Chronicles of The Unseen: Origins of the Word Wielders

By Adam R. Dalhaus

A violent storm is on the horizon, but this dark maelstrom looming over its victims- is hidden from the eyes of most

men and women.

This hopeless shadow is an inevitable threat; more real and more dangerous than anyone could ever imagine. The legions of hell spawn that swarm the walls of this moving stronghold have been given orders to tear the souls of men away from the light and drag them into dark places. something must be done.

Get swept away in a series of supernatural adventures as you are taken deep into the unknown. Experience the heart-pounding, emotional and sometimes hilarious origins of our heroes - The Word Wielders – as they come face-to-face with themselves, each other and a fearsome demonic force, hellbent on dividing them through the dark fire of spiritual combat; forcing them to unravel and ultimately wield the limitless mystery of a Light-Bringing Power they do not yet fully understand.

“For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies,

But against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world,

Against mighty powers in this dark world,

And against evil spirits in the heavenly places.”

Ephesians 6:12 (NLT)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639612352

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Chronicles of The Unseen

Origins of the Word Wielders

Adam R. Dalhaus

ISBN 978-1-63961-234-5 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63961-235-2 (digital)

Copyright © 2021 by Adam R. Dalhaus

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

The Unseen © its logos, all characters and the distinctive likeness thereof, and all related elements are trademarks of Pure Crimson Entertainment. The stories, characters and incidents featured in this publication are entirely fictional excluding historical characters. Any contents of this product may not be reprinted, reproduced or transmitted by any means or any form without express written permission from Pure Crimson Entertainment LLC and their managers.

Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked (NLT) are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, IL 60188. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

Dear Reader:

Please keep in mind that this book and its stories are a work of fiction. Although there are Biblical & Spiritual truths included within this book, the nature and attributes of the characters, their actions, encounters, and behaviors are predominantly metaphorical and imaginary. For absolute truth, see The Holy Bible.

Adam R Dalhaus

Dedicated to

the girl of my dreams, and the love of my life:

My beautiful wife, Linda Dalhaus. 

Thank you for your diligent work, patience, creative insight,

brutal honesty and undying support, through this intense journey.

I could never have done it without you…

Edited by

Spring Hellams & Linda M Dalhaus

Chapter III Unquenchable Co-written by Linda M Dalhaus

In loving memory of Andre Hellams

One of the greatest Word Wielders I’ve ever known.

PROLOGUE

This is why it is said, Awake, Oh, sleeper, rise up… The explosive whisper resonates through your room as your eyelids suddenly slam open. You’re startled at first, but you soon write it off as another crazy dream.

They’re becoming more frequent; you think to yourself as you stare at the ceiling with eyes wide open. You begin to worry about the day, your friends, the constant unrest of the news. Your phone buzzes and lights up with texts, social media posts, messages; the digital barrage has begun.

BOOM! A low rumble pulses from across your room, but this time you know you’re not asleep; you leap from your bed thinking it’s an earthquake, but instead your eye is drawn to the rattling lid on top of a dusty, old shoe box.

You lift the lid slowly, thinking a mouse slipped in there, but instead find nothing but balled-up gum wrappers, a forgotten notebook, an old Bible, and a broken pencil. Again, you write it off as lack of sleep.

You pause for a moment as nostalgia grips your spirit; the smell and feel of the old leather-bound Book beckons you to pull it out gently, wipe the dust from its face, and open it.

Adrenaline pumps through your blood as you read a random page for the light makes everything visible. This is why it is said, Awake, Oh sleeper, rise up from the dead, and Christ will give you light."

Suddenly, a burst of water shoots from deep within the binding; a crystal blue cascading river slams into the ceiling. The force of it blows you across the top of your bed.

An explosion of wind and pages blended with blue fire begins to swirl around the room as The Book of Holy Fire swiftly flips to different pages, stopping for a moment, then flipping again, each one emanating a single, powerful Voice.

Lightning, rocks, tree bark, and water, swirl around your room, lifting you from the ground. You realize that the bed sheets, clothes, and papers lying around your room are unaffected by this raging supernatural cyclone.

