you have no fear of God?”

“I should be asking you the same question, Prophet.” Narvari glared right back at him. “Richard isn’t the only one with the hex. I saw the hexing rune on most of the church members.”

“I see,” Azmel said. “Tell me something, Vessel, how exactly do you want to die?” Azmel’s light gray sacros surged out of his body with incredible intensity. His eyes darkened with rage. It was the first time Narvari had seen him show so much emotion. Well, Vessels did have a way of pissing people off.

“You people are crazy,” shouted the prophet. “Get out in the name of Jesus.”

Narvari tilted her head. Is this guy for real?

He burst into prayer, invoking the power of God to consume them like fire. He clapped frenziedly as he prayed. His English changed to the other language Narvari had been hearing all day. The detail of the prayer became even more graphic, requesting the angels of God to massacre their spirits. At a point, Narvari became confused as the language translator was no longer translating and all she heard was gibberish.

Wait, is he speaking in tongues?

She gaped at Azmel. He only shrugged as if this was something he often dealt with. The prophet continued to pray seriously in that unintelligible language. Though Narvari couldn’t understand anything, one particular word kept repeating itself over and over.

All she could hear was, “…blah blah blah… marishmu… blah blah blah… marishmu.”

Foul energy, that could only have come from a being as malevolent as a demon hang over the church auditorium. Then her xuul as well as Azmel’s beeped to alert her of the presence of a demon. A fluid portal of black goo opened right behind the prophet and from out of the demonic chasm emerged the ugliest reptilian creature Narvari had ever seen. It had sickly greenish skin with streaks of yellow and ash. It looked exactly like what she had seen in the book — a hexing demon.

“Well, look at that,” said Narvari eyeing the third-order demon, “God truly works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?”

Once the demon took his position beside the prophet, the prophet ordered it to kill Narvari and Azmel. Thick brown fluid foamed at its mouth as it growled menacingly. Had there not been a holy veil around this place, Narvari was sure the whole La Paz, including the one in Bolivia, would have heard the demon.

The demon sprung towards them with its strong hind legs.

Boom! went the explosion.

With a gaping hole now drilled into its head, the demon howled louder than before. It crashed heavily to the floor, quickly disintegrating into dust. The dust disappeared until no sign of the demon remained.

Narvari glanced at Azmel, the latter cradling his massive gray savaz. When had he even geared up?

The prophet even looked more shocked than Narvari with his mouth agape. Still holding his savaz, Azmel sauntered towards the prophet. Prophet Yeboah retreated, his face pale. But the strength in his feet must have drained since he fell to his knees.

Azmel pressed the savaz into the prophet’s forehead. “You are no Vessel. Who are you?”

The prophet panted, raising his hand. “I… I… Please don’t kill me.”

Narvari narrowed her eyes.”What do you mean he’s not a Vessel?” She took a better look at the man groveling on the ground.

“Take off your suit jacket.”

“What?” The prophet’s eyes widened.

“Don’t let me repeat myself.”

With a shuddering hand, Prophet Yeboah took off his first piece of clothing.

“Now take off your waistcoat and shirt.”

The prophet did so without hesitation. But he did look confused by Azmel’s odd requests. Even Narvari didn’t know why Azmel was doing this.

“What do you see, Narvari?”

Narvari tilted her head, her eyes on the prophet who was now only in a white singlet. “Um, nothing. Just a singlet. Should I be seeing something?”

“There are no runes on his body.”

Narvari took another look and she saw that indeed there were no strange symbols of a Vessel on his body. Stein had markings all over his sleeves and neck and Narvari had assumed they were tattoos. But they turned out to be runes.

“He has the same ring as the others too” Azmel lifted the prophet’s left hand with the long barrel of his savaz. The black ring on his index finger gleamed. “It’s a protective charm but Vessels themselves don’t need to wear it since they already have protective runes on their bodies.” Azmel sent the tip of the savaz back to the prophet’s head.

“But he doesn’t have any.” Narvari nodded, finally understanding Azmel’s point.

The only reason a Vessel could be possessed by demons and survive was because of the protective runes they had on their bodies. A Vessel couldn’t possibly be a Vessel without those runes.

“Okay, but how did he summon the demon if he’s not a Vessel?”

“He will have to answer that himself.” Azmel used his savaz to do a ‘get up’ motion. The prophet slowly rose. He did not even dare put back his clothes on. “Show him Richard’s picture.”

Narvari took her phone and quickly scrolled through her gallery. She found what she was looking for and shoved the picture into the prophet’s face.

“Do you remember this man?” asked Azmel.

He intently gazed at the picture. Then he nodded. “He used to regularly come to my church. But these days I don’t see him anymore.”

“I wonder why,” Narvari scoffed.

“Who are you people? Is it money you want? I have a lot of it. I’ll give it to you, just please leave.”

The prophet seemed genuinely confused by who they were. Stein had recognized her as a vanquisher. If this man were truly a Vessel, he would have recognized Azmel’s savaz and known that he was a vanquisher.

Was it possible that there were Vessels who didn’t know about the existence of vanquishers? That was too unlikely. So if the prophet was not a Vessel, what was he then?

“You put a curse on him, didn’t you?” Azmel just went straight to the point. “And you’re doing the same to some of your church members.”

The prophet’s eyes widened in shock. “How…how do you know this?”

“You need to break the curse now. Or I will break you.” Azmel’s tone remained the same, yet it dripped off a coldness that could turn a hot desert into ice.

“Okay, okay. I will break the curse, okay? Just put the gun down. Let’s be civil.”

Wow, the audacity of this guy. Narvari shook her head.

“Do it now.” Azmel tightened his grip on his savaz.

“Of course. But I’m sorry I can’t do it here. I can only do it in my… room.” The prophet’s voice grew to a whisper when he said ‘room.’

Oh hell no. This sounded too damn shady. There was no way in hell Azmel would just agree to follow this man into his ‘room.’

“Sure. Let’s go to your room.”

What the hell? Narvari stared at Azmel like he was crazy. But, strangely, she trusted him. So far he’d had an excellent judgment on this mission so she consoled herself that Azmel wouldn’t just follow someone into an obvious trap without a plan.

“Let me warn you,” Azmel said when the prophet got back on his feet, “I will be expecting a call from my team as soon as the curse breaks. If I don’t get this call in exactly thirty minutes, you’re a dead man. Do you understand?”

Prophet Yeboah gulped, nodding rapidly like an agama lizard. “I swear I’ll break the curse.”

Yes, this wimp was definitely not a Vessel. If he had the relic of a Vessel, then Narvari was certain a Vessel gave it to him. Maybe that Vessel had given the prophet the means to summon the demon. She wasn’t entirely sure. The ways of the Vessels of Bezvaros were still a mystery to her. Even if this prophet was not one of them, he might still be dangerous since he was affiliated with one.

She had to be more careful now that they were entering his lair. Who knew what they might find there?