Prologue

Our New Essence

God is now only an image in the mind, Sierra Randolph thought as she reflected on the state of the world. She gazed out the main office window, which overlooked a waiting room at a Boston hospital. She scanned the faces of the patients about to have surgery. Their illnesses, however, did not explain their vacant expressions and sad eyes. Their misery came from the chaos invading the world. The gloomy crowd turned from the wall-mounted TV broadcasting the suffering of war, the lost young souls of school shootings, and political ads where the candidates attack each other with half-truths.

Sierra learned about the mayhems committed by people she thought would never harm others from news reports. The world seemed to have transformed into a land of cowards, unwilling to confront the evil and their masters. Instead, they focused on protecting themselves against phantom enemies, while leaving the real ones free to attack anyone else they chose.

Her turmoil from the past week was setting into her soul; not only was she dealing with her anxiety, but also the betrayal of what she thought was a trusted family member. The journey to Jerusalem had led her to the right path in search of the ancient prophecy, but bloodshed and deception made the quest a sad venture.

Sharon Mason, the hospital CEO, entered the room and approached Sierra. “Are you sure you don’t want to meet with the Kishons, Miss Randolph? This three-hundred-thousand-dollar gift of yours earns a thank you, at the very least.”

The vast sum was minor to Sierra. When her father died, she had inherited half of a media company she now co-owned with her uncle. She always shared her wealth, giving to many worthy causes, but this donation was personal.

She turned and faced Sharon. “I’m not looking for gratitude, only want to right a wrong.”

Sharon tapped her arm. “There’s Elizabeth Kishon now.” The hospital administrator pointed at a child in a wheelchair entering the waiting room. “She is due to have surgery in a few hours.”

Elizabeth’s father pushed her past the window, and she smiled at Sierra through her brilliant amber eyes.

Sierra felt at ease, her fears vanished, and she returned the child’s smile. A vision surfaced in her mind and she saw images of a peaceful world and people compromising their sufferings rather than arguing, which had led to hatred in the past.

Live long, Miss Elizabeth. Fill your life with joy.

The young girl sat in her wheelchair across the waiting room. The subtle but deep glare in Elizabeth’s eyes, which she could see through the office window, relieved Sierra’s stress. Elizabeth’s glorified gaze absorbed her soul and merged their minds with images of content, love, and forgiveness. Tears fell from both their eyes as Sierra sensed a divine energy coursing through the child.

My God, she performs a purpose alongside me, supporting my spiritual quest in ushering in a new age for our world.

Sierra rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. An intense longing invaded her body as she had another vision. She saw a likeness of an angel pointing and leading her away from the office. “I must go outside and witness God’s essence. Please, join me,” she whispered to Sharon, her heart racing as she moved toward the office door. A treasured promise awaited the world beyond the hospital’s walls.

The administrator wavered and gave Sierra a side stare. “Outside? What do you mean?”

Sierra ignored the woman’s response, and her mind numbed. She left the office, oblivious to her surroundings. She repeated to herself as she strolled through the hallway, The deceit ends, exposing every conspiracy. It’s time for our dreams to come true.

Interest swelled in Sharon’s mind, and she followed her.

Sierra’s childlike passions reentered her body as she reached the hospital entrance. Ever since she was seven, her sixth sense had always caused her mind to ache and her body to surge with intense pain. But this time, her insights became vivid with no misery and, instead, pierced her soul with peace. I’m eager to witness the truth and dispel our doubts.

The automatic doors whisked open. Sierra gripped the railing and navigated the steps, never removing her eyes from the heavens. The expanding clouds formed a gateway around the sun as a swarm of onlookers gathered along the road, their fingers and cellphones pointed skyward.

The star was no longer blinding, and the soil pulsed beneath everyone’s feet. Scattered through the crowd, believers fell to their knees, while others stared and shook their heads in disbelief. Everyone’s hearts raced as they searched for answers.

Sierra’s perception returned, and her eyes widened. She retrieved her smartphone, and her hand shook while she texted Simon, Are you seeing this?

A massive earthquake struck the land, sending shockwaves throughout the world. The ground quivered and twisted but remained intact. Buildings swayed, but none crumbled. Cupboards opened, yet no items fell to the surface. A solar flare burst from the sun and announced the glorious event. Four cherubim, carrying a large crucifix, emerged from the flames as everyone on every continent moved outside and stared at the heavens. Darkness descended to the four corners of the planet, and a warm, light wind traveled from east to west around the globe. A pleasing smell of lavender glided in the breeze, transcending everyone’s mind into peace. Nations at war laid down their arms. Thieves returned their stolen treasures. Voices of hate fell silent.

