*"And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead that the stone sunk into his forehead and he fell upon his face to the earth".*
_1 Samuel 17:49_

God targeted the leader's head of the battle against the Israelites and that's the end of the battle. The leader's head of the battle against your life and family will fall today in the Mighty Name of Jesus. The Lord will paralyze the head of the one leading a battle against you at your place of work today in the Mighty Name of Jesus. You will surely see the end of that battle in the Mighty Name of Jesus. Amen.

*Hear this,*
As you call upon God's Name today and declare His deeds among the people, I command the door of mercy to open unto you. You will draw water from the wells of salvation as you step into the world today in Jesus' Name. The Almighty God will deliver you from every delay and time wasting devices of the devil as you lift up your eyes unto the Hills. I decree thunder upon whosoever is angry because of your progress this year. I declare total war upon every power waiting to terminate your success at your point of celebration in Jesus' Name. The Lord will cause the heavens to open up and release unto you every delayed blessing with your name as you carry out your routine assignment today in Jesus' Name. Amen.
This year, you will not go down to Egypt for help. You will not eat the food of your enemies. The Almighty God shall arise against the house of your adversaries and cause help to cease from every evildoer in your family in Jesus' Name. Before the end of this month, the Lord shall silence whosoever plan to hide your glory and your achievements. The Lord will grant you the grace to live long in good health of mind and body and eat the fruits of your labour in Jesus' Name. Today, I cancel every negative public opinion, either spoken or written against you and your family by the efficacy in the Blood of the Lamb. I declare every handwriting of the wicked working against your family null and void and of no effect in Jesus' Name. AMEN.

