DEMILADE PART 5

DEMILADE PART 5

The Worship Experience

Music: Lively Sound: Folly of Crowd in a Hall

The grand hall echoed with a contagious rhythm, as the vibrant melodies of lively music swept through the atmosphere. A palpable energy buzzed around, bouncing off the walls of the grand space, filling every corner. The crowd, a blend of old and young, sang, clapped, and swayed to the tunes. Laughter and chatter mingled, a sound that could only come from a gathering of believers uniting in joy. It was a sound of celebration, of shared joy, of collective praise. The night was alive with the spirit of worship.

In the center of the room stood Demilade, a charismatic figure, who had captivated the audience with his welcoming warmth and enthusiastic spirit. His hands were lifted high, his voice reaching across the room.

Demilade: “Hallelujah! Bring it down, people of God, thank you… I hope you are enjoying the presence of God today!”

The crowd responded in unison, a joyful chorus filling the space.

Crowd: “Yes!”

The energy was contagious. You could feel the atmosphere thickening, charged with the presence of something far greater than the sound of music or the physical energy around. The crowd had tuned into a higher frequency, the kind of joy that only comes from shared faith and collective worship.

Demilade: “Okay, okay, we’re still in the atmosphere of worship and praise. Let’s make welcome God’s gift to us, the one and only, sister Motayo!”

The crowd cheered and clapped, their excitement growing, as they knew who was coming next. It was time for Motayo, a beloved figure in the church, known for her powerful voice and her ability to lead others into deeper worship.

Motayo stepped onto the stage, her presence commanding the room. She smiled, the warmth radiating from her. The crowd’s enthusiasm only grew louder, the anticipation evident on every face. She raised her hand in a gesture of gratitude, and the crowd immediately fell silent, waiting for her words.

Motayo: “Common, give it up to God… He is God! Hallelujah!”

The words rang out, and the crowd erupted once again, clapping, stomping, and raising their voices. The room felt like it was trembling with joy, a unified voice of praise rising toward the heavens. Motayo’s words were not just a command; they were a call to enter into the divine, to leave behind the ordinary and step into the extraordinary.

She lifted her head, her eyes closed in a moment of reflection, as if seeking to connect with a higher power before beginning. When she spoke again, her voice was soft but filled with authority.

Motayo: “I want you all to be in the mood of worship as we sing this song.”

The music shifted, subtle at first, as the chords began to build. The crowd quieted, their attention fully on Motayo. They knew this was a moment of deep connection, not just with her but with something far greater than themselves.

Motayo began to sing—a soulful, powerful voice that filled the room. The lyrics were simple, yet profound, and the message was clear: this was a moment of worship, a moment to abandon all distractions and focus on the divine. The crowd, as if possessed by the same spirit, began to sing along. Their voices blended together, filling the hall with a beautiful harmony of praise.

The sound was more than music; it was a shared experience, an expression of faith and devotion. Each note seemed to carry a prayer, each word a declaration of faith. People raised their hands, closed their eyes, and some even knelt, lost in the moment. The atmosphere had transformed into something sacred, something timeless. The crowd wasn’t just singing; they were worshiping, offering their hearts to God, and in return, the hall was filled with the presence of something much greater than themselves.

As the song reached its peak, the music swelled, the energy intensified, and for a brief moment, it felt as if time itself had stopped. It was a moment of unity, a moment of collective surrender. The folly of the crowd, once filled with chatter and excitement, had melted away into a sacred, unified silence.

Motayo’s voice rose above the music, calling the people into a deeper place of worship. The hall became a sanctuary, a place where people laid aside their burdens, their worries, and their distractions to connect with something pure, something eternal.

The song ended, but the energy in the room remained. The crowd stood still, reflecting, with the sense that something divine had just occurred. The spirit of worship lingered in the air, a sweet fragrance that would remain long after the music had stopped.

In that moment, the people of God had come together not just to sing, but to experience His presence. And that was the most powerful gift of all.

The Dark Secret

The room was thick with the sound of a single piano playing a sparse melody, each note falling like raindrops in the quiet. Outside, the distant noise of the world—cars, voices, the buzz of life—was barely audible through the walls. It was a tranquil moment, yet a sudden knock on the door broke the stillness, sharp and unexpected.

Inside the small, dimly lit office, Demilade was seated behind his desk, papers scattered around him. He had been lost in thought, his mind drifting between his past and the uncertain future. The knock brought him back to reality. He looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced toward the door.

“Yes, come in,” he called, his voice calm but curious.

The door creaked open, and Motayo stepped inside. There was something about her that immediately caught his attention. She wasn’t her usual cheerful self; instead, her face was tense, her eyes dark with something unreadable. Her posture was rigid, her hands clasped together tightly.

“Good morning, sir,” she greeted him, her voice quiet, almost too soft.

Demilade smiled warmly, trying to put her at ease, but his smile faltered when he saw the serious expression on her face. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“Haha, why is your face so strong today?” he asked, his voice light. “Any issue?”

But Motayo didn’t seem to find his attempt at humor comforting. She stood there for a moment, her gaze focused on the floor, as if struggling with her next words. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but filled with an underlying urgency.

