712 | Invisible Enemy Thoughts

712 | Evan and His Dad Discuss Spiritual Protection Against Invisible Enemies

Chapter 1: Evan and His Dad Discuss Invisible Enemies and Controlling Thoughts

Evan and his dad discuss invisible enemies and controlling thoughts while sitting at the kitchen table on a gloomy day. Rain taps against the kitchen window, smearing the neighborhood into gray streaks. Evan leans back in his chair, textbooks spread out like a failed promise. His phone screen goes dark as he locks it and tosses it onto the table.

His dad sits across from him at the small wooden table, both hands cupped around a mug of herbal tea he hasn’t touched in a while. The house is too quiet—no TV, no music—just the hum of the refrigerator and cars hissing past on wet pavement.

The silence presses on Evan’s chest until the question finally bursts out.

“Why should I become a spirit warrior?” he says.

His voice sounds calmer than he feels. He picks at a loose thread on his hoodie, pretending he’s just casually curious.

“Isn’t my Creator in charge of everything?” he goes on. “Doesn’t my loving Creator protect me from all evil as long as I’m good? Or at least… goodish?”

The joke falls flat. His words land in the middle of the table like something heavy.

“Why would my all‑caring Creator put me in a dangerous world and not protect me?” he pushes. “That would be like having an uncovered aquarium where the cats can eat the goldfish.”

His dad’s eyes narrow slightly—not angry, just sharper, like he’s switching into some other mode. He sets his mug down and folds his hands.

“Be careful,” Dad says quietly. “If you keep asking questions, you might hear answers you don’t like.”

Evan gives a dry laugh.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Why would my all‑caring Creator put me in a dangerous world and not protect me? That’s like leaving the lid off the aquarium and letting the cats go fishing.”

He repeats it because it still feels wrong. Because it feels personal, like the universe is rigged and he’s the last one to find out.

Dad glances at the rain‑streaked window, as if checking something only he can see.

“In the physical world,” Dad says, “you’re responsible for discovering the dangers and protecting yourself.”

He leans forward.

“You put on a coat when it’s cold. You don’t expect your Creator to make perfect weather just for you. Cold isn’t unfair. You wear sunglasses when the sun is too bright. Shoes so tough that glass and nails can’t slice open your feet. Athletes wear the best protective gear they can find. People gather information so they can survive changes around them.”

Evan watches him, feeling the floor inside him shift half an inch to the left.

“Isn’t battling evil, like, super advanced‑level stuff?” he says. “The kind of thing I only need to worry about when I’m old?”

Dad’s gaze softens, but his voice stays firm.

“If you want to learn to control your thoughts and emotions,” Dad says, “then you need to know when an outside force is manipulating them.”

Evan snorts.

“That’s ridiculous. Nothing outside my body determines my thoughts and feelings.”

He says it fast—too fast, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“That,” Dad replies quietly, “is a false belief most humans cling to so they don’t have to think about an invisible enemy. When you’re not consciously filtering and controlling your thoughts and feelings, you’re letting an outside force do it for you.”

The air in the kitchen feels heavier.

Invisible enemy. Outside force.

A shiver crawls down Evan’s spine. He wants to argue. Instead, memories flash—late‑night doom‑scrolling, headlines about school shootings, climate disasters, hate comments, toxic feeds designed to keep him staring while something in him drains away.

“No one can do that except hypnotists,” Evan says stubbornly, crossing his arms. “And I don’t let myself get hypnotized.”

Dad’s mouth twitches.

“How much did you pay for your new tennis shoes?” he asks.

The question blindsides Evan.

He looks down at his feet. The shoes gleam under the kitchen light—bright, expensive, almost too perfect to actually walk in.

“These are special,” Evan says, instantly defensive. “Everyone wants them. They’re advertised everywhere.” He catches himself. “Not just TV. Online, TikTok, Insta. Ads that stalk you across the internet.”

He tries for a casual shrug.

“I got them on sale for only $150. This limited edition has the red star on the back.”

Dad raises an eyebrow.

“Are they any different from the $20 version without the star?”

Evan hesitates. The answer is obvious, but saying it feels like signing a confession.

“Nope,” he says. “Same shoe. Just a star stamped on the heel. That’s what makes them…” He swallows. “Valuable.”

Heat creeps up his neck. The words tumble out faster.

