463 | Enemies Corrupt Children

463 | A Father and Daughter Warn the Public About Protecting Children from Unseen Evil

Chapter 1: Evelyn Questions a Man Preaching About Unseen Enemies Corrupting Children

As Evelyn questions a man preaching about unseen enemies corrupting children, the bustling city street provides a chaotic backdrop for a message most people want to ignore. The after-school crowd pours down Maple Street like a noisy river—backpacks bouncing, earbuds in, laughter mixing with the low rumble of cars. Neon from the corner bodega spills across the sidewalk, blending with the burnt-orange light of the setting sun.

On the corner, a man stands alone.

He holds a cardboard sign painted in bright ruby-red letters:

WAR.

People veer away from him without seeming to notice. They step into the bike lane, pretend to check their phones, or slide behind groups of friends to use them as cover. His presence presses against them like heat from a fire everyone refuses to look at.

The man lifts his chin and speaks. His voice is powerful and passionate, cutting through car horns and chopped-up bits of pop music.

“War,” he says. “War, I say. We must come together, united by a desperation to save ourselves and our children.”

A few kids at the bus stop glance over. Two adults roll their eyes and walk faster.

He goes on, voice steady, almost pleading.

“The enemy infiltrates our children’s lives to confuse their morals and values. The enemy fears our children becoming wise, virtuous adults, because they have the potential to cause the enemy’s dissolution and destruction.”

Inside the café behind him, baristas work the espresso machine like nothing unusual happens outside. But on the sidewalk, his words feel like they vibrate in the air, invisible and insistent.

People give him a wide berth as they pass.

“The enemy corrupts our children and steals their youth and innocence,” he says. “The dark ones weaken the parents by blinding them to the truth about their souls.”

His eyes flash, bright and intense. No one wants to meet them.

“The enemy corrupts our children…” The words hang heavy. A couple of teens stop and whisper, half mocking, half curious.

He raises the sign higher.

“War, I say,” he declares. “We must declare war. The Tempters wage a covert war against us without our awareness and grow stronger every day.”

Most people keep walking, eyes down, faces shut.

One person doesn’t.

A girl about thirteen weaves out of the flow of students. Her name is Evelyn, but most kids at school call her Evie. Her backpack looks too big for her shoulders. A thin gold bracelet glints on her wrist when she pushes her hair out of her eyes.

She slows as she approaches the man, heart thudding. She isn’t sure why she steps forward. Curiosity. Annoyance. Or that familiar tug in her chest—the one that shows up whenever adults shout about “saving children” but never ask kids what they actually think.

She stops in front of him.

“I thought war was bad,” she says.

Her voice is clear and soft, but sure. The sound cuts through the street noise and seems to freeze people mid-step. Heads turn. Phones lower. Someone kills the music on a portable speaker.

“I thought wars get lots of people killed,” she adds.

The man takes half a step back, startled by her directness. For a moment, his confidence cracks. Then his shoulders settle, and he regains his balance.

“Now is the time to fight back,” he says, looking down at her. “But not out of hatred.”

Evie studies his face, searching. Is he crazy? Dangerous? Or something else entirely?

“Now is the time to attack in full strength,” he continues, “but not out of revenge for what they have done. Now is the time to stand firm in our resolve to end this betrayal, but not out of anger for what they plan to do.”

Evie steps closer, testing the edge of this fire.

“Aren’t there already enough wars being fought right now?” she asks.

The question hangs between them, small and enormous at once.

A loose circle starts to form—students, office workers, a mom with a stroller. They don’t quite know why they’re stopping. Maybe it’s the contrast: a man shouting about war, and a girl who looks barely old enough for high school, standing her ground.

The man glances at the crowd, then back at Evie.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “But we have no other reasonable choice.”

Evie folds her arms—not to defy him, but to think. Her brain races, trying to fit his words into what she already knows—history class, news clips, arguments at home.

“Who is this enemy we’re supposed to declare war against?” she challenges.

She steps onto a low, abandoned wooden crate near the lamppost so she can see over the heads now crowding in. Her legs feel shaky, but standing higher makes her feel less small.

The man grips his sign tighter.

“The unseen enemy is in our midst,” he says, “and has been for a long time. They may look like politicians, businessmen, and bankers. They masquerade as friends, heroes, and saviors while they bleed away our lifeblood for their drinking.”