The frame of the cross approached from the sun, floating over the masses. The crucifix shone brighter than the star but never glaring. Two archangels soared from within the Messiah’s symbol, their plumes waving as they glided toward Israel. Their feathers and wings turned to a glowing silver shade as they descended.

Graves shone through the darkness. From cemeteries large and small, even the unmarked resting places in open fields, the ghostly mist from the tombs flowed toward the rising cross as it traversed the entire world. Their radiance filled the sky, forming a swaying aurora. The illuminations danced, and trumpets sounded throughout the land.

Samael sat on his pale horse inside Ein Gedi Reserve, planning his next move. He was still determined to control the world and revenge the suffering his enemies had inflicted on him. The Evil One had no mercy, and as he planned his vengeful actions, he saw a vision of the coming days, his impending fury, and he laughed at his enemies’ pleads for pity.

When the cross came into view, Samael’s eyes grew larger, and a fireball streamed from his chest. Every ounce of guilt, humanity, and integrity that remained soared, then exploded. The force knocked the beast off his mount as sparks rained around him. His soul’s last virtuous energy disappeared, removing any hope of him returning to the spirit he had once been before his fall from grace. Samael’s newfound freedom filled his eyes with scorn, and it had reawakened the essence of his evil existence from the blood and ashes of his former foes. As his mind submerged into resolve, he imagined the taste of his victims’ blood bathing his lips.

Mortal souls prayed for freedom, still trapped when Samael had imprisoned them and forced them to witness his evil rituals. They watched the holy event unfold through his cynical lens, and as they observed the dead receive their rewards, it filled their spirits with sorrow, knowing they may never know peace. Their only hope was for a merciful God to grant a second chance by releasing them from the demon’s grip so they may beg for His forgiveness.

The archangels spiraled, then landed on Mount Olive. Their scorching wings faded, and their silvery flames rose, morphing their bodies into wingless humans. They hovered toward the two guardians standing at the summit. As the cross moved over the face of the Earth, collecting souls, the four watched from a distance.

“The restored righteous are receiving their rewards,” one angel said.

The second angel nodded, then faced the guardians, raising his hands to the heavens. “My friends, the Lord’s Protectors of the Witnesses, soon He will send you on one more quest.”

One guardian turned to the Holy Ones, the event reflecting in her eyes. “The dead in Christ will rise first.”

The fellow guardian spoke. “Their journey ends through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. They now dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

The four watched the souls enter within the crucifix, and one angel proclaimed, “Yes, the trial of man begins soon, and we must prepare for the Advent.”

They joined hands and chanted, “Humanity advances to the final chapter.”

One angel sensed evil and spotted a demon at the nearby oasis observing the confused beings confined within Samael’s mind. With a mighty blow, she freed the souls from the demon’s clutches. The Lord answered their prayers as they coughed and struggled to rinse away the stench, along with the vile flavor of living inside the monster’s nature.

The angel lectured the souls as they struggle to their feet. “Recall the senses of evil. Go, spread our divine sermon, and build an army of disciples. Only the true believers will fight the harshest and the most wicked foe in history. Another awakening is on the way, and only the pure will gather in the presence of the Lord.”

Sierra grasped each side of her head and drew her fingers down the sides of her face. She stared at the crucifix as it sailed through the heavens, and the departed souls from the burial sites entered the flying haven. Sierra turned, and Elizabeth stood next to her, no longer a child but a young, grown woman. A holy halo surrounded her body, and she wore a white gown that sparkled with gold tints.

The transformed young woman smiled. “My son pilots our Lord’s device of holy zeal.”

Elizabeth saw Sierra’s veins throb beneath her skin. Her knees ached, and her soul shook. “Your son?”

“John, he performed our baptism in Christ. Now he oversees our rebirth.” She stared deep into Sierra’s eyes, transforming them from dark brown to an amber shade, and Sierra’s heart filled with courage. “Finish your calling; Solve the Riddle.”

They embraced, and Elizabeth whispered in her ear, “You may say the end is unraveling right in front of our eyes, yet we never face our life story’s end. Instead, our mind unlocks the spiritual door, opening the next episode and our new essence.”

Elizabeth focused her wisdom on us, combining our renewed minds. “The question looms, will you allow others to influence your opinions, or will you learn to judge for yourself? Today you saw the future—now read on to experience our past filled with fading hope.”

Chapter 1

A Story Within a Story

Simon Gowar rested on a hilltop in Cyprus, honoring the extraordinary event, watching the cross move across the Earth. His phone dinged, and he read a message from Sierra. Are you seeing this?