“I feel extra confident when I wear these,” he says. “So getting the red star is worth the extra $130. I’m even saving up for the fifty‑dollar matching socks. When I wear these, people think I’m cooler, more handsome, they want to be my friend and, and, and—”

The sentence collapses.

“Wait.” His voice drops. “I wasted my money, didn’t I?”

He looks up sharply.

“Somebody hypnotized me,” he says. It’s not a joke.

He swallows.

“I only wore them once. And the store has a strict no‑returns policy.”

Dad nods slowly, like a judge confirming a verdict.

“Your enemy tricks you into wasting your soul’s mystic light,” Dad says. “A warrior knows his enemy will try to hypnotize, trick, or push him into something wasteful, distracting, or harmful in the long run—even if it looks good in the short run.”

Mystic light.

Evan doesn’t really know what that is, but the words vibrate under his ribs like something buried and glowing, pressing up against a thick layer of fog.

He looks at his shoes—his supposed power items—and suddenly they look stupid. Like props from someone else’s costume.

“I’ll see if someone at school wants to buy them for half price,” he mutters.

Dad smiles and lifts his mug. Outside, the rain starts to ease.

Inside, something else starts to stir.

Chapter 2: Evan and His Dad Discuss Cosmic Laws and Tempting Distractions

Evan and his dad discuss cosmic laws and tempting distractions as they settle into the living room and reflect on superficial choices. The Superman 10 poster still hangs in the hallway, all muscles and sunbursts. Evan can’t look at it now without feeling slightly sick.

They move into the living room. The TV is off, but the couch still holds the faint dent from last night’s marathon. Dad takes his usual chair. Evan drops onto the couch and picks at a loose string on his hoodie.

“So,” Dad says, voice casual. “How was the movie yesterday?”

Evan exhales. Cold air. Crowded sidewalks. Eight hours trapped in a line of strangers.

“I liked it,” he says. “It was only sixty bucks to see the premiere of Superman 10.”

He rubs his eyes.

“I’m tired today because I had to wait eight hours in line to make sure I got a seat.”

Dad watches him.

“If I go today and pay ten dollars,” Dad asks, “do I like it more or less than you did?”

Evan blinks. It’s such a simple question that it takes him a second.

“I don’t think it makes a difference,” he says slowly. “Now that the premiere’s over, no one pays extra. I just wanted to be first so that the popular kids would notice.”

The truth leaves him feeling empty. He thinks of the group chat, the fire emojis under his ticket selfie, the fast rush of attention that vanished in hours.

“Don’t you think a lot of people saw it before you?” Dad asks. “While they were making it?”

“Maybe.” Evan shrugs. “But this was the first official showing at that theater. So everyone paid more.”

He remembers the bragging. The forced laughter didn’t sound quite right.

“Everyone I told was impressed I waited eight hours outside in the cold,” he says. “Or maybe they were laughing at me. I mean, it was just Superman 10. A little different from the first nine. Not… life‑changing.”

He stares at the dark TV.

“I don’t think I’ll do that again when Superman 11 comes out,” he mutters.

Dad nods, amused and a little sad.

“I can see why you’re always willing to work extra shifts,” Dad says. “You definitely know how to spend money.”

Evan forces a weak smile.

“Thanks,” he says. “I get it. From now on, I’m not wasting money. I want to build up a real savings account.”

The promise hangs there, fragile.

“How do I know when I’m being hypnotized or tricked?” he asks suddenly. “I can usually tell afterward, but then it’s too late. It’d be nice to spot it before I do something stupid.”

Dad leans back, fingers laced.

“That’s one of the valuable soul skills that see into the future,” he says. “First, you learn to detect where your thoughts come from. When you connect with your soul, you get mystic tools that boost your senses.”

Evan pictures invisible gear floating around him—glowing compasses, scanners and lenses picking up danger before it gets close—the kind of stuff his guidance counselor never mentions between SAT dates and scholarship deadlines.

“You can develop extra sensory perceptions like intuition, discernment, gut feelings,” Dad continues. “Your human brain is already tangled up with false beliefs, misunderstandings, and automatic physical and emotional reactions.”

Evan frowns.

“I thought only psychics and wizards had those kinds of powers,” he says. “Why aren’t there mystic super‑power classes at school?”

Dad laughs.

