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Anna Rountree’s Vision of Spiritual Warfare

Anna Rountree’s Vision of Spiritual Warfare

Below is an excerpt from Anna Rountree’s ‘The Warrior King’ and the vision she had of spiritual warfare.

I found myself on an embankment overlooking a bog. Huge wheels and hulls of massive equipment were half-sunk or piled in the mire mid rust-coated water and plants. It was a salvage dump for a civilization once known for its inventiveness, now known for its waste.
A massive cliff city of iron lay beyond the bog—rusted. Its unoiled wheels grated loudly. A cloud of red dust suffocated its internal streets and its recessed buildings. Years before, much of mankind had fled to iron fortified cliffs such as these and continued life as though the corrupt evening of the world had not overtaken it.

Here, crows perched atop the bog's silenced machinery calling to one another a false tattoo that all was well.

Suddenly the ground lurched violently beneath me, throwing me onto my hands and knees, knocking the breath out of me. I gasped, struggling to fill my lungs with the bitter, metallic air.

Below, the ground of the bog began to split open like a ripe melon. One after another, the huge pieces of machinery tipped as though they were behemoths stumbling into the cavernous opening.
The fire within its rip looked like a smelter’s furnace—with the iron of the rusted machinery adding to its eerie glow. Stagnant water joined the machinery, causing a fry of steam to rise from the molten depths.

In the nearby cliff city, people crammed onto balconies or packed open windows to gape. Many screamed when they saw large, hyena-faced demons coming up from the molten depths and clamoring over the falling equipment. These beasts were powerful, swift, and hungry. They headed for the city.

At the same time, dark rope ladders uncurled from the second heaven, allowing sinewy, black demons to climb down. Grappling hooks were slung over their backs so that they could pull themselves over and climb into the iron city once they reached their destination. The cliff dwellers were trapped.

Bone-splitting shrieks rose from the besieged city. Horrific! Animal reflex snapped me into a low crouch, ready to run.

It was then that I saw a large straggle of soldiers trudging across a nearby ridge. They were led by a line of exceedingly old men clad in various pieces of armor. These were riding massive draft horses that looked like they had just been unhitched from the plow to carry these elderly fighters into battle.

The soldiers were in tatters, armed with rakes, shovels, hoes, and other non-aggressive tools. The Elders leading them seemed battle-worn, and as ancient as the pieces of rusted armor they wore. Each Elder held aloft a staff from which a faded canvas insignia popped in the agitated air. I could barely make out the names of the various Christian denominations that once emblazoned the fabric.

Far in the distance, a large city was under—what looked like—nuclear attack and the blasts of air rolling over us were from atomic explosions. As if they were not able to see or were too stunned to understand, the Elders moved toward the bombings in the city. Flesh melting slaughter awaited them. Involuntarily I bellowed: “NO!” as I ran toward them, waving my arms in a warning to stop. I struggled to run fast enough to reach the last Elder in the line. “Stop!” I cried.

“We cannot,” the Elder shouted back. The Elder did not look below at the hyena-faced demons swarming toward the cliff city, but I did. I paused a moment, looking behind, as the demons began to scale the slick outer walls. The inhabitants of the cliff city were screaming down at them and throwing anything they could lay their hands on to stop them. It was gut-wrenching but far beyond my help. I shuddered as I turned to continue my run toward the Elders on horseback.

With a final heave, I reached the last of the massive, twenty-hands-high draft horses and grabbed part of its tack in a desperate attempt to steady myself. I could see that those demons would be coming for us next. The Elder on the horse looked down and shouted: “We must rescue those in the great city.”

“But you will not rescue anyone,” I shouted. “They are gone. Rescue those behind you!” Then seeing that I was determined to hang on and be dragged if necessary, he reached down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me up behind him onto the broad back of the horse. “Look behind me,” he called loudly. “We can defeat anything. There are thousands of us!” Then seeing that I was straining to turn enough to see adequately, he shouted: “Stand up. Behold our numbers.”

I had never stood on the back of a horse, but in the panic of the moment, I thought I might be able to stand after all. I needed whatever assurance the Elder was trying to give me. The horse did not flinch as I shakily stood on its rump.

Behind the Elder, I saw a vast number of men and women trying to move forward to confront the enemy. They were naively brave but poorly armed and poorly equipped. Already they were bent down by the blast of a storm that came from a city that no longer existed. The Elders did not understand because they were doing what they had always done. In the past, they had gone out in the name of Jesus; His banners went before them, His Elders led the way. However, now we needed Jesus. We needed Him leading His army, Him, to guard our flank and Him to be our rear guard.
This battle was too great. Now, we must have the Captain of the Host leading His people

To read more from Anna Rountree’s adventurous visions in The Warrior King, visit

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