by Shalom Mawonou
The night was bitter with smoke. The air, thick with the metallic stench of blood and scorched metal, making it hard to breathe. Private Malakai Yared crouched low in the trench, rifle slung over one shoulder, Bible tucked inside his fatigues.
The enemy had shelled their unit relentlessly for three days. Supplies were low. Morale was lower. Men muttered about desertion, others about madness. But Malakai—he burned with something else.
“Still reading that old book, preacher boy?” Corporal Janik scoffed as he passed.
Malakai didn't answer. He had been called "preacher boy" since boot camp, but not because he preached—he didn’t. Not yet. He was silent, watchful, strange to many. But inside, something had begun to stir since that night under the broken church roof two weeks ago, when a presence more real than the war wrapped him in fire and whispered, “You are light. Shine where it’s darkest.” He had said nothing about it. Who would believe him?
That night, the darkness pressed in thicker than usual. The trench was dead quiet. Too quiet.
Malakai was on watch when he saw it: a figure, glowing faintly, walking across no-man's-land.
Unarmed. Unbothered.
Then gone.
He blinked. Heart hammering.
He whispered, “Lord, what is this?” No answer. Only the wind.
The next morning, they were ambushed. Artillery. Fire. Screams. Chaos. And in the middle of it all, Malakai froze—paralyzed by the image of a boy his brother's age, collapsed, bleeding out.
He aimed his rifle at him.
He was the enemy.
But he looked up at Malakai.
Terrified.
Human.
The flame flickered again inside him.
Instead of pulling the trigger, Malakai dropped his rifle, tore off his medic pouch, and crawled to the enemy soldier. Bullets whizzed overhead. Shouts. But somehow, he reached the boy and began to bind his wounds.
“Are you mad?!” Janik screamed from behind a fallen barrier. “He’s the enemy!” “He’s not,” Malakai said quietly. “He’s a soul.” The boy whispered something—Arabic, maybe. Malakai couldn’t understand it, but he understood the tears.
Later that night, the shelling stopped. Complete silence. Malakai sat at the edge of the trench, the boy he had rescued, sitting far away from him, but close within eyes range. He understood, he still felt they were the enemies.
He was reading John 1 by moonlight. “The light shines in darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it…” Then it happened.
The flames came again, not consuming, but within. Heat and clarity filled him. He looked up and saw them: beings of light, clothed in fire, standing guard across the no-man’s-land.
War angels.
They didn’t speak, but he understood. This ground is not just blood-soaked—it’s claimed territory.
He stood up, unaware that he glowed faintly, and the young lad observed quietly.
The next morning, the captain called a meeting.
“There’s been a ceasefire.” The camp erupted in disbelief.
“But that’s not all,” the captain continued. “Enemy scouts reported a lone soldier rescued one of theirs under fire. Word spread. They called him ‘the burning one.’ They think he’s a prophet.” Every eye turned to Malakai.
He said nothing. But deep inside, he knew: the trenches were not just warzones—they were altars. And he, the sacrifice.
“Bring the kid.” The captain ordered.
“But he has done nothing. He's just a child.” Malakai said, standing between the boy and the captain. He didn't realize it, but the others saw it again; the faint glow again.
“I don't care. What if the child is a spy? What if it was a plot in order to invade our camp? Look, preacher boy. We can't take such risks, not now. Bring the boy and it's an order.” Malakai was dancing on a rough edge. What would happen to the boy?
“Nothing will happen to him. Obey your captain.” The still small voice whispered. Warm and firm. He didn't understand it at all, but he's grown to trust it and immediately went into his tent to bring the boy.
“Here, sire.” He handed the boy to the captain.
The captain knelt down in front of him. “What's your name, kid?”
“اﺳﻤﻲ ﻧﺒﯿﻞ" (“My name is Nabil”)
“Nabil, ehh?”
The child nodded.
“He said his name is Nabil.” The captain interpreted to them.
The captain looked intensely at the child. Malakai began to notice a dark smoke-like symbol forming in his mind. He blinked twice.
“Don’t let him give heed to the sinister voice.” Malakai heard the voice again.
“Captain. I do not think what you're about to do is right. We're trying to protect people. We can't turn into terrorists ourselves. This is just a child.” Malakai quickly spoke up and the other men began to murmur angrily amongst themselves.
Malakai could sense the fear of the child already. Corporal Janik stared long at him before shoving the child to Malakai’s direction and walking into his tent.
As he looked closely, he noticed the Corporal's eyes were bloodshot. Sleep-deprived. Like a man cornered too many times. He felt something wasn't right, he needed to speak to the voice he'd grown accustomed to and ask for clarity.
He took the boy quickly back into the tent. Kneeling down by the mat, head bowed and eyes closed. He prayed—not in tongues, not yet. He was still learning.