“That’s a great question to ask your teachers,” he says.

Evan imagines himself raising his hand in homeroom: Excuse me, do we offer Defense Against the Dark Arts or Intuition for Beginners? He’d probably get sent to the counselor for a “wellness check.”

Dad’s tone shifts again, turning serious.

“There are subtle but important differences between divine inspiration and tempting distractions,” he says. “Real inspiration motivates you to act in line with cosmic laws, use virtuous energy, and fulfill your soul’s mission. Tempting distractions encourage you to break laws, sink into negative feelings, and chase whatever you want in the moment.”

Evan thinks of Friday nights. Group chats that turn into parties—drinks offered with a grin. Photos taken, posted and judged by people who barely know him.

“Divine inspiration isn’t about being happy, popular, or constantly partying,” Dad says. “Your soul skills help you read cosmic signs and inner warnings. Inspiration nudges you toward virtuous action. Temptation pulls you toward parties, rebellion and mindless entertainment.”

Evan stares at his reflection in the dark screen: a tired kid with expensive shoes, a half‑charged phone, and a head crowded with opinions that might not be his.

“You make sense,” he says slowly. “But barely anyone lives that way. Not teens, not adults. Maybe some old people, when they’re close to dying.”

He shrugs.

“I’m not saying it’s impossible to only act on divine inspiration,” he adds, “but it’s definitely not trending. Most writers and artists I’ve heard of turn to drugs, drama, and raw human instincts for creativity—not angels.”

Dad nods.

“I agree,” he says. “Look at what most of them produce. Very little of it helps soul students and mystic warriors.”

Evan lets out a breath.

“So, to recap,” he says, trying for snark and missing, “a spirit warrior doesn’t let outsiders control them with voices in their head. If I stay connected to my conscience, I get super‑vision, so I can see into the future and never let myself be tempted to do anything fun.”

Dad chuckles.

“Close,” he says. “But I know you’ll catch on. Understanding cosmic law helps you recognize temptations that run counter to it. Most teens are unknowingly out of alignment with cosmic laws.”

“Especially the ones who party, watch movies, and have fun to let off steam,” Evan adds.

Dad’s face hardens a little.

“Knowing the Truth exposes the serpentine enticements full of lies,” he says. “It’s easier to ignore fake fantasy when you know what reality looks like. Truth, virtues, and cosmic laws give you a basic map of what helps or harms your soul. Soul students study to build their own master reference database so they can make better decisions.”

Evan thinks of his own “database”: search history, half‑remembered posts, hot takes, comment wars. How much of that is corrupted code?

“I agree those skills are important for a spirit warrior,” he says. “I just wish I could stay ignorant, young, and happy for a few more years.”

He rubs his forehead.

“Still,” he admits, “I can see that protection and defense against stupid temptations are big advantages of being a mystic warrior. Why doesn’t everyone learn this? It sounds like common sense.”

“They don’t know they have an enemy trying to harm them,” Dad says. “It’s easier to claim they’re all one with everything, so nothing outside that all‑ness can be dangerous. They treat life like a harmless video game where nothing ever climbs out of the screen and grabs them.”

A chill runs through Evan as he imagines a bright, cartoony game screen—and something stepping through it into his room.

“Start observing the thoughts that stream through your mind,” Dad continues. “Learn to filter out the enticing, harmful ones. That’s your first line of defense—controlling your thoughts and feelings. Remember, you have an army of light‑wielding super‑beings waiting for your wise, virtuous commands.”

Evan blinks.

“I have an army to command?” he says. “That would’ve been nice to know sooner.”

Chapter 3: Evan and His Dad Discuss Graduated Masters and Soul School

Evan and his dad discuss graduated masters and soul school as Evan visualizes his potential to command an army of light. Dad smiles.

“As a warrior, you can work your way up the ranks,” he says. “The more you train, the more leadership you earn.”

Evan leans back, letting the idea unfold in his mind. An army of light. Ranks. Training. Missions.

“This sounds like a fun video game,” he says. “How do I command legions of mighty light beings to do my bidding?”

Dad’s answer is nothing like what he expected.

“First,” Dad says, “you magnetize a graduated mystic sponsor who’s willing to push you through trial‑by‑fire boot camp. You sign up for boot camp initiations and pledge to obey cosmic laws and your unseen, inspiring teachers. You stay connected with your soul and prove you can control your thoughts and emotions.”