He opened his palm, revealing Solomon’s signet, which lay in his hand. Memories of the past came alive—the pride of his victories and the pain of his defeats. Survival lessons preparing him for this special moment and the experience of the day poured through his senses and reinforced his beliefs. My destiny lays before me—Build the Monument.

As his thoughts moved to his family and Mayer, a meteor dropped from the heavens and fractured, spawning a little cluster of stars that drifted across the night sky. The array united and exposed the faces of his loved ones, their smiles overwhelming him. Fill me with your wisdom. Soon, I will join you in paradise.

He stepped forward and placed the signet on his ring finger. His eyes turned from blue to amber, and his courage renewed. As he descended the hill, his thoughts relived the past two weeks.

Only a saint could love me, and Mayer was mine.

Death, in the director’s mind, was a peaceful experience. He’d observed that at the precise time of passing, the fallen drifted into the afterlife with serenity on their lips and no signs of struggle. The smiles on the faces of those souls who died from natural causes, an accident, suicide, or at the hands of another reflected their wish for freedom from their burdens.

Simon couldn’t help but think it was unjust. Those who were still alive should enjoy their lives just as much, if not more, than those who had tasted death.

At the hour of their loved one’s demise, soul after soul would cry out in pain and sadness, unable to rest until their grief faded, leaving an emptiness in their hearts, and still faced with the fear of their own survival, until their clock struck twelve.

Simon stood vigil over the prime minister’s tomb, a two-and-a-half-meter-tall marble crypt crowned with the Star of David. Dark images troubled his mind with winding paths that wandered into deep obscurity. So many fresh thoughts opened in front of him, like a vast sea where every wave promised hope but instead pumped coldness through his heart till all he could feel was the frigid water filling his spirit.

Nothing else mattered anymore, except how much he dreaded the prospect that his torment would never cease until someone intervened to save him from drowning in his sorrow. But what good would it do for anyone to save him when no one cared? When he tried to share his feelings or opinions, they would tell him to be a man, or they would interrupt and talk over him.

Mayer and Sarah were his only outlets. Sarah taught him how to use his common sense when dealing with his troubles. She not only comforted his woes but reminded him it was necessary to have sad days so he may appreciate the jovial ones.

Mayer was his rock. He trained Simon how to turn any challenge to an advantage, that God sent hard lessons to build their souls, enabling them to overcome any adversity and inspire others to do the same.

But now, one was gone. Everyone had left him to suffer in silence, and he stayed buried within himself until nothing of his former self remained.

The heat in Israel made it difficult to breathe. Simon stood for a moment, wondering, before wiping the sweat from his brow and debated, Was that sweat or tears from my mind?

Hot weather could generate high humidity, making everything thicker than usual, including one’s thoughts. But his despair was what caused the perspiration that streaked his forehead, not the heat.

His confused thoughts drifted through his mind. He was only sixty, and from his last physical, healthy. A heart attack makes little sense.

From behind, a trembling voice interrupted his grief. “Mr. Gowar?”

Simon clenched his jaw and hands. “I want to be alone.”

“Sorry, Director. I have a package from Mayer, addressed to you.”

Simon’s eyes expanded. He glared at the tomb, then spun and saw Mayer’s lawyer and advisor. “Daniel, Mayer is dead! Go away with your sick jokes.”

“Director … Simon, the prime minister wanted me to deliver the package as soon as possible. He informed me a letter inside will explain. Mayer feared the contents would go missing if his estate went through probate. He signed over the packet to me a few years ago in case legal action delayed your promised inheritance,” Daniel said nervously while handing him the large envelope and searching the cemetery for any sign of meddling eyes.

Daniel’s hands shook as he gave Simon the package. Simon knew the lawyer suffered as well. Daniel had advised Mayer since his childhood. He had visited their home many times and always brought him a book to read—stories of mystery and courage. Simon, at one point, had dreamed of writing novels.

He stared at the package in his hands, feeling obligated to follow through with what Mayer wanted him to do. A weak smile appeared on his face, as the sealed contents felt like a book. Simon had always been a security agent for Israel, and at first, he had enjoyed the excitement, but as the years passed, he knew he had made the wrong decision. He thought how proud Mayer would have been if he had pursued a career as a writer. But it didn’t matter now. His broken heart drowned any creativity flowing through him.

How can I follow his dreams for me?

Simon focused on Daniel. The advisor’s shoulders slouched, and the sun exposed his bloodshot eyes. He appeared to have aged ten years over the past few days. Simon placed his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel.”

“Simon, please keep in touch. I’m here if you ever need advice. You and Sarah