“Father in heaven. I know you hear me. You spoke to me twice a moment back and you've been showing me things lately. Just like Paul wrote in Ephesians, please grant me understanding and clarity, let the eyes of my understanding be opened. Amen.” There was a silent hum and a weightless tussle of wind across the room. Malakai remained on His knee, eyes closed and ears listening.
“2 Corinthians 10:4.” He quickly rummaged through his fatigues, brought out his tiny Bible, flipping to the passage, he started from verse 3;
[3] For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. [4] The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds.
A sudden realization hit him. No wonder the Warangels and symbols he had been seeing. There was more spirituality to this. Yet, an unsettling feeling rested on his chest. Something felt off.
He whispered a thank you and almost bumped into Nabil. “Hey…Nabil, what are you doing?” “Surry. I.. I just wanted…see you.” He fumbled with words, his Arabic accent telling on him.
Malakai smiled. “You want to know about what I was doing?” He demonstrated.
Nabil nodded.
“Okay, I was praying to Him.” Malakai pointed to the sky.
“Allah?” Nabil questioned.
“Yes, Allah. But not the usual way you know.” “You are meant..to.. bow.” He fumbled with the words again, trying to demonstrate. Malakai laughed lightly.
“Yes, I know. There's a new light I've found. There's someone that I've met and that is Jesus. In the Quran, they call Him Prophet Ísá. They don't believe that he died and resurrected, but he did, to save you and I. As many that believe in Him and accept Him, He comes and dwells in them, granting them connection to the Father and giving them eternal life.” Malakai noticed his glistened eye and yearning spirit. Just before he could say more, something caught his eye. Almost as though he could see through the fabrics of his tent—a war angel pointed towards the opposite direction of our trench.
At that instant, he heard. “Pray.” The instruction seemed too urgent.
He looked through the tent again. The same Warangel pointing in the opposite direction, this time glowing even brighter.
He faced Nabil. “I know you may not understand everything I'm saying. Do you want to pray with me?” Nabil nodded excitedly, slowly letting down his guard and finally giving Malakai a chance.
Malakai took his hands and with eyes closed whispered. “Lord, help us pray!” An overwhelming force overtook him and with a jarring intensity, exploded in deep tongues. As he continued to speak, the landscape of his tent translated into a war field just like no-man's-land. The war angel stood beside him and without saying a word, took him to the enemy's camp.
“This is our enemy's camp.”
“Watch carefully.” The Angel instructed firmly.
He saw it. Too real, too heavy to watch. Malakai staggered backwards at the weight of what he saw. He knelt down weeping and when he opened his eyes, he was back to his tent.
The words of the Warangel still reechoing in his ears. He turned and found Nabil seated at a corner balling his eyes out.
Malakai understood it, now. Everything.
He sat still in the silence, observing Nabil. The weight that hung around his shoulders, pressing.
Nabil finally gained himself and looked up at him.
“Hey, Nabil. How are you?”
“I saw Him,” was the first thing to leave his mouth.
“I saw Him, Uncle,” he said again and broke down in tears. Malakai embraced him warmly. He too was touched by the sincerity.
“He's beautiful isn't he?” Malakai asked over his head. Nabil nodded.
“But he's sad. He..said…people..my people…lost. He telling me many things.”
“What did he tell you?” Malakai asked.
“He telling me that He has…an.. assignment for me. A mantle. What is…a man..tle, uncle?” Nabil responded.
“A mantle is like a transfer of an anointing or grace to someone else. Do you understand?” He nodded slightly.
“Don't worry, you may not understand it now, I myself don't. But we will soon.” Malakai held him tighter to himself.
Malakai reflected deeply on what Nabil told him and the flash of what he saw came back. The souls of those soldiers. Lost. Wandering. Some chained, some wounded and the words of the Angel?
“Free them. Show them The Light.” But he had seen Nabil too. He had given him a burning lamp and Nabil was doing the shining, the freeing and him? He had quietly faded.
It wasn't just about surviving the war. It was something more that he didn't quite get yet. But he knew something, he had to take Nabil back. Maybe then, the greater picture would unfold.
“Nabil. We must go.”
“Where?” Nabil asked.
“Your people, and fast.”
Nabil nodded. Malakai took a few things with some fruits and in the quiet of the night, headed out with Nabil in hand.
They ran into the forest, through the trees as fast as their legs could carry them. When they had found a spot to rest, they stopped.
“You remember the road back to your camp right?”
“Yes.” Nabil responded. Malakai nodded affirmatively and spread out the mat for them to stay under a tree after making a small fire from twigs and branches. He brought out a worn out blanket and wrapped it around Nabil to keep him warm.
By morning, they set out again, following the trails the forest carved out until finally they got to the back of the camp. They were securities around.
“How do we get in?” Malakai whispered into Nabil's ears.