Evan groans and drops his head against the couch.

“Blah, blah, blah,” he mutters. “Here we go again with the requirements. Training, boot camp, soul school. Mastering wisdom, virtues and skills. It all takes forever.”

He cracks one eye open.

“Isn’t there a shortcut?” he asks. “Can’t I just take a pill or watch a movie? Now I get why souls prefer distractions and fantasy. Becoming a mystic warrior general sounds nearly impossible.”

He leans forward.

“Come on,” he says. “Tell me the secret, easy way.”

“The quick way,” Dad says, “is to surrender all your fantasies and false beliefs and connect with your real mystical self.”

Evan sits up straighter, then lifts both hands like an actor on stage.

“OK, here goes,” he announces. “Beloved Great Divine Director, I permit you to remove all my fantasies and false beliefs. Please erase all my sins and make me instantly perfect.”

He waits, listening for thunder, glowing auras, anything.

Nothing happens.

“I don’t feel any different,” he says. “How am I supposed to give up my fantasies and false beliefs when I don’t even know what they are?”

He flings his hands out.

“My beliefs are all true because my believing them makes them True.”

Dad shakes his head.

“As long as you use your free will to do whatever you desire,” Dad says, “you’ll keep using make‑believe fantasy to shape the world how you want it to be.”

Evan straightens, eyes glinting.

“Fine. Round two,” he says. “Beloved Great Divine Director, I permit you to take away all my free will. I’m sorry for all the mess‑ups and wrong acts I committed with it. Please make me a perfect, obedient robot.”

Dad laughs softly.

“Close, but no cigar,” he says.

“Tell me to do something. Let’s see if it worked,” Evan says.

Dad grins like he’s been waiting for this.

“I command you to walk across the ceiling like a spider,” he says. “Recite the Korean alphabet. Go to my workplace and do my job for a week. Marry the file cabinet and have a child. Win the lottery. Move a mountain to Kansas. Build a skyscraper to the moon. Turn this paperweight into gold.”

“Enough!” Evan shouts, half laughing, half annoyed. “I can’t do any of that, even if I want to obey. What’s your point?”

Dad holds up a hand.

“Let me try a different set,” he says. “Write a book about elephants. Discover a new vaccine. Sculpt my head out of marble.”

Evan exhales.

“I can’t,” he says. “I don’t have those skills yet. Come back after I’ve been on safari, gone to med school, or become a master sculptor. Right now, I can only pretend I did those things.”

Dad nods.

“Closer,” he says. “One more. Could you make me a peanut butter sandwich? Take out the trash? Mow the front lawn?”

Evan snorts.

“I couldn’t do those things when I was two,” he says. “But now I can. So you’re saying obedience without skill is useless. An obedient but untrained warrior is basically dead weight in battle. Boot camp exists so soldiers can master the skills they need.”

Dad’s eyes light up.

“If you want to be an expert marksman,” he says, “you take lessons and practice for a long time. Skills and abilities grow through real experience. You start with a water pistol, then a BB gun, and eventually work up to a sniper rifle. Soul skills work the same way—and it can take many lifetimes.”

He lets that sink in.

“Skills and abilities stack,” he continues. “When you show wise use of a paintball gun, your teacher knows you’re ready for a .22 rifle. Your soul has to consciously master super‑vision, intuition, and spotting your enemies.”

Evan leans back, feeling overwhelmed and weirdly thrilled. The path sounds endless—and somehow, that makes it more interesting.

“Fine,” he says. “Sign me up for those classes at school. Oh wait. There is no Prophecy 101, Basic Study of Invisible Monsters, or Intuition for Beginners.”

He looks at Dad, frustration pressing behind his eyes.

“Why aren’t there lessons for what my soul actually needs to learn?”

Dad’s smile fades.

“Do you really want lessons from non‑graduated teachers?” he asks. “Your best source for mystic lessons is your sponsoring master teacher. A soul shouldn’t depend on Earthly teachers who still carry false beliefs and fantasies.”

“So my school teachers are useless for soul skills?” Evan says.

“Yep,” Dad answers without flinching. “And I’d include all other humans. Soul mastery is best learned from graduated masters, not fellow students.”

He softens his voice.