Two teens in hoodies snicker. Somewhere in the circle, someone mutters, “Conspiracy nut.”

Evie thinks of headlines, of adults yelling on TV, of influencers selling “miracle cures” to kids who can’t sleep.

“If you’re talking about con artists,” she says slowly, “then I agree they need to be stopped. But they’re hidden everywhere and really hard to separate from honest people.”

He shakes his head.

“Con artists are only a tool used by the enemy,” he says. “A tool to break down people’s basic trust in each other. Our evil foe uses any weapon to attack us, but prefers deception, manipulation, and lies.”

The circle tightens. The air feels electric, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. Evie senses something shifting—not on the street, but inside her. In the way people listen to her.

She takes a breath.

“Whoever the enemy is,” she says, “we have to love them and at least try to make peace with them. Everyone wants to be loved. We need more peace, not another war.”

Someone in the crowd hums a familiar tune. Another joins in, then another. A few voices rise together, off-key but sincere:

“All we are saying… is give peace a chance…”

The man’s jaw tightens.

“This is not an enemy to negotiate with,” he says firmly. “Their goal is to weaken us and enslave us for their evil purposes. They cannot be trusted. They must be destroyed.”

Evie searches his eyes, expecting to find cruelty. Instead, she sees exhaustion. Fear. Maybe grief.

“I don’t think it’s right to kill people,” she replies, “even if you don’t agree with them.”

A murmur runs through the circle.

“Killing is evil,” someone calls.

More voices echo: “Yeah. Killing is evil.”

The man shakes his head, more gently this time.

“I didn’t say kill,” he answers. “Humans can’t kill the dark enemy. We fight wars to kill the bodies they manipulate, but that’s only a temporary fix. They reappear soon enough through another tricked soul.”

He lifts his free hand, fingers trembling.

“They grow stronger as they drink the light released through the death of each person they manipulate as their puppet.”

A chill travels up Evie’s spine. For a heartbeat, she imagines ghostly shadows hovering over the city, sipping threads of light from people’s hearts. The picture is too vivid to brush away.

She swallows, not sure what scares her more—what he describes, or how much it already feels like a metaphor for things she knows but can’t name.

Chapter 2: Evelyn Learns About the Auric Forcefield and Using Spiritual Light to Block Dark Emotions

While Evelyn learns about the auric forcefield and using spiritual light to block dark emotions, the passage of time on the sidewalk seems to slow down around them. Headlights streak past in white and red. A bus hisses to a stop down the block. The city keeps moving, but around the man and the girl, time thickens, slow and sticky.

“You’re describing an invisible, powerful, almost indestructible enemy,” Evelyn says.

Her tone sharpens, like she’s scolding a classmate who went way too dramatic in a group project.

“No wonder no one wants to listen to you,” she adds. “How can anyone dare to stand up against someone like that? People would rather pretend something that dark doesn’t exist than live in fear and hopelessness.”

She turns toward the crowd, her sneakers squeaking on the wooden crate.

“Do you want to stay ignorant and vulnerable,” she asks, “or learn the truth about your opponent—and risk living in fear and hopelessness?”

A few people shift their weight. No one wants to pick between those options.

“We don’t know,” someone calls. “We don’t care. What we don’t know about won’t hurt us.”

Laughter bubbles from one corner, but it’s thin and nervous.

The man’s eyes narrow—not with anger, but with raw disappointment.

“Stupidity isn’t a shield,” he says. “Ignorance doesn’t create armor. Lack of knowledge only guarantees you fail the test.”

The word test hits Evie like a slap. She flashes to red letters at the top of graded papers, to her parents’ voices: You’re so smart—why are your scores dropping?

“Standing in the middle of a busy highway with your eyes closed,” the man continues, “doesn’t make the cars disappear.”

Silence settles again.

Evie exhales slowly.

“Okay,” she says. “I get your point.”

She hates saying that out loud. But she hates lying to herself even more.

“The first duty of any warrior is to protect themselves and their family,” the man says. His voice softens. “You must know who your enemies are to protect yourself from their attacks.”

Evie nods slowly.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that actually makes sense,” she replies. “I’m starting to understand what you’re worried about. Without knowing about the battle and the enemy, we’re… vulnerable.”