*Remain Blessed, Happy Thursday. God Bless You Mightily Today*

_GOOD AFTERNOON

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 15
Nine months. The city of Lagos breathed, pulsed, and roared beneath a relentless sun, oblivious to the silent war waged within the gilded cage of Sebastian Scar’s world. Time had scarred over the raw wound of the poisoning, leaving a thick, knotted tissue of suspicion, bitterness, and a haunting absence.
Scar stood at the penthouse window, a tumbler of untouched whiskey in his hand. The view was the same – the sprawling, vibrant chaos of the city he commanded. Yet, it felt alien, muted. Amanda flitted around the living room behind him, the sharp click of her designer heels a constant, grating counterpoint to the silence in his soul. She’d embedded herself like a persistent thorn, a constant presence draped in silks and poisonous concern. She managed his schedule, filtered information, played the devoted caretaker – the role of the wronged fiancée finally vindicated. But her attempts to reignite their past, to seduce him, were met with a cold, impenetrable wall. He tolerated her, used her efficiency, but the chamber of his heart she once occupied was now a locked vault filled only with echoes of betrayal and the phantom scent of jasmine.
Jessica. The name was a ghost that walked the halls. His men – the best trackers, the most connected shadows in the city – had turned Lagos upside down. Rivers dredged, slums combed, borders watched, informants squeezed dry. Nothing. Not a whisper, not a footprint. She and Ghost had vanished as if swallowed by the earth. The frustration was a constant, low hum beneath his rage. He didn’t just want her dead anymore; a deeper, more torturous need had taken root. He needed to *see* her. To look into the eyes he’d once drowned in and demand, with the last breath she’d ever draw, *“Why?”* Why shatter the sanctuary he’d built for them? Why poison the hand that gave her everything? Why betray a love that had thawed his frozen heart? The unanswered question festered, poisoning his days more insidiously than the aconite ever had.
Her family remained a confusing testament to that shattered past. Still under house arrest in the mansion he’d gifted them, guarded by men whose loyalty was now solely to him. Amanda railed against it constantly. "They know something, Sebastian! They’re her blood! They’re laughing at you, hiding her!" she’d hiss, her eyes flashing with malice. But Scar had held firm. "They stay. Unharmed." It was a command born not of mercy, but of a grim, unresolved thread. Harming them felt like closing a door he wasn’t ready to shut, admitting a finality he couldn’t face. Were they hostages for a ghost? Or a lingering, irrational hope that their presence might somehow draw her out? He didn’t know anymore.
Ghost… his betrayal stung with a unique venom. A man forged in the same fires of loyalty, whose silence had always been his strength. He’d reappeared weeks after the poisoning, materializing one night in Scar’s study as if stepping from a shadow. His story was chillingly plausible, delivered with his usual impassive calm. He’d tracked a lead on a rival faction potentially linked to the poison, deep into the Niger Delta. Communications compromised. Ambushed. Left for dead. He’d only just recovered. He vehemently denied helping Jessica escape. "Boss, I would die before betraying you. She must have had other help, or she was far more resourceful than we knew. I failed you. I should have been there." The explanation was tight, logical. Scar had stared into Ghost’s unreadable eyes, searching for a flicker of deceit. He found none. But the absence of proof wasn’t proof of innocence, and a seed of doubt, carefully nurtured by Amanda’s whispers, remained. Ghost was reinstated, his duties curtailed, watched.
Meanwhile, miles away yet impossibly close, hidden in a modest, unremarkable apartment building just five streets from the towering opulence of Scar’s villa, Jessica lived in the fragile eye of the storm. Ghost’s gamble had been audacious. Bringing her back to the lion’s den, to a safehouse nestled within the very territory crawling with men hunting her. It was a move born of necessity and audacious strategy – the last place Scar would think to look.
Jessica’s world was confined to three small rooms. The weight she carried now wasn't just fear, but the profound, undeniable swell of her pregnancy. Eight months. Her body was a landscape of taut skin, aching bones, and the ceaseless, miraculous flutter of life within. Chioma, Ghost’s fiercely protective fiancée, was her anchor, her midwife, her confidante. She tended to Jessica with quiet competence, brewing herbal teas for the swelling in her ankles, massaging the knots from her back, her eyes holding a constant, watchful worry.
The apartment was a world away from the penthouse luxury, filled with the smell of simmering stews and the sound of distant city life filtering through thin walls. Jessica spent her days by a small window overlooking a dusty courtyard, her hands often resting on the hard curve of her belly. She traced patterns, whispered secrets to the life inside – stories of its father, not the man baying for her blood, but the man who had held her like she was the world, who had whispered love against her skin. "Your Papa, Sebastian," she’d murmur, tears often blurring her vision. "He’s strong. He’s brave. And he’s lost right now. But we’ll find him, little one. We’ll make him see."