“True, we can learn many things from each other. But without intuition and discernment, we can’t tell if what we’re learning is the real Truth. Modern superhero movies whisper that power comes from strong negative emotions—fear, rage, grief. That’s true. But it’s not the kind of power a soul needs to master. Humans act as partly false teachers because they’re full of misunderstandings. They honestly think they’re teaching Truth.”

Evan chews on that.

“It’s not their fault they were taught lies,” he says.

“True,” Dad says. “But everyone is responsible for reaching toward not just Truth, but the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth. A teacher who gives you eighty percent Truth and twenty percent lies sets you up to doubt everything once you discover that twenty percent.”

Evan grimaces.

“Yeah,” he says. “I re‑questioned everything you taught me when I found out Santa and the Easter Bunny weren’t real.”

Dad winces.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

Evan straightens.

“Let me summarize,” he says. “Souls shouldn’t blindly trust humans, because humans are full of misunderstandings. Everyone has glitches in their memory and beliefs. Once I found out my parents deliberately lied to me, I felt justified in disobeying them—just in case they tried to manipulate me again.”

Dad opens his mouth.

“I don’t think—” he begins.

“Let me finish,” Evan cuts in.

He takes a breath.

“Also,” he says, “I have to watch out for invisible false teachers who send harmful thoughts into my mind on purpose. I should only trust the beings that send virtuous, inspiring thoughts.”

He suddenly looks tired.

“Dad, we should take a break and watch a movie,” Dad suggests lightly.

Evan shakes his head.

“At this point,” he says, “I don’t know what to think or who’s thinking.”

He hesitates.

“Some of my friends say the only real source of truth is a book of exact quotes from two thousand years ago,” he says. “Mass‑produced copies of that book supposedly contain everything humans need to know. Even though it’s encrypted in an old language, there are experts alive today who can decode it and tell us what it means.”

Dad tilts his head.

“I wonder if two‑thousand‑year‑old preserved blogs are enough for today’s challenges,” he says. “Almost everything changed in two thousand years—food, clothes, shelter, education, government, communication, transportation, entertainment, jobs. Back then, there were no cars, computers, video games, electricity, cell phones, TV, movies, radio, airplanes, rock concerts, or social media when the calendar reset at year one.”

Evan makes a face.

“They must have been so bored,” he says. “Remind me never to volunteer for time travel. The stuff teens deal with now would blow their minds.”

“There are temptations and distractions now that didn’t exist two thousand years ago,” Dad says. “Souls also write more recent books advanced enough to accurately record teachings from graduated master teachers.”

“So you’re saying more modern, inspired books might be more useful for today’s problems than stories from two thousand years ago?” Evan asks.

Dad nods slightly.

“Twenty centuries ago,” he says, “no one talked about climate change, politically incorrect language, organic food, web page clicks, social media likes, or choosing among 128 gender identities.”

Evan whistles softly.

“One thing hasn’t changed,” he says. “There were still good guys, bad guys, and a need for righteous warriors.”

“The souls back then needed to master the same virtues, cosmic laws, and abilities as today’s souls,” Dad says. “Real Truth doesn’t change. Divine virtues don’t upgrade. Holy Spirit energy doesn’t evolve. The cosmic laws that govern the right use of virtuous energy stay the same. Overusing negative feelings and fantasy still creates the same karmic fallout. None of that has changed in fifty thousand years. Souls are still in school, learning to direct creative divine energy with their mystic skills.”

Evan frowns. Something old and raw stirs inside him.

“Something’s off,” he says. “Why does it take so long for souls to learn enough to graduate?”

Dad looks at him with a strange mixture of affection and gravity.

“You’re an old soul,” Dad says. “Why don’t you ask yourself that?”

“Not fair,” Evan protests. “I have a built‑in blinding prejudice.”

“I know,” Dad says. “But think about it. See if you can step outside yourself and look at the choices that stopped you from graduating.”

Evan stares at the blank TV again. This time, he doesn’t see his reflection. He sees flashes instead: nights lost to junk videos, drifting through school like a ghost, scrolling past posts about climate crisis, racism, depression—always thinking, Someone else will handle it.

“I’d probably start,” he says slowly, “by blaming the bad guys. Their temptations overwhelm me and keep tricking me. They stop me from doing the right thing. So the simple fix is to remove all the bad guys and dump them somewhere else.”