A glowing page snaps from the walls of the storm and hovers gently in front of your face. You’re drawn to read it as fire pulses from under the ink of the letters. You look closer as it appears to be dripping blue, molten lava. You read: "For I have not given you a spirit of fear but of power and of love and of a sound mind."

A gentle breeze lifts you above the storm while a calming echo resonates through your mind, "I have called you to greater things than this. Do not be weary, I AM for you, not against you and I have a great many things for you.

Will you come with Me?"

Everything in your body tells you to scream out in terror, but your spirit calmly speaks for you with a brave, tear filled, "YES!"

Immediately, you’re transported across time and space at an unimaginable speed. Your body spins as you are flung through the air and over the rooftops of a common, suburban street.

The once dusty Bible flutters at your side like a guardian. It shoots pages from its binding that suspend you in the air. They mold around your body and hands and slowly begin forming steel-plated armor that pulse with a prism of light and power.

Knowledge pours into your mind as weapons burst from your hands. They almost seem to sing as colorful flames burst around them in rhythm. Your armor begins to speak wisdom into your spirit. Joy fills your entire being and you feel more alive than ever before.

Landing softly on the ground, you soon notice people you have never met. They, too, are armored from head to toe; they eagerly greet you warmly as if this was all normal to them. And you immediately feel as if you have known them forever.

Are you ready My Word Wielders? A Voice of thunder rings out from behind you. Come, I have something to show you.

You turn and see a giant, golden Book pulsating with life. You and your newly-found band of friends glance at one another before walking calmly towards the giant Living Book that is now generating an open door into the things Unseen.

"For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies,

But against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world,

Against mighty powers in this dark world,

And against evil spirits in the heavenly places."

Ephesians 6:12 (NLT)

I

THE STORM

The sweat on Asher’s forehead caused the plastic strap inside his helmet to stick to his skin. The sun was hotter than usual, he could see a thick, gray cloud in the distance—but it would be a while before it would cast its shade over the field.

No matter, he thought to himself. The heat never broke my focus before…why should it now?

Just like always, Asher cut through the distraction with three taps on the home plate. A subconscious trigger to let his muscles know through the vibrations of the bat that he was ready—regardless of the pitch.

The bases were loaded and he could feel an eager silence come over the crowd as he raised his aluminum slugger over his shoulder, while simultaneously making confidant eye contact with the pitcher.

Jimmy Buskins was his name. They exchanged amiable glances in the halls at school on occasion, but never really talked. Knowing each other’s reputation on the field had given rise to a mutual respect; however, the two of them were definitely not what one would call friends.

Asher could hear his little brother’s voice cut through the tense, silent crowd.

Bring em’ home, Storm! Brodie shouted.

Storm was his home town name. He had risen to local fame as the gossip around town propelled him to prodigy status in the game. Even the local papers and school bloggers had taken notice, titling him Storm—he best hitter this town has seen in decades.

Over time, the name had just stuck. His brother never called him by his given name; to him, he was just Storm—except when they were fighting.

Asher’s little brother, Brodie, also had a nickname; everyone called him Key, because he was always getting into something. It seemed as if there wasn’t a lock, puzzle, or computer he couldn’t fix or open.

Few brothers were as close as they were. People would often call them the boys like some old-time mafia movie or something; they were inseparable.

Just as his brother’s shout reached his ears, a lightning bolt crackled across the distant sky, as if to tell him nothing could stop him from hitting the mark. The poetic irony fixed his concentration.

Don’t get cocky, he warned himself under his breath. The shout from Key sent a calm focus to Asher’s spirit.

As the ball released from Jimmy’s fingers, Asher could almost see the red threads on the white leather spin in slow motion. The ball sank low this time, and with a precise command, his body swung with a self-assured flash.

TING! The impact rang out across the air and into the ears of the hushed crowd as they held their breaths.

The ball soared high, and was quickly swallowed up in the sun’s blinding rays, the quiet crowd shielded their eyes to track it.

Farther and farther, it went—past the fence line and out of sight, causing an explosion of cheers from his home town. It was inspiring. His team took it home again for the third year in a row with Storm at the home plate.

His brother, Key, was the first on the field, running out to hold his bat. "I knew it, Storm! I knew you would crush it!"