Fear was a constant companion. Every footstep on the stairwell, every raised voice in the courtyard, sent her heart racing. But it was tempered now by a ferocious, maternal resolve. She carried Scar’s heir. This child was her truth, her weapon, her reason to fight. She couldn’t run forever. She had to clear her name, for herself, for her child, and for the man whose love had created this life, even if he now sought to end hers.
Unbeknownst to Jessica and Scar, a quiet revolution was brewing among the ranks. William, Scar’s steadfast second-in-command, had become the epicenter of doubt. The initial rage had cooled, replaced by cold logic and gnawing inconsistencies. The missing CCTV footage – too clean, too convenient. Amanda’s constant presence, her manipulation of information, her eagerness to see Jessica’s family harmed. Ghost’s improbable, yet unchallenged, alibi. And Jessica… the girl from the slums who’d fought tooth and nail for an education, who’d sent money home religiously, who’d looked at Scar with an adoration William had never seen in Amanda’s calculating eyes. Did that woman poison the man she loved?
William began cautiously. Late-night meetings in secure garages, hushed conversations with other senior lieutenants – men who’d witnessed Jessica’s quiet strength, who remembered Scar’s transformation when she was near. Men like Kola, the head of security, who’d privately questioned the lack of physical evidence tying Jessica to the poison beyond proximity. Slowly, carefully, a network of doubt solidified into a conspiracy of truth. They shared fragments: Amanda making unexplained calls before the poisoning, her subtle influence over certain guards, her unnatural calm amidst the chaos. They couldn’t prove anything yet, but the conviction grew – Jessica was innocent. Amanda had orchestrated it all. And Ghost… his role was still murky, but his return and Jessica’s continued disappearance pointed towards something more complex than betrayal.
Their plan was dangerous, embryonic. Gather irrefutable proof. Find Jessica. Expose Amanda before she consolidated her power or eliminated them. They moved like shadows within shadows, aware that one misstep meant death.
Back in the penthouse, Amanda felt the shifting sands. Scar’s coldness was a fortress she couldn’t breach. Her seduction attempts – lingering touches, suggestive whispers, expensive lingerie showcased under flimsy robes – were met with indifference or curt dismissal. He slept in his own room, the door locked. The engagement ring she’d subtly placed on her finger remained unacknowledged.
One evening, fueled by desperation and expensive wine, she cornered him in his study. He was reviewing weapons manifests, his profile harsh in the lamplight. She approached, the scent of her perfume cloying. "Sebastian," she purred, draping herself over the arm of his chair, her hand sliding onto his thigh. "It’s late. You work too hard. Let me… ease your mind." Her fingers crept higher.
Scar didn’t look up. His hand shot out, not violently, but with crushing finality, clamping around her wrist and removing it from his leg. His touch was ice-cold. "Don't," he said, his voice devoid of any inflection, his gaze still fixed on the papers. "Leave, Amanda."
Humiliation burned her cheeks. "Why?" she hissed, the mask slipping. "Why cling to the ghost of that treacherous whore? I’m *here*. I’ve *always* been here! We’re meant to be together!"
Finally, he looked at her. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held not anger, but a chilling emptiness. "Meant to be?" he echoed, a hollow laugh escaping him. "That childhood contract died the day you shot an unarmed woman in my house. It was buried when you poisoned me and framed Jessica. You are here because you manipulated your way in. Not because I want you. Not because I *ever* will." He stood, towering over her, the sheer force of his presence pushing her back a step. "You serve a purpose, Amanda. For now. Don't mistake tolerance for desire. Now get out."
She fled, not in tears, but in a silent, shaking rage that promised retribution. The walls were closing in. William’s subtle resistance, Scar’s impenetrable coldness, the persistent, maddening silence of Jessica’s whereabouts – it was all unraveling.
As Amanda seethed in her suite, and Scar stared sightlessly at the city lights, wrestling with ghosts and unanswered questions, Jessica lay in the stifling heat of the safehouse apartment, Chioma gently rubbing cooling balm onto her swollen feet. The baby kicked vigorously, a powerful reminder of the life pulsing against all odds. Five streets away, William and Kola met in a dimly lit back room, a stolen security log spread between them, their voices low and urgent. The storm was no longer gathering; it was on the horizon, a tempest fueled by love, betrayal, and the desperate hope held within a heavily pregnant woman hidden in plain sight. The reckoning was coming, and the heir to the Scar empire would be born amidst its fury.
TO BE CONTINUED...

