They conducted illegal experiments on my brain for three consecutive days. I fought the battle in there, praying, praying. Over and over I said, I renounce this in the name of Jesus and by the power of His blood. But the words never came out. They were in my heart I guess. For sure in my mind, the words the only thing blocking the experiments. The only thing saving my soul.
But things were tangling, twisting together. I could hardly remember the words anymore. I was weakening and felt my spirit leave my body. I drifted down. Or maybe up, toward heaven. I couldn’t tell. A fine mist settled around me in the darkness where I stood. This was not heaven.
A man was next to me in the garb of a biblical warrior. He stood as though ready for battle, but not against me. The shout of evil voices sounded in the distance.
“I am Michael,” the man said.
I nodded. It felt as if I knew him. He handed me a sword and it was then I realized I was in full battle gear: helmet, breastplate, shield at my feet along with a broken sword. My spirit was tired. The voices came closer.
“We must fight.” Michael looked ready, a strong body and determined face. “If your spirit dies, your whole being will. Fight.”
I didn’t have the strength to nod. They’d beaten me low. Too low. I let the tip of the new sword rest in the dirt, the hilt limp in my fingers. “I already have. I can’t anymore.”
Michael lifted his sword. “You’ve never fought alone.” He turned to meet the chaotic voices. As the shapes took form, the twisted face of the chief scientist appeared—or at least a semblance of him. His spirit’s ugliness was overwhelming and chilled my spirit all the way back to my soul.
I was back in my body. I renounce this...I renounce in the name...Jesus, help me...
The clash of swords snapped my spirit back to the darkness and the mist. Michael had stopped the scientist from skewering me, but others jumped from the shadows all around me. Training kicked in. I lifted my sword and swung in a circle, cutting air and apparitions. They screamed and retreated. Michael stayed fully engaged with the most evil of all, the main attack while I fought the flank battles.
Bloody sweat dripped down my forehead. The attacks were overwhelming. And still they came. I stumbled on the marsh-like terrain and gasped. Michael disengaged long enough to save me from a deadly blow, but shouted, “Fight! You must not surrender!”
His words sent a lightning bolt through me. It shocked and recharged my spirit enough for me to fight on. And on. And on. The battle continued, the evilness not retreating, until at last, it began to rain. A gentle rain, nothing terrible or threatening. Not to me and Michael. But from the evil ones it elicited screams of frustration and they retreated.
The rain washed the bloody sweat from my eyes. It quenched the thirst in my parched tongue. It soothed the hot ache of my limbs. I dropped to my knees, sword in the mud beside me. I looked up at Michael. “Will they come again?”
Michael sheaved his sword. “No. Your prayers prevailed.”
The mist faded and the darkness grew brighter. I was drifting down. Or maybe up, toward heaven. I couldn’t tell.
I opened my eyes and saw my mother. She gasped, tears in her eyes as she leaned over my hospital bed. “Shhh, it’s all right. You’re safe. They rescued you. It may take time before you...” Her gaze questioned me, probed my mind for signs of intelligent life.
I smiled, or at least tried. “We won.”
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