He smiles, lines around his eyes easing.

“Not only do you listen,” he says, “you’re pretty smart for a little girl. I bet you have wonderful, caring parents.”

The words punch the air from her chest. Everyone assumes that about her family. No one sees the slammed doors, the quiet crying in the bathroom, the way her dad’s eyes go distant when she talks about anything that doesn’t fit his version of faith.

Evie drops her gaze.

“How can I protect myself?” she asks.

She wraps her arms around her chest. It looks like a hug but feels like armor.

“I’ve got this pink plastic shield,” she adds, forcing a small smile. “But it doesn’t have any magic powers.”

A few teens in the crowd grin. Someone mutters, “Mood.”

The man studies her, as if he sees more than she says aloud.

“When the mystic aura around your body is charged with virtuous light,” he says, “it creates a barrier that shields you from attacks.”

Evie feels a strange tingle at the edge of her awareness, like the air right before you touch a balloon to your hair.

“Your auric forcefield won’t protect you,” he continues, “when it fills with dark emotions like anger, hatred, and rebellion.”

Evie winces. Images flicker through her mind—shouting matches with her mom about dress codes, the bitter rush of thinking I hate you and regretting it instantly.

“I do feel… drained and vulnerable after an argument,” she admits.

Her voice drops, more private now, even though the whole street hears her.

“It actually makes sense that dark tempters would be more attracted to constant drama and fighting,” she goes on. “The fallen ones probably feel comfortable around dark feelings and uncomfortable around loving thoughts and feelings.”

She lifts her chin.

“That’s pretty simple to understand,” she says.

The man nods, encouraged.

“Heavenly external protection is available from celestial beings who want to guard you,” he says.

Evie arches one eyebrow. Celestial beings sound like a comic book, but protection doesn’t.

“You can ask your conscience every day,” he says, “for a tube-like firewall of spiritual light to surround you all day long.”

He raises his hand and traces a rough circle in the air, like he outlines an invisible cylinder around her.

“This powerful tube-of-light protection is free for the asking,” he adds, “but inharmonious thoughts, feelings, and actions will switch it off.”

Evie pictures it—a column of light pouring down like a clear waterfall, wrapping around her body. The energy spirals slowly, shimmering and humming. Where it meets the sidewalk, it sends out ripples of brightness that wash against the ankles of the crowd.

“What do I do to turn it back on,” she asks, “if it shuts off?”

“Stop being ungrateful, rebellious, or disobedient,” he says, “and ask your guarding conscience to turn it back on.”

She winces again, this time with a sharp mix of guilt and irritation.

“That sounds… intense,” she mutters.

But another part of her quietly files it away.

Then she straightens and raises her voice again.

“I like the idea of having a blazing spiritual firewall around me to scare off bad guys,” she says.

Her tone is half joking, but something in her chest sparks at the thought.

She turns to the crowd.

“Who else thinks that’s a great idea?”

The crowd shifts. Eyes dart. Heads tilt.

A few people nod. A couple murmur, “Yeah… sure,” like they want to agree but don’t want to sound weird.

Their agreement is weak, like a match just struck—small, but real.

Chapter 3: The Man Explains How Negative Feelings Feed Monsters and Evelyn Asks the Crowd to Become Spiritual Warriors

After the man explains how negative feelings feed monsters and Evelyn asks the crowd to become spiritual warriors, the atmosphere among the onlookers completely changes. The circle starts to loosen as people remember they have places to be. Screens light up again. Steps turn away.

Evie feels them slipping, the way a dream fades when you wake up.

She raises her voice, surprising herself with its strength.

“But running away and hiding like chickens,” she shouts, “won’t change anything!”

Her words crack the air.

“The tempters just move on to other children who aren’t protected,” she says. “The ones who attack and prey on the light of little children”—her voice trembles on those words—“cannot be allowed to stay on this planet.”

Gasps and murmurs ripple outward.

“This isn’t about equity, diversity, or inclusion,” she says. The words feel strange in her mouth; she’s heard adults fling them like weapons. “This is just common sense. Corrupted children become corrupted adults, who then corrupt the next generation of children.”

Faces in the crowd darken with recognition—of bullies, of hurt, of patterns no one knows how to break.