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 14
The sterile air of the hospital room tasted like despair. Sebastian Scar floated in a grey limbo, tethered to life by whirring machines and dripping IVs. Visions flickered – Jessica’s tear-streaked face, Amanda’s venomous smile, the bitter taste of coffee, the terrifying convulsions, the suffocating white foam. Pain was a distant throb beneath layers of sedation. Time lost meaning.
Then, slowly, agonizingly, consciousness seeped back. It wasn't a sudden awakening, but a cruel, dragging emergence from the depths. His eyelids felt like lead weights. Light stabbed his pupils, blurred shapes resolving slowly. The rhythmic beep… beep… beep of the heart monitor was the first anchor to reality. Then came the ache – deep, pervasive, bone-deep exhaustion layered over a raw, burning sensation in his gut. He tried to move, to speak, but his body felt alien, unresponsive.
"Sebastian? Darling? Can you hear me?"
The voice, dripping with saccharine concern, cut through the fog. Amanda. He forced his eyes to focus. She sat perched elegantly on a chair beside his bed, dressed in somber, expensive silk, her blonde curls artfully arranged. Her hand rested lightly on his forearm, her touch feeling like ice despite the room's warmth. Her dark eyes, usually sharp with malice, were wide with a carefully constructed simulation of worry.
"Doctor! He's waking!" she called out, her voice trembling with theatrical relief.
A flurry of activity followed. Doctors checked vitals, adjusted IVs, shone lights in his eyes. Sebastian endured it, his gaze fixed on Amanda, a silent question burning in his exhausted eyes. What happened? Where is Jessica?
Amanda waited until the doctors finished their brief assessment, assuring them she’d stay with him. As the door clicked shut, her expression shifted. The worry remained, but beneath it, a cold, calculating gleam surfaced.
"Oh, Sebastian," she breathed, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We were so scared. You’ve been fighting for a week."
A week? Panic flared weakly. "Jess…" he managed, the word a raw croak.
Amanda’s face contorted instantly into a mask of profound sorrow and righteous anger. Tears welled in her eyes – real or expertly faked, he couldn’t tell. "Sebastian… my love…" she choked out. "It’s… it’s Jessica."
His heart monitor spiked. Beep… beep… beep… beep…
"She… she poisoned you," Amanda whispered, her voice thick with tears she let spill down her cheeks. "The coffee. She made it. She gave it to you. They found traces… aconite… a terrible poison. She was the only one who touched it. The only one with access." Amanda squeezed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "She must have planned it… planned to kill you, take everything… or maybe she was working with your enemies? We don’t know."
Sebastian tried to shake his head, denial roaring silently inside his shattered body. No. Impossible. Not Jessica. But the memory was fractured, terrifying. The coffee. Her handing him the cup. The immediate, violent reaction. The white foam.
"And then…" Amanda’s voice hardened, the tears replaced by cold fury. "When they realized you were poisoned, when they confronted her, she panicked. She tried to run. Ghost… he helped her escape! He betrayed you too! They fled together into the night." She spat the words. "She left you here dying, Sebastian. She poisoned you and ran away with one of your own men!"
The accusation crashed over him like a tidal wave. Betrayal. Poison. Escape. Each word was a shard of ice driven into his heart. The image of Jessica, the woman he loved, the woman he’d built a fragile future with, deliberately poisoning him… It clashed violently with the memory of her tender touch, her whispered love. But the evidence Amanda presented – the coffee, the poison, the flight – seemed damning. And the blinding rage that surged through his weakened body felt real, fueled by the violation, the near-death experience, the utter shock.
A guttural sound escaped his throat, part pain, part fury. His hands clenched weakly on the sheets.
Amanda saw it – the dawning horror, the spark of rage. She pressed her advantage, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "She played you, Sebastian. Used you. That gutter rat was always a gold-digging whore. She saw her chance and tried to take everything, including your life."
The crude insults, echoing those she’d hurled before, struck a different chord now, amplified by the context of betrayal. The fragile trust, the sanctuary of their love, felt like a grotesque lie. The rage crystallized, cold and lethal. He remembered her fleeing the room when he’d aimed the gun at Amanda… Had that been guilt? Fear of being caught?
"Find… her," he rasped, the words scraping his ravaged throat. His eyes, though clouded with pain and medication, burned with a terrifying intensity. He locked eyes with William, who had entered silently during Amanda’s tirade, his face grim. "Find Jessica… and Ghost. Bring them… to me." He took a shuddering breath, summoning every ounce of his fading strength. "Alive. I will… kill her… myself."
The command hung in the sterile air, heavy with finality. William nodded curtly, his own expression hardened by Amanda’s narrative and his boss’s suffering. "Consider it done, Boss."
Amanda leaned back, a flicker of triumph quickly masked by concern. "We checked the penthouse security immediately, Sebastian," she added smoothly. "Trying to find proof. But… the CCTV footage from the kitchen and balcony during that time… it’s gone. Deleted. No traces left." She shook her head sadly. "She covered her tracks well. Ghost must have helped her erase it."
The missing footage felt like the final nail. Paranoia, a familiar old friend, crept in. *How could she? Why?* The questions screamed in his mind, drowned out by the roar of betrayal. "I gave her… everything," he whispered, the words laced with bewildered agony. "Everything…" The image of her family, safe in the mansion he’d given them, flashed in his mind. "The family…" he managed. "Leave them… in the house. Guarded. But… untouched." It was a concession to a past love, a lingering doubt he couldn’t fully quash, even amidst his fury. He ignored Amanda’s immediate, sharp protest.
"But Sebastian! They could be involved! They—"
"Leave them!" he growled, the effort sending a spasm of pain through him. His order stood. Jessica’s family remained under house arrest, but protected, a confusing testament to the war raging within him.
Miles away, in a small, sun-drenched village house nestled among palm trees and vibrant bougainvillea, Jessica existed in a state of suspended terror. Ghost’s fiancée, Chioma, a woman with kind eyes and hands hardened by work, had become her unexpected guardian angel. The modest house, a world away from Scar’s penthouse luxury, was a fragile sanctuary.
Days bled into each other, filled with gnawing fear for Sebastian, crushing guilt over her family’s imprisonment, and the paralyzing knowledge that she was hunted. She scanned local news on a burner phone Ghost provided, dreading the headline announcing Scar’s death. The silence was almost worse.
Then, the nausea started. Not the sharp anxiety she was used to, but a deep, rolling sickness that hit her most mornings. At first, she blamed the stress, the unfamiliar village food. But when it persisted, accompanied by a profound exhaustion and a strange tenderness in her breasts, a terrifying, wondrous possibility began to dawn.
One morning, after retching into a basin behind the small house, Chioma found her pale and trembling. The older woman took one look at her, her gaze softening with sudden understanding. Without a word, she disappeared into the village market and returned an hour later, pressing a small, unmarked paper packet into Jessica’s hand. Inside was a simple pregnancy test.
Hands shaking, Jessica locked herself in the tiny bathroom. The wait for the result felt like an eternity. She stared at the small plastic window, her heart hammering against her ribs, her mind a whirlwind of fear and impossible hope. Then, two clear, unmistakable lines appeared.
Pregnant.
The world tilted. She sank onto the cool concrete floor, the test clutched in her hand. Sebastian’s child. Conceived in the deep, healing love they’d shared after Amanda’s first assault, before the poison, before the betrayal. A life growing inside her while its father lay poisoned, believing she’d tried to kill him, vowing to end her life himself.
Terror threatened to engulf her. They were fugitives. Hunted. Scar wanted her dead. Amanda wanted her destroyed. How could she bring a child into this nightmare? How could she protect it?
But then, gazing at those two lines, a fierce, primal resolve ignited within her, burning away the despair. This wasn't just about her anymore. This was about their child. Scar’s heir. The living proof of their love, conceived before the poison, before the lies.
She placed a trembling hand on her still-flat stomach. The fear didn't vanish, but it was joined by a steely determination. She couldn't run forever. She couldn't let her child be born into a life of hiding, branded by its mother's supposed crime. She had to clear her name. Not just for herself, not just for Sebastian, but for this tiny, fragile life growing inside her.
She had to prove her innocence. Find the real traitor. Expose Amanda. And she had to reach Sebastian, make him see the truth, before his rage or Amanda’s schemes destroyed them all. For the sake of their child, she had to fight. Or they would all die – her, the baby, Sebastian, consumed by the poisonous lies.
Emerging from the bathroom, Jessica met Chioma’s knowing gaze. There were no words. Jessica simply nodded, her eyes no longer filled with just fear, but with the fierce, terrifying light of a mother’s resolve. The hunted woman was gone. In her place stood a lioness, ready to fight for her cub and its father, even if the father himself held the gun. The battle for truth, for love, and for the future of their child had truly begun.
TO BE CONTINUED...