“I expect you realize,” Dad says, “that sometimes you’re the bad guy for people around you. Anytime you ignore the laws, do whatever you want, or refuse to do the right thing, you’re a tempting example. You’re teaching them to misuse energy. You’d have to get deported along with all the other puppets being manipulated out of alignment with cosmic laws.”

Evan winces.

“That’s not fair—blaming the ones being controlled,” he says. “I like doing whatever I want, so I ignore—or don’t want to understand—restricting cosmic laws. I give in to the easy hit of powerful negative emotions instead of the tighter, virtuous energy. I like the fun, fake happiness of fantasyland, so I avoid the boring, painful reality. ‘What I don’t know can’t hurt me’ is a deep belief.” He pauses. “But it’s probably false.”

Dad studies him.

“Anything else?” he asks.

A knot tightens in Evan’s chest.

“Mystic skills and abilities are great,” he says slowly, “but they also put me in better contact with my sponsoring teachers.”

Dad raises an eyebrow.

“And that’s a problem because…?”

“Yes, they send useful inspiration,” Evan says. “But my conscience also starts talking more. It tells me the right thing to do. It warns me about everything I’m planning that’s misaligned. It ruins my fun. It limits my freedom.”

He looks away.

“My false beliefs are carefully designed for maximum comfort and enjoyment,” he says quietly. “I make up whatever I need so I can feel OK doing whatever I want. My annoying conscience keeps reminding me that my misbehavior builds painful karmic consequences.”

“You’re either in alignment with cosmic laws or out of alignment,” Dad says.

“What if I sit around doing nothing all day?” Evan asks.

“Then you’re still out of alignment,” Dad answers. “You’re wasting chances to practice using your soul skills to direct virtuous energy.”

Evan swallows.

“Is eating chips and watching movies at night good for your soul?” he asks.

Dad winces.

“Ouch,” he says. “Probably not.”

“Then why do you do it?” Evan presses.

Dad sighs, embarrassed.

“Here’s my lame make‑believe excuse,” he says. “Ninety‑five percent of my life is soul school. The upward spiral path allows three steps forward and one step back. Pretzels and movies are my backward steps—for now. I plan to overcome this addiction before I get old.”

A picture flashes in Evan’s mind: their living room at night, drowned in blue TV light, the two of them sitting still while invisible threads of their energy stretch into the screen and disappear.

Soul school is a trial by mystic fire.

As he sits there, Evan feels a small warmth flicker in his chest, like a tiny flame trying to catch.

He doesn’t know if he really wants to be a mystic warrior. He doesn’t know how to fight invisible enemies, or his own hypocrisy, or a world that feels like it’s burning from the inside out.

But he knows this: the game is real. The stakes are higher than grades, likes, or premier tickets. And somewhere—beyond the noise, beyond the neon—an army of light is waiting for someone brave enough to give the first order.

He’s not ready yet.

But for the first time, he wants to be.

That wanting glows inside him—a thin thread of light sliding through the shadows, slowly beginning to move.

Chapter Synopsis:

Evan and his dad engage in three sequential conversations exploring spiritual protection, invisible enemies, cosmic laws, and soul school training. Through relatable examples like overpriced shoes and movie premieres, Evan learns how unmonitored thoughts are manipulated by external forces and why disciplined soul training is necessary. Ultimately, he recognizes the reality of the spiritual game and resolves to develop his mystic awareness.

Core Themes & Laws:

• humans are responsible for discovering dangers and protecting themselves in both the physical and spiritual worlds

• unmonitored thoughts and feelings are frequently manipulated by invisible enemies using superficial desires and consumer distractions

• divine inspiration motivates action in alignment with cosmic laws while temptations encourage rule breaking and immediate gratification

• true soul mastery requires deliberate training under graduated master teachers rather than relying on flawed human educators or ancient texts

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Evan: A young student who questions his dad about spiritual protection, invisible enemies, and soul school requirements.

• Dad: An experienced mentor who guides Evan through discussions on cosmic laws, tempting distractions, and mystic light.

• Crysticode 712: A prodigy parable protocode designed to help students master mystic light and wise energy investment.

• Crysticism: A conceptual framework and narrative universe exposing soul sponsoring friends and unmasking invisible enemies.

• Mystic Warrior: A spiritual role involving the mastery of thoughts, resistance against tempters, and the command of light beings.