“Soon,” Evie continues, “the whole planet fills with corrupted people, and the Creator has no choice but to wipe out the world and start over. No one gets spared.”

For a second, the city noise fades. It’s just them and the thought of a giant reset button pressed on everything.

Evie breathes hard, her heart pounding as if she has sprinted.

She stands taller on the crate and scans the faces around her.

“Who will commit,” she asks, “to helping me oppose this unseen enemy of the youth with your full heart and soul? The existence of our planet depends on it.”

The words sound dramatic, even to her, but she means them in a way she can’t fully explain.

The crowd murmurs, then finds a rhythm.

“We agree,” they say. “That is the proper way to act.”

Their voices aren’t thunder, but they’re unified. Something clicks—like hidden locks unlatching.

Evie turns back to the man.

“How do we get the invisible, indestructible bullies off the world playground?” she asks.

The phrase “world playground” sounds childish and deadly serious at the same time.

The crowd edges in again, caught by the question.

“Yeah,” someone calls from the back. “We want to know too. How do we fight if we don’t use guns, knives, or weapons?”

The man lets the sign drop to his side. The red WAR slants toward the pavement.

“Don’t feed the monsters,” he says quietly, “and they disappear.”

Several people squint.

“Don’t tempt the monsters by being unprotected,” he adds. “We must stop feeding the enemy.”

Evie frowns.

“I don’t get it,” she says. “I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There are no monsters at my table.”

A ripple of nervous laughter passes through the crowd.

“What do evil beasts eat, exactly?” she presses.

“You speak in riddles,” someone complains. “We’re not feeding monsters. Just tell us the plain truth.”

The man draws a breath.

“If the whole planet stops providing life-sustaining spiritual light,” he says, “the monsters wither away.”

Evie closes her eyes for a second and imagines it: the whole world shutting off a secret faucet, shadows shriveling like plants without water.

“Every negative thought, feeling, and action feeds the monsters,” he continues. “They feast on anger, hatred, and rebellion.”

The words land like weights.

Evie remembers group chat fights, online pile-ons, and the rush of saying the meanest thing to win. Suddenly, all of it feels like flicking pieces of herself into a dark mouth she can’t see.

“Why don’t they get a daily allowance from their Creator anymore?” she asks. “Why did the Creator stop feeding them?”

“They were harming his children,” the man answers.

His voice softens.

“He cut off their allowance,” he says, “hoping they would change their twisted lifestyles. But they didn’t.”

Evie’s stomach twists.

“What happened?” she asks. “Why didn’t they starve?”

“They convinced people to feed them,” he says.

The words are simple. The meaning isn’t.

“The monsters couldn’t eat pure, holy spirit energy,” he explains, “because it was too powerful. They are full of cold darkness, and holy energy is too bright and fiery. So they tricked people into being angry, disobedient, and rebellious.”

As he speaks, Evie sees it in her mind: bright streams of golden-white light flowing from people’s chests whenever they act with kindness or courage. The monsters recoil from that light, hissing at its touch. But when the light twists—turning murky and jagged with rage or bitterness—it changes. The shadows lean in, greedy, lapping it up.

“Once people corrupted their energy,” the man says, “the monsters could feast on the misused energy without anyone noticing. The more people corrupted their energy, the more the monsters multiplied and grew stronger.”

He looks around the circle.

“Monsters get power from people’s non-virtuous thoughts, feelings, and actions,” he says. “Addictions feed the beasts. Indulging in harmful desires feeds the beasts, who then grow stronger and attack innocent bystanders—those who only watch while bullies attack unprotected victims.”

Evie’s throat tightens. She sees herself in a hallway, a girl shoved against a locker, and Evie looking away.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she protests, clinging to logic. “When I feed wild animals, they grow to trust me. They like me. If we feed the monsters, why would they want to hurt us?”

“It’s hard for an adult to understand,” he says quietly, “and even more so for a child.”

Evie lifts her chin.

“Try me,” she says. “I’m pretty smart for my age.”

That familiar flicker of pride covers something more fragile underneath.

“I have a wonderful father who helps me understand the puzzle of life,” she adds.

The man’s mouth curves into a slight smile. He seems to hear more than she says.

“The monsters don’t think or feel like us,” he says. “We are full of holy spirit light, and that irritates them.”