“Please, sir… kindly tell me the truth.”

Demilade’s brow furrowed, confusion creasing his forehead. “Haha, truth about what?”

Motayo lifted her head, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity he hadn’t expected. “When did you start working—or when did you intend to start working with Side Street Club?”

The question hung in the air like an accusation. Demilade blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of it. His mind raced as he tried to piece together where this was coming from.

“What? How do you mean?” he asked, his tone faltering slightly as he searched her face for clues.

Motayo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she stepped forward, pulling a crumpled flyer from her bag. She handed it to him, and Demilade’s eyes scanned the familiar logo of Side Street Club printed on the paper. His pulse quickened as he saw the details: the exclusive party, the hype man needed for the night.

“This flier got to me,” Motayo said, her voice tight. “That’s you going as a hype man to that nightclub’s exclusive party, right?”

Demilade’s expression shifted from confusion to realization. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers running through his hair as he exhaled slowly. This wasn’t the conversation he had anticipated. His gaze moved from the flyer back to Motayo, a mixture of amusement and discomfort flickering in his eyes.

“Wawu, no wonder,” he muttered. “Okay, calm down, madam.”

Motayo wasn’t calming down. Her eyes stayed locked on him, her face full of concern, as if she knew something he didn’t. Her voice softened, but it was still filled with the weight of the question.

“Okay, sir,” she replied, her tone barely above a whisper.

Demilade sighed deeply, the weight of his past suddenly pressing down on him. This wasn’t something he usually talked about, but now, with Motayo standing in front of him, looking for answers, he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“The issue is, you know, I used to work there,” he said slowly, his eyes drifting toward the window, as if the past might come rushing back if he wasn’t careful. “Before I gave my life to Christ.”

Motayo’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened in shock, disbelief clear in her expression.

“What! Really?” she asked, the words tumbling out in surprise.

“You don’t know?” Demilade replied, his voice a little incredulous. “I thought everyone knew. I worked there for two years. I gave them the face they have now. I backed out when God called me, but the boss isn’t ready to let me go. In fact, this is the first time I’m seeing this.”

Motayo stood there, stunned into silence. The information was too much to process all at once.

“Really?” she whispered after a beat, still grappling with the revelation.

Demilade nodded, his fingers tapping nervously on the edge of his desk. “I don’t know anything about this. Maybe they want to use my face to drag people into the club.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. Then something seemed to click in his mind, and his face shifted from confusion to realization. A look of dread crossed his features.

“Wait a minute,” he muttered, “I just remembered… she said she would fight back.”

Motayo’s breath caught in her throat. “She said that?” she asked, her voice shaky with concern.

“Yes,” Demilade confirmed, his eyes darkening. “I can’t believe this is happening, but I know she’s not going to let me go so easily.”

Motayo’s expression hardened as she stepped closer to the desk. “Then God must have been on your side.”

Demilade glanced up at her, confused. “How do you mean?”

Motayo’s voice dropped, as if she was about to speak of something forbidden. “Mrs. Tejuola Kings,” she began, “is the second to the devil. She is a wicked woman.”

The words hit Demilade like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stared at Motayo, his mouth slightly open in shock.

“You know her?” he asked, the disbelief heavy in his voice.

Motayo nodded, her face grim. “Yes. No one works with her and escapes death. She is a ritualist, a big one indeed. She doesn’t need to look for anyone to do her rituals. People who work for her are already used for the rituals once they accept her money. When she notices someone is empty—when they’ve been drained of their purpose—she kills them. And no one can trace it back to her.”

Demilade recoiled, his face paling as the weight of her words settled into his chest. “Jesus,” he whispered, the horror taking root in his heart.

Motayo’s eyes burned with the fire of truth as she spoke again. “She hates me with passion because I am light, and her darkness cannot stand my light.”

Demilade’s mind was racing, his thoughts spinning faster than he could process. “How did you know all this?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Motayo’s gaze hardened, and she spoke the words that shattered the final piece of his understanding.

“She is my mother,” she said quietly.

Demilade froze, his heart skipping a beat. “What!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Yes, she is my mother,” Motayo said, her eyes distant, filled with a pain Demilade had never seen before. “She threw me out of her house five years ago because I refused to join her demonic group to succeed her.”

Demilade’s face twisted with horror and sympathy. “My God,” he muttered, the weight of her words crashing over him.

Motayo’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the gravity of her warning. “Don’t do any business with her. You may be doing yourself more harm than good.”

Demilade leaned back in his chair, the truth sinking in deep. His past, the connections to the club, and now the dark truth about Mrs. Tejuola Kings—it was all far more complicated than he could have ever imagined. His mind raced as he processed it all.

“What a life…” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

The chant of distant voices rose from outside, a rhythmic beat that seemed to echo the growing tension in the room. It was as though the world was chanting a warning to him.

The sound filled the air, but for Demilade, it was more than just noise. It was a foreboding signal that his life was on the brink of something much darker, and he wasn’t sure if he could escape it.

THE END.

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