“They usually…go break…this time.” They silently watched, until the security cleared. Nabil took Malakai by the hand and showed him how to enter the camp.
He quickly led him to his parents' tent. He peeled open the tent and entered with Malakai.
Nabil's mother was the first to see him.
"!ﻧﺒﯿﻞ" (Nabil!”)
”!اﻷم (Mother!”)
She pulled him tightly into her chest, tears slipping uncontrollably from her eyes. Malakai watched silently. It was then she noticed him. She looked up, alarmed already.
“،ﻧﺒﯿﻞ ﻣﻦ ھﻮ؟أﻟﯿﺲ ھﻮ ﻣﻦ ﻣﻌﺴﻜﺮ اﻟﻌﺪو؟" ” (“Nabil, who's he? Isn't he from the")
enemy's camp?”) She asked.
“ ﯾﺎ ﻻ.أﻣﻲ ھﻮ اﻟﺬي أﻧﻘﺬﻧﻲ .” (“No, mother. He was the one that saved me.”) Nabil responded.
" اﻟﻨﺒﻲ؟ ﺗﻔﻀﻞ ﺑﺎﻟﺠﻠﻮس ." (“The Prophet? Please sit.”)
She gestured for him to sit down. Malakai understood and obeyed.
She turned back to Nabil.
“إﻧﮫ ﻻﯾﻔﮭﻢ اﻟﻠﻐﺔ ،اﻟﻌﺮﺑﯿﺔ أﻟﯿﺲ ﻛﺬﻟﻚ؟ ” (“He doesn't understand Arabic, does he?”)
" ﯾﺎ ﻻأﻣﻲ ." (“No mother.”) Nabil said.
“I heard you were the one that rescued my son. Don't worry, I can speak English.”
“Yes, I am.” Malakai responded.
“Then why are you here? You could be killed. My husband will hear nothing. He has been seething with anger and vengeance ever since they took his son.”
“I know the risk I took. I didn't come for war. I only needed to get something done.” Malakai responded.
“What is that? Spy on us? I thought they said you were a Prophet from Allah. They also said you had a faint glow when you rescued my Nabil.” “No, I'm not here to spy. I'm also not a prophet like they claim. But I have met Someone. Nabil has too.”
She looked from Malakai to Nabil.
“،ﻧﺒﯿﻞ ﻣﻦ ھﻮ اﻟﺸﺨﺺ اﻟﺬي ﻗﺎﺑﻠﺘﮫ؟ ” (“Nabil, which someone have you met?”)
“ﻟﻘﺪ اﻟﺘﻘﯿﺖ ﺑﺎﻟﻨﺒﻲ ﻋﯿﺴﻰ ﻋﻠﯿﮫ اﻟﺴﻼم ﯾﺎأﻣﻲ !” (“I met Prophet Ísá, mother!”)
She quickly dismissed him, laughing mockingly.
“What have you been feeding my son with lately? He said he has met Prophet Ìsá. Don't tell me you too are part of those Christian people.”
“The Truth. And yes I'm a Christain.”
A pin drop silence followed. Something had shifted and in a quick flash, I saw the same dark smoke-like symbol floating around her head and I saw the War angel from earlier again floating just above Nabil's shoulder.
I knew there was a stronghold. I began to mutter silently in the soft language I was introduced to a few hours back—tongues.
“You don't.. know what you're saying.” She stuttered.
“I wish I did. I myself have been left in awe of the new found revelation. Give him a chance. Let Him break the barriers that have locked you in.” Malakai didn't understand how those words came, he continued nonetheless.
“Nonsense!” She half screamed, standing up immediately.
Nabil's face bowed low. He was praying for his mother.
“Ruqayyah. This is beyond the religion you know. This is life, a light that you have to embrace.” Malakai spoke.
“How…how did you know my maiden name?”
“He told me, Ruqayyah and He's interested in you.” “But we have nothing to do with Prophet Ìsá. We only pray to Allah and nothing else. Don't you realize it's a sin to share status with Allah? Please leave..” Malakai saw the symbol getting thicker around her mind, but he wasn't deterred.
Just then, her husband came in. His eyes landed on Nabil and with a mix of emotions, swept him into his arms.
"أوه ﻧﺒﯿﻞ !" (“Oh Nabil!)
“!ﺑﺎﺑﺎ (Papa!”)
Malakai could see the deep emotional bond between father and son. The man broke down like a baby still holding Nabil tightly to his chest. He finally lifted up his head and turned to the direction of Malakai.
With a speed that surprised both Malakai and the man's wife, he seized Malakai by the throat.
“ ﻣﻦ أﻧﺖ ﺑﺤﻖ اﻟﺠﺤﯿﻢ؟ ” (“Who the hell are you?”)
