Chapter 3: Spiritual Diagnostics

The search results loaded.

Page after page of generic advice. Self help blogs. Motivational speakers promising to turn your life around in seven easy steps. Religious websites claiming demons were the answer to everything.

10 Signs You’re Under Spiritual Attack

How to Break Generational Curses

Prayer Warriors: Fight Back Against Dark Forces

Makun scrolled through them, jaw clenched. His damp clothes clung to his skin, cold and uncomfortable, but he ignored it. The apartment was dark except for the glow of his phone screen.

He clicked on one article. Skimmed the first paragraph.

“If you’re experiencing constant misfortune, it may be a sign that negative spiritual forces are…”

He closed it. Opened another.

“Send us your prayer request and a donation of…”

Scam.

He tried a different search.

Constant bad luck spiritual cause

More of the same. Articles written by people who’d never experienced real desperation. Who thought a few prayers and positive thinking could fix a life that had been broken from the start.

Breaking curses and hexes

A page full of spell kits for sale. Crystals and candles and sage bundles that cost more than he had in his account.

Am I cursed

Forums. People telling stories that sounded like his. Jobs falling apart. Relationships imploding. Accidents that defied logic. But the responses were always the same. “See a therapist.” “You’re just depressed.” “Stop blaming external forces for your problems.”

Makun’s finger hovered over the screen.

Maybe they were right. Maybe this was just him looking for something to blame, some external enemy to fight instead of accepting that he was the problem.

But the nightmare wouldn’t leave his mind.

The chains. The glass tube. The shapes feeding on him.

Three nights in a row.

That wasn’t normal.

He kept searching.

Spiritual attacks real

Why does everything go wrong for me

Someone cursing me

The clock on his phone read 11:34 PM. He’d been at this for hours. His eyes burned. His head throbbed. But he couldn’t stop.

Because what if there was something? What if Amara had been right? What if…

The page loaded.

An ad.

Simple. Clean. Almost too plain to be real.

No flashy graphics. No testimonials. No pictures of people holding crystals or burning sage.

Just text.

SPIRITUAL DIAGNOSTICS

$50

Below it, a single line.

If your life feels like someone else is pulling the strings, maybe they are.

Makun stared at the screen.

His thumb moved without thinking. He clicked.

The website opened. Basic layout. No clutter. A contact form. An address in the lower city. And a photo.

A young woman.

Mid twenties, maybe. Dark skin, sharp eyes that seemed to look through the camera. Hair pulled back tight. Tattoos visible on her forearms, intricate patterns that his eyes couldn’t quite follow. She wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t trying to sell him anything.

She just looked… serious. Real.

Below the photo, a name.

Zuri.

No last name. No credentials. No promises of miracles or instant healing.

Just her name, the price, and that one line.

If your life feels like someone else is pulling the strings, maybe they are.

Makun read it again.

Someone else pulling the strings.

That’s exactly what it felt like. Like he was a puppet and someone was yanking the threads just to watch him stumble.

He scrolled down.

Reviews. Only three. Short. Vague.

“She saw things I didn’t tell her. Worth every dollar.”

“Not what I expected. But she was right.”

“Don’t go unless you’re ready to hear the truth.”

No five star ratings. No glowing testimonials. Just… honesty.

Makun clicked on the address. Lower city. Not far from where he lived. A bus ride, maybe thirty minutes.

He looked at the price again.

$50.

He had maybe $80 in his account. That was supposed to last him until… well, until he figured something out. Spending most of it on some mystic who’d probably tell him to burn sage and chant mantras felt like the worst possible decision.

But.

What if she wasn’t a scam?

What if she could see what was wrong?

What if…

This is stupid.

He knew it was. He knew this was desperation talking. The same desperation that made people fall for psychics and fortune tellers and con artists who preyed on the broken.

But then he thought about Marcus. About the forklift that broke under him. About the shelf that collapsed last week. About every job, every relationship, every opportunity that had slipped through his fingers like water.

About the nightmare. The chains. The feeding.

What if it’s real?

His thumb moved to the contact form.

Book Appointment

A new page loaded. Simple form. Name, email, phone number, preferred date and time.

Makun filled it in.

Name: Makun

Email: his old Gmail account

Phone: the number he’d had for three years

Date: Tomorrow

Time: Morning, first available

His finger hovered over the submit button.

$50 he didn’t have. For answers he probably wouldn’t get. From a woman who might be just another fraud.

But what choice did he have?

He pressed submit.

The page refreshed.

Appointment confirmed. Payment required upon arrival. Address: 47 Osapa Street, Lower City. Tomorrow, 9:00 AM.

A confirmation email hit his inbox a second later. He opened it, scanned the details. Same information. Same address. A map link.

He stared at Zuri’s photo again.

Those eyes. Sharp. Uncompromising. Like she could see through walls, through skin, through all the lies people told themselves.

If your life feels like someone else is pulling the strings, maybe they are.

Makun locked his phone. Set it on the table next to the eviction notice.

Tomorrow morning. 9:00 AM. He’d go. He’d pay the $50. He’d sit across from this woman and see if she was real or just another person trying to squeeze money out of the desperate.

And if she was a fraud?

If she gave him some generic reading, some vague nonsense about negative energy and cleansing rituals?

He’d make sure she knew exactly what he thought of her.

Because he was done being kicked. Done being a victim. Done letting the world grind him into dust without fighting back.

Tomorrow, he’d get answers.

Or he’d burn that bridge like he’d burned every other one.

Makun pulled off his damp jeans, threw them over the chair with his shirt. He collapsed onto the bed, stared at the water stains on the ceiling.

His eyes closed.

The nightmare was waiting.

But this time, when the chains wrapped around him, when the glass tube descended, when the shapes began to feed…

This time, he didn’t just fight.

He remembered.

Tomorrow.

9:00 AM.

Let’s see what this mystic knows about curses.

And if she’s lying, she’ll regret it.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep