A Faceless with An Ancient Goddess in Ayogena Village

It was a Monday morning, around 4:00 a.m., when Brother Emmanuel and I left our village, Iyorah, for a nearby village called Ayogena. We had prayed through the night, and now we were heading out for what we called a Morning Cry — the kind of early-morning street preaching that carries raw power because the world is still asleep and the spirit realm is awake.

The village was silent. The sky was dark. Only our voices broke the night.

I started preaching at the mouth of the village and continued walking until we reached the far end, where a massive river called River Oghio slept under the darkness like a giant. After reaching the riverbank, I turned and began to walk back, still preaching, still pacing, still declaring the Word.

That was when I felt it.

A presence. Heavy. Dark. Hostile.

Then I heard it — a metallic knocking sound behind me, as though iron was striking the ground.

But the road was just red earth. No metal. No stones. No reason for that frightening, echoing sound.

Brother Emmanuel felt it too.

He didn’t say a word — he simply ran ahead of me, fear pulling his legs faster than his thoughts.

Everything in me said:

“Do not look back.”

I knew — deeply — that if I turned too quickly, something terrible would happen.

The air behind me grew thicker.

Colder.

More suffocating.

My preaching grew shaky; fear clung to my skin.

But then something rose inside me — holy anger, like fire climbing up my bones.

I stopped preaching and started praying loudly.

I tried to turn back…

But an invisible force pushed my face forward, resisting me.

It felt like I would break something spiritual if I forced it.

So I kept walking until I reached the place where the village shrine stood — a dark, ominous spot that carried an ancient heaviness.

There, I planted my feet and forced my head to turn, pushing against the unseen resistance.

When I finally looked back…

There was no one.

But the presence was still thick — thick enough to touch.

Then suddenly — from the darkness — she appeared.

An old woman.

So old she shouldn't even be alive.

Her body frail, but her eyes — her eyes burned like embers in a dying fire.

She stepped forward slowly, leaning on a wooden staff, staring straight into my soul.

Brother Emmanuel, now trembling violently, ran behind me and grabbed my shirt like a terrified child.

The woman kept staring.

Cold.

Ancient.

Unblinking.

Like she came out of the river… or the shrine… or both.

Fear tried to rise — but holy anger overruled it.

So I stared right back.

And instead of praying, I started preaching louder, as if to say,

“Your presence doesn’t intimidate me. You should be the one afraid.”

Without saying a single word, she walked past us — straight into the shrine.

And then… she vanished.

That was when something snapped inside me. I was furious — not at her, but at the darkness she represented.

I lifted my voice and began to declare: fire on the shrine, fire on the river spirits, fire on every demon lurking in that territory — releasing violent decrees until the atmosphere shifted.

Only then did we turn to leave.

As we walked back, still preaching, Brother Emmanuel kept whispering:

“What was that? Bro Austin, what was that thing?”

We got home safely. God covered us. The darkness could not touch us.

And that unforgettable morning in May 1998, the kingdom of God walked through Ayogena — and the powers of the night trembled.

Glory be to God.