Episode Seven | The Second Prophecy | The Occult’s Bride | Chosen Against My Will | Short Mystery Story 

The room reeked of smoke and ash. My hands trembled as I reached for the parchment clutched in the woman’s lifeless hand. Her marked arm was burned black, as though the fire that branded her had finally consumed its own.

I whispered through tears:

> “Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of His saints.” (Psalm 116:15)

But was she a saint? Or was her final act a desperate grasp for redemption? I couldn’t know.

What I did know was that the parchment she held might hold answers—or more chains.

I pried it gently from her stiff fingers. The edges were scorched, the ink faded, but the words were still legible. My voice cracked as I read them aloud:

"The Bride shall face a choice of blood. Out of her womb shall come a child, marked with light or flame. If the child is given to the altar of fire, the nations shall bow in fear. But if the child is lifted to the altar of the Most High, the chains of death shall break."

My breath caught. The child. My child. Every line confirmed what I already feared—the war was not about me alone. It was about the life growing inside me.

The Woman’s Last Breath

I turned to the woman, sorrow weighing heavy in my chest. But then—her chest rose faintly. A shallow breath.

Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at me weakly, her voice barely a whisper.

“Do not… trust every messenger.”

Tears blurred my vision. “Who? Who can I trust?”

She gripped my hand with surprising strength for one so broken. Her final words were ragged, but each one cut deep:

“The one who speaks… in His Name. Only in His Name.”

And then her hand fell limp.

I sobbed, clutching her lifeless form.

The Mark on My Door

Suddenly, a loud crack split the silence. I jumped to my feet.

The front door—what was left of it—now bore a new mark. Burned deep into the wood, glowing faintly red.

The same flaming eye that had scarred the woman’s arm.

My stomach churned. They had been here, unseen, marking my very dwelling.

And below the eye, words were carved:

"The bride belongs to the flame."

The Stranger Returns

I staggered back, clutching my stomach in terror. And then—behind me—a voice.

“You must leave this place.”

I spun around. The stranger was standing there once again. His presence filled the room like steady fire—not consuming, but refining.

I backed away, suspicion gnawing at me. “How do I know you’re truly him this time? How do I know you’re not another mask?”

His gaze was steady. His voice calm. “Test me.”

I swallowed hard. My voice trembled as I demanded, “Then say His Name. Not hidden. Not twisted. Speak it.”

He closed his eyes, and when he spoke, the air shifted, heavy with power:

“Yeshua HaMashiach. The Name above all names. Salvation of Israel.”

Tears flooded my eyes. My knees gave way. It was him. It had to be.

He lifted me gently to my feet. “The mark on your door means they claim you. But prophecy is not theirs to fulfill. It belongs to the Holy One. You must choose, and you must choose soon.”

The Revelation

I held up the parchment with trembling hands. “The child—my child. It says he must be lifted to the altar of the Most High. What does that mean?”

The stranger’s face darkened. “It means they will come for him the moment he draws breath. And you will be forced to decide whether to give him up… or to fight.”

I gasped, clutching my stomach. “But he is innocent!”

The stranger’s eyes burned with sorrow and fire. “Yes. And that innocence is what terrifies them most.”

Before I could reply, the ground shook violently. The windows shattered. The air filled with chanting once again—dozens of voices this time.

The stranger grabbed my shoulders. His voice was urgent now.

“They’re here for the second covenant.”

My lips quivered. “What covenant?”

His eyes met mine, and his words sent ice through my veins.

“The covenant of blood.”

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🔥 End of Episode Seven: The Second Prophecy

Episode Eight: The Covenant of Blood, where the occultists attempt their most terrifying ritual yet, and the true cost of resistance begins to unfold?