The Devil’s Curse

The Devil’s Curse P.S. Scott Copyright © 2022 by P.S. Scott All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Contents 1. Michael 2. Darius 3. Michael 4. Darius 5. Michael 6. Darius 7. Michael 8. Darius 9. Michael 10. Darius 11. Michael 12. Darius 13. Michael 14. Darius 15. Michael 16. Darius 17. Michael 18. Darius 19. Michael 20. Darius 21. Michael 22. Darius 23. Michael 24. Darius 25. Michael 26. Darius 27. Michael Acknowledgments About the Author Also by P.S. Scott One Michael Michael’s dream was about to come true. Every nerve in his body sparked with anticipation as he sat in Elysium’s Heavenly Hall filled with presidents, angels, and deities. Glass-encrusted chandeliers spilled from the ceiling, coating the law-making body in ethereal light. Exactly ninety-six members sat on red velvet and gold chairs, looking down their superior noses, filling the rows of desks. At the center of the semi-circular tables was a podium on which the President of The Republic of Elysium sat in all his stone-faced glory. It was a serene day in the country of Elysium, and the skies were a brilliant blue, signaling the equally brilliant future that awaited him. Michael had known when he left his house that today was going to be a special day. His hundred-year-long wait had led to this glorious moment. The nominations for Archangel were being announced. It was an honor given to the most deserving angels once every hundred years. Michael had patiently waited for his chance, serving his country faithfully as a general for the past century. It had been his father’s dream as well as his. Last week, the Heavenly Hall of Elysium contacted him saying he was a potential nominee. Attached was an invitation to attend the ceremony. Only twenty-five angels sat among the ninety-six members. One more would be an honor and a much-needed change in a government dominated by deities. “Here are the nominations for Archangel,” the president read. A bright halo perched on top of his bald head. “General Michael.” Michael stood up instantly, glad he’d chosen to wear his best white uniform, adorned with all the badges of honor he’d earned for his service to heaven over a hundred-year career. To be appointed an archangel was the greatest honor— one he’d worked for all his life. His head tilted slightly in an acknowledging bow, but on the inside, he was as excited as a grade-schooler the day before a school trip. After today, he’d be able to participate in the making of laws. And he planned to propose a lot of new ones. “General Michael has served Elysium’s army for over 150 years,” the president said, in his croaky voice. “In that time, he has earned the highest military honor of being a general.” Soft applause echoed. Michael smiled, keeping his head high. “He is distinguished among angels for his bravery and loyalty. His display of solidarity and courage in the face of the Millennium war is well-known.” More applause. Michael’s blood was radioactive, buzzing with uncontrollable anticipation. “That’s why I’m sorry to announce he didn’t make the cut,” the president pronounced. “What?” Michael stood, unable to believe what he’d heard. “As you all know, archangels are guaranteed a spot in our Heavenly Hall,” he went on. “However…” He glanced at the table full of eminent luminaries who all suddenly began coughing and scratching in an attempt to avoid his gaze. “On careful examination, I’m afraid the general didn’t meet one of our requirements.” He turned his eyes left, then right, hoping somebody would fill in the unsavory details. “You have a…weakness,” President Ogier went on. Michael’s eyebrows knit together. He massaged his sweaty palms, proceeding with caution. “Unfortunately, our brave general lost some of his powers in the Millennium war.” That blasted curse. The president didn’t have to say it. Michael knew. Lights stabbed his eyes, making him tremble with suppressed indignity. He’d fought the biggest war and come out alive. What’s more, he’d served as the general for over a hundred years. If they didn’t make him Archangel- “The c-curse,” President Ogier trod carefully, “renders him unable to perform his duties as an angel.” The curse that deprived him of his wings. He felt the lightness on his back, and goosebumps prickled his skin. It was all because of that blasted curse that had been laid on him a hundred years ago. That fateful scene from the war was burned into his memory. He still remembered every detail of that war-torn scene. Bodies lay on the sand. Smoke and fire rose behind Darius as if he had come straight from hell. Darius’s green eyes looked down on him with an intense hatred that was beyond any angel. Despite his betrayal of Elysium, Michael had believed in him. But he’d been wrong. He lay on the ground, bleeding and bruised, one step from death. His wings were crushed, barely alive. He’d lost a large amount of blood, and it was making him light-headed. In his last moments, he wondered how they’d gone from friends to this. “Kill me,” he bit out, expecting Darius to oblige him one last time. However, Darius didn’t budge, examining him with passing amusement like he was no more than a fly. It was strange how even in his final moment he thought of Darius as a friend. They’d entered the military together and had become the best of friends over the years. Darius had been the 1st lieutenant and Michael was proud to be his 2nd lieutenant. “No,” Darius said, in his haughty voice. Maybe Michael was imagining things, but he thought Darius’ voice sounded choked. “Kill me,” he ordered, the hierarchy between them upended. Even now, when they were on opposite sides of the war, the connection between