Life is a circle of happiness, sadness, hard times, and good times. If your are going through hard times, have faith that good times are on the way."
The human experience is a cyclical dance between joy and sorrow, ease and struggle. Life's ebb and flow are not linear; they are a continuous rhythm of highs and lows, a testament to the inherent duality of existence.
Periods of hardship, though painful, are not permanent; they are integral parts of a larger pattern, a necessary counterpoint to the moments of happiness and fulfillment. When darkness descends, it's crucial to maintain faith, to remember that the sun will inevitably rise again.
This unwavering belief, this trust in the cyclical nature of life, provides the strength and resilience needed to navigate the challenging times, knowing that brighter days are always on the horizon.

Amen Amen

Today will be a fruitful day for each and every one of us Amen

God is not man that He would lie. His words are Ye and Amen. Be patient, He is aware.

Isaiah 45:3 "I'll lead you to buried treasures, secret caches of valuables - confirmations that it is, infact, I, God, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name"(MSG).
I pray that the spirit of the living God shall dwell with you in Jesus' name. His divine blessing and good treasures shall be yours in Jesus' name. His shield shall be upon you, and His Angels shall surround you always in Jesus' name. As the North is far from the South, so shall failure, sickness, poverty, and misfortune be far from you and your family in Jesus' name. As the walls surround Jerusalem, so shall God surround you with all the great treasures of life from today and evermore, in Jesus Mighty Name. Amen.
Good morning. Have a great and blessed day.

SCARY

Iranian Members of Parliament burn the American Flag and threaten to use Nuclear weapons on American homeland .

This is Scary , this is one of the reasons America has never wanted them to own nuclear weapons .

Moral lesson : Their focus has now shifted from Israel to America .