He spreads his fingers, showing how light pushes out.

“Our loving, virtuous thoughts and feelings cause them pain,” he explains. “They run from our radiant aura. The more people with radiant auras, the fewer places they have to hide from our fiery glow.”

Evie imagines people walking through the city like glowing lanterns, their circles of light overlapping, erasing shadows.

“They want to drain away all your light until you don’t glow anymore,” the man says. “Simply put, they want to destroy the health and vitality of everyone on the planet.”

Evie feels suddenly protective—not just of herself, but of her friends, her annoying little cousin, the kid who eats lunch alone.

“Now I see why we don’t need guns,” she says slowly. “First, we protect ourselves. Then we stop feeding the monsters.”

She turns back to the crowd.

“I guess the only way other people will learn this simple secret is if we tell as many as we can,” she says.

She spins, ponytail whipping the air, and stares people down.

“Are you willing to do that to save the world?” she demands.

For a heartbeat, no one answers.

Then energy surges through the group like a spark racing along a wire.

“Yes!” people shout. “Yes! We must do this! It’s so simple—even a child can understand!”

Evie’s chest burns—not with shame, but with something fiercer: hope, purpose.

“Are you going to be an unprotected victim,” she calls, “or an innocent bystander?”

The crowd explodes into overlapping voices—arguing, laughing, shouting.

People look at each other, waiting for someone else to give them the right answer.

Evie grins, mischief lighting her eyes.

“Ah-ha,” she says. “I tried to trick you, but you’re too wise.”

She spreads her arms.

“Do you want to be a victim, a bystander, or a spiritual warrior?”

This time, the answer comes fast and loud.

“We’ll act like spiritual warriors,” they cry, “against our enemies who seek to destroy us!”

The words slam into the evening sky, echoing off glass and brick.

For a moment, Evie swears she sees it: tiny sparks of light shooting upward from their chests, twisting together into a bright, swirling current that cuts through layers of unseen darkness above the street.

Chapter 4: Evelyn and Her Father Discuss Their Street Performance and Commit to Starving the Monsters

As Evelyn and her father discuss their street performance and commit to starving the monsters, the public spectacle comes to a quiet end. The crowd finally thins, dissolving back into the city like foam fading into waves. Some walk away thoughtful, some laughing, some already scrolling their feeds—faces glowing with the light of their screens instead of invisible firewalls.

The man lowers his sign completely and tucks it under his arm.

Evie hops down from the crate, knees jolting as she returns to her normal height. The street looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same.

Without a word, the man and the girl drift in opposite directions.

Anyone watching thinks they’re strangers going their separate ways.

Evie slips into a narrow alley that smells faintly of old rain and fried food from the restaurant dumpsters. Cracks split the concrete, and small weeds push through like tiny green rebellions.

The man enters the same alley from a different side, cutting behind a stack of cardboard boxes.

At the far end, a gray sedan waits, engine off, windows tinted.

They meet beside it.

The man’s shoulders drop. The sharp intensity in his eyes softens into something warmer, familiar.

“I like the new part you added,” he says, opening the back door. “The trick question for the crowd.”

Evie—no crate now, no audience—grins and shrugs off her heavy backpack.

“Thanks, Dad,” she says.

That single word shifts everything. The prophet on the corner becomes a tired man in a rumpled jacket. The brave girl becomes a middle-schooler with math homework and a messy locker.

“Where to next?” she asks.

He rests his arm on the roof of the car and looks back toward Maple Street. In his mind, he still hears the echoes of their words, mixed into the city’s hum.

He pictures the crowd again—some faces hard with skepticism, some soft with new questions, some lit by a flicker of light they’ll later try to explain away. He wonders which ones lie awake tonight, staring at the ceiling, thinking about monsters that eat feelings.

Evie leans against the car, caught between pride and doubt.

Did we actually help anyone? She wonders. Or give them another weird story to tell at dinner?

She closes her eyes. Inside, she imagines her own tube of light—thin, a little flickery at the edges, but there.

She thinks about her personal battles: panic on test days, the sting of comments about her clothes, the ache of not fitting perfectly anywhere. At school, she jokes and smiles; at home, she is supposed to be good, grateful and obedient. Somewhere between those versions, she’s still trying to find who she really is.