Asher hooked an arm around his brother’s neck, as the two of them were swiftly mobbed by all his cheering friends and family—his mom glowing with pride.

But Asher couldn’t help noticing the ominous, dark gray cloud in the distance release a broad bolt of lightning; followed by a billowing thunder. The deep rumble alerted the town to the inevitable storm rolling into their near future.

Asher’s face fell, as he watched his dad lean back in his folding chair—completely unimpressed by the excitement. He cracked open another can of beer and chugged it down with a blank expression.

Asher could see the familiar pattern in his stagger as he stood up to slow clap with his patronizing grin.

Immediately he knew there was no place to hide from the real storm that was already stirring back home.

As the night settled, the storm settled with it. Branches lightly tapped the window of the boys’ bedroom as the wind and rain swelled outside.

Key was full of excitement, jumping up and down on the bed. Reenacting the final moments of the game, he swung his imaginary bat like a cartoon warrior.

In the middle of his spastic flailing, thunder rattled the floors and walls as a lightning bolt struck close to their window, causing their house to go black.

Key screamed and scampered under his blankets like a ferret. Asher chuckled at the scene, but was also quick to distract him.

Key, he teased, you scream like a little girl.

"Shut up! No, I don’t! You scream like a girl!"

Oh, nice one, boy genius. But you can’t know that, he rebutted.

Key pouted. Why not?

"Because I don’t scream," he reasoned.

Key, completely forgetting about the raging storm, argued with a snicker, Shut up, Storm…you’re dumb.

"Wow again; you are just bursting with wit. You know, maybe you’re right…but at least I don’t scream like a girl."

Asher swatted Key in the face with a stuffed Blue Jays mascot, quickly turning the playful banter into a full-blown wrestling match.

They leapt to their feet pretending to know Kung-Fu, shadow punching each other. Key grappled Asher by the legs, and they fell to the floor. When they hit the carpet, one of them let out a giant, bellowing-fart. That’s when the belly laughs truly began.

Just outside the boy’s window, near their old tree house, stood a tall figure.

If one were able to see this towering figure, they might faintly notice the small bursts of electricity occasionally crackling through the fibers of his thick, orangish gray beard that hung down to his chest.

Off his shoulders draped a long cloak attached to a hood lined with crimson silk.

The rain didn’t absorb into the cloak; instead, every droplet caused a pulse of rippling light that evaporated the water on impact. Each drop emanated a different color on contact.

As the cloak flapped in the wind, it periodically revealed the armor plating firmly strapped to his body. The dappling glow from the occasional lightning strike flickered off the armor and almost seemed to change color with every refraction.

Blue fire blazed across his boots. The flames seemed unaffected by the torrential downpour.

A glowing Book fluttered at his right side. The writings inlaid throughout the binding seemed alive, its pages constantly flipping through on their own, back and forth…back and forth…

The moving pages would sporadically detach and fly from the Living Book, then swarm around him as if they were keeping watch in all directions, each one emanating a tone, met with spurts of beaming luminance, as if they were singing softly in perfect harmony.

The stranger’s hand was tightly grasped around the handle of a giant sledge hammer. One side of the hammer was a cluster of jagged ice shards in constant motion; the other, a raging fire, that again, was unaffected by the rain. In fact, as the rain hit the flame, it generated a steam cloud that gathered around the man that softly laid at his feet.

Duncan, wait! a Voice boomed from behind him.

The man contended as if he knew what the Voice was going to say. Please, don’t try to stop me; I have to do this. The others won’t fight. Look at this darkness; it’s so thick. I haven’t seen it like this in years—I know how this ends; I’ve seen it before. If I don’t do something now…if I don’t fight…who will?

Duncan… I fight, the Voice corrected him softly.

Tears blinded Duncan’s eyes and choked his voice as he yelled in frustration, I KNOW!

A long silence fell between them.

Duncan sighed heavily. I know, he asserted more calmly. That’s why I can’t understand why You would ask this—ask me to stand down now. Now? After what we know he is capable of? This is truly a dark hour. And they’re just boys…they don’t understand.

They will. You must trust Me. The victory to this battle cannot be won this way. Please… Duncan, come with Me. Let’s talk.