“ﻟﻘﺪ أﻧﻘﺬ اﺑﻨﻨﺎ !" (“He saved our son!”) His wife yelled back.
He still held on to Malakai’s throat for a minute more, before releasing it. Malakai coughed painfully holding his throat, the mark of the man's hands already imprinted on it.
“What was the meaning of the nonsense you were saying to my wife about Prophet Ìsá?” He turned back to Malakai.
“I was.. just telling her how He's interested in her and wants to have a relationship with her.” The glow had appeared again.
“Are you mad?” He charged again at Malakai.
But something caught Malakai’s eyes past Nabil’s father's shoulder and past the tent. Warangels in their numbers, floating in the sky and just immediately there was an open fire. Gunshots. Shouts of women and children.
Nabil's father quickly moved towards the back and opened a gap for escape. “This way.” He pointed to them.
“Keep my son safe, prophet.” Malakai nodded and they weaved their way through the path until they arrived at the back gate.
“Look left!” Malakai heard. Turning immediately, he saw Corporal Janik aiming at Nabil.
“No!” Malakai screamed and quickly stood in the place of Nabil.
He pulled the trigger.
CRACK!
The world held its breath. Silence fell like ash as Malakai dropped to the ground, holding the spot that was beginning to ooze out blood.
“No! Uncle!” Nabil screamed on top of his lungs. Another gunshot was heard. Nabil's father had shot Corporal Janik from behind and rushed to Malakai.
The world flashed before Malakai’s eyes. He looked at Nabil, then to his mother, then to his father.
He coughed out, blood spilling from his mouth. He tried desperately to speak. With his blood covered hand he held Nabil.
“Nabil. You have His light now, carry it on…” He coughed again. “Don't cry for me. I'm going to Jesus. I can see Him, He's waiting for me. Don't lose Him, promise me you won't.” “I won't, Uncle. Please don't go.” Nabil wept on his chest. His mother was a mess, she held tightly to her husband. It felt like we had zoned out. Like the entire world stood still for our moment.
“I have to, Nabil. My work is done. Good-bye.” Malakai said, tears dripping from his eyes. He turned to Nabil's father.
“I did as you asked me to. I protected him. Now please, don't let him lose the fire he has. Let him keep following Jesus.” Nabil's father only nodded, barely able to look at Malakai.
Malakai finally turned towards the sky, his eyesight blurring out. But he saw them, Warangels, with a chariot of fire, waiting to take him. Seated in the chariot was his Lord. He smiled and with one final breath gave up the ghost.
Heaven had welcomed home a general. Nabil. He doesn't quite realize yet what Destiny has installed for him. Through one man's flame, a nation will find Light.
The essence of a Burning and Shining light.
My Review
Holy fire and warfare just collided in the most devastating way possible, and I am still not okay.
To be honest, I'm not a fan of military action fiction. The few I've tried reading left me with headaches. I'm just not a fan of the blood and gore and explosions. But this story changed that narrative for me. The story was bold, had characters that had me hooked from the opening line.
But here's where this story becomes pure genius: it's not just about supernatural warfare — it's about the collision between enemy and humanity, between duty and divine calling, between the kingdom of darkness and the unstoppable light of Christ. Suddenly this isn't just war anymore — it's revival breaking out in the most unlikely place imaginable.
The spiritual warfare elements had me on the edge of my seat. War angels standing guard? Check. Dark symbols forming around minds under attack? Absolutely chilling. Malakai glowing with holy fire while praying in tongues over an enemy soldier? I got goosebumps. This is prophetic fiction that doesn't play games — it goes straight for the jugular with raw supernatural encounters that feel devastatingly real.
The cross-cultural evangelism here is handled with such beautiful sensitivity. Watching Malakai explain Jesus as "Prophet Ísá" while navigating the spiritual strongholds over Nabil's family was masterful storytelling that had me holding my breath.
I also love how a different language (Arabic) was infused into the story, even though it was a hassle putting the text on this blog. It made the story culturally rich.
But that ending. That ending! Malakai taking a bullet meant for Nabil, dying with war angels and Jesus waiting to take him home, passing the torch to a child who will carry revival to an entire nation? Let me tell you, I actually shed a tear.
The sacrifice, the surrender, the way light literally passes from one burning heart to another — this is what prophetic fiction should be. Raw, costly, beautiful, and absolutely uncompromising in its vision of God's kingdom advancing through the most broken places on earth.
Aggregate score: 84%
Congratulations on making the 3rd position in this contest, Shalom. Cheers to more amazing stories from you.
About the Author
Mawounou Shalom Beaugard is a writer and storyteller who has found his voice in this art called writing.
He loves Jesus, and his goal is to express Him through this ancient gift. Writing, for Shalom, is more than words, it’s a way to reveal Him.
Connect with Shalom on Instagram
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