Am I a spiritual warrior, she wonders, or just a kid pretending to be brave on a box?

As if he hears the question without her saying it, her dad glances over.

“You did well,” he says. “You asked the questions they’re too afraid to ask themselves.”

He doesn’t call her chosen or special or a prophet. Somehow, that makes his words feel more true.

Evie nods, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“I still don’t know if all of it is literally true,” she admits. “Like, monsters eating our feelings. And a giant spiritual firewall that shuts off if I snap at Mom.”

Her dad smiles faintly.

“You don’t have to know,” he says. “You just have to pay attention.”

She opens her eyes and looks toward the alley’s mouth, where the last light of sunset paints the bricks gold and blood-red.

“Pay attention to what?” she asks.

“To the energy,” he answers. “How do your thoughts feel when you think them? How do your choices feel in your body? Whether you feel brighter or dimmer afterward.”

She thinks of the tightness in her chest when she lies—the relief—almost physical—after she finally apologizes to a friend.

“Spiritual truths are like clues,” he adds quietly. “You don’t shove them down people’s throats. You let them discover them, piece by piece.”

Evie nods slowly.

“Like a mystery,” she says.

He smiles.

“Exactly,” he replies. “And you, my dear, ask very good questions.”

Evie lets her head rest against the cool metal of the car and stares up at the thin strip of sky between the buildings.

Up there, the first stars blink on.

Down here, in the alley, a girl and her father stand in the pause between battles.

“I want to keep doing it,” she says softly. “Telling people. But I don’t want to sound… preachy. Or crazy.”

“Then don’t,” her dad says. “Ask. Listen. Tell your stories. Show them what happens to you when you choose light instead of feeding the monsters.”

She turns that over in her mind.

“What if I mess up?” she asks.

He looks at her, eyes reflecting the glow of a distant streetlight.

“Then you ask your conscience,” he says, “to turn your firewall back on.”

Evie laughs once—short, shaky, but real.

“Okay,” she says. “So… where to next?”

He opens the driver’s door and slides in.

“Wherever the monsters are hungry,” he says.

She rolls her eyes at the drama, but she feels the truth underneath. Not literal creatures in alleys, maybe, but the hungry places in people—the loneliness, the anger, the numb scrolling at 2 a.m.

She climbs into the passenger seat.

As the engine rumbles to life, Evie stares at her reflection in the window. For a split second, she swears she sees it: a faint outline of light around her shoulders, pulsing gently with each breath.

She lifts her hand and presses her palm to the glass.

“I’m not going to be a victim,” she whispers to her own reflection. “I’m not going to be a bystander.”

Inside, something bright flickers, then steadies.

“I’m going to figure out how to be a spiritual warrior,” she says.

The car rolls out of the alley and back into the current of the city—past kids laughing too loudly, past adults staring blankly at red lights, past a world that doesn’t yet know it is feeding monsters… or starving them.

Night deepens.

Somewhere, unseen, a few shadows thin and shiver.

And somewhere else, a thin tube of light around a teenage girl glows just a little bit brighter.

Chapter Synopsis:

On a bustling city street, a young thirteen-year-old named Evelyn (Evie) steps out of the crowd to challenge a man preaching on a corner with a sign reading "WAR" against unseen enemies corrupting children. What begins as a public confrontation evolves into an interactive philosophical lesson where Evie and her father (revealed later as working together in disguise) teach the gathered public about invisible spiritual forces, the danger of feeding dark entities with negative emotions like anger and rebellion, the importance of auric forcefields, and the necessity of rejecting victimization to become spiritual warriors.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The danger of spiritual ignorance, and how human ignorance serves as a vulnerability against unseen predatory forces

• The energy economy of emotion: how virtuous thoughts create light while negative emotions (anger, hatred, rebellion) feed dark entities

• The concept of the auric forcefield ("tube-of-light") as a protective spiritual firewall that is deactivated by inharmonious behavior

• Shifting human perception from passive victims and bystanders to active spiritual warriors who choose light and starve the monsters

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Evelyn (Evie): A sharp, courageous thirteen-year-old girl who challenges street preachers and helps decode the hidden mechanics of spiritual energy for the public.

• Evelyn's Father: A street preacher who uses public performance art and targeted questions to teach passersby about invisible enemies, spiritual firewalls, and starving dark entities.