Now is not the time for talk…I…! He paused and calmed himself again. We can stop this. I know we can…we’ve done it before. I’ve seen You do it on many battlefields—ones far grimmer than this.

"I AM not abandoning you—nor them. I know that’s what you perceive. But now is the time for patience, Duncan, and for you to hear Me."

Duncan put the handle of his hammer in the mud. His head tilted down and hands clasped over the top of his weapon. Pausing, he took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. I’m going to fight this…with or without You.

I know, the Voice informed. Then in a firm but loving tone, He entreated, I will ask you one more time: Come back with the others… let’s discuss this.

I’m done talking! I’m done praying! I’m done waiting!

You will fight… the Voice imparted regretfully, but you will fail…although it will not be a loss; try to remember that. I’ll be waiting for you.

A lightning bolt flashed in the distance, but this time it was multiple strikes in a constant rhythm that illuminated the yard like a strobe. The enemy was there; he could feel it.

Duncan watched as thick, black, oily tendrils slithered up the walls and through the doors and windows into the house. He turned to see a chasm split the backyard lawn with a whirlpool of dark fire.

Smoke billowed from the pit along with the foul stench of death. Slowly, a massive, mutilated, skeleton-like figure rose out of the smoke as if it was formed from it.

His chipped bones were held together by rusted chains, bolts, and tattered rope; his head was adorned with a mangled, iron crown; his jaw clung to his skull with bits of twine.

As the lightning once again filled the darkening sky, Duncan could see the demon’s gangrenous, black heart beating irregularly through his dusty rib cage.

Behind him was a sea of glowing red eyes. Dark, formless figures crawled up and down the trees and sides of the house searching for entry.

Duncan sensed that the Voice would not speak during this fight, but had not gone. But he was surrounded by the enemy and felt utterly alone.

Raising his knee, Duncan brought his foot down hard in the mud, taking an offensive stance. He turned to his Book of Light and snatched one of the pages from it.

He slapped the glowing script to the palm of his other hand, it burst into a ball of blinding light. He muttered a small prayer under his breath as he twisted his other hand into the light from the page, and pulled what appeared to be a lantern made of crystal out from it.

Inside the lantern was a smaller Living Book. He held it high, illuminating the yard with beams of light that shot in every direction.

The dark creatures surrounding him froze for a moment, anticipating his next move. Swiftly, Duncan tossed the lantern to the feet of the demonic king.

A flurry of flaming pages erupted from the sides of the lantern and began to spin and expand, quickly generating a small cyclone of power.

"BOOM!… A torrent of multi-colored light filled the yard. White pops of lightning hit the creatures in the eyes, blinding the hell spawn that were crawling up the walls of the house.

Duncan raised his hammer with a loud guttural battle cry, spinning it over his head like a propeller, swatting demons out of the sky as they fell from the trees.

Some of them exploded into ash before hitting the ground; others screeched and fell from the house slapping the wet earth. After climbing out of the mud below, they clumsily scrambled to their feet and scurried off into the shadows.

Duncan leapt into the air, directing the weight of his hammer towards the twisted skull of the giant King of Suffering, only to be met with a sudden halt.

Before Duncan realized what had happened, he was violently flung to the ground, the impact knocking the breath from his chest.

The demon stared curiously at the hammer of light he had just effortlessly ripped from his adversary’s hand.

Duncan desperately struggled for air, his brain muddled and every muscle paralyzed by the sudden jolt.

The monarch had no words as he snapped the hilt of the weapon like a twig, and then began plucking pages from the handle wraps as if they were dried leaves.

Your weapons… he chuckled mockingly, "…they’re made of truths, correct? His truths? That’s funny…doesn’t one need faith for them to have any power? Little pawn."

The monarch held out his bony hand as he glanced around at the sea of demonic eyes, gesturing to his cackling army lurking in the dark deluge. Where is your King? Has He abandoned you again, tiny bug? Much like He abandoned His own Son? Oh, what a joyful day that was! he taunted, gazing up to heaven.

The demon turned back to Duncan. But I digress—let’s not get swept away in nostalgia shall we. Let’s talk about you… Look at you…

The demonic eyes all around Duncan slowly revealed themselves like a pack of hyenas moving in to feast. Their formless limbs clutched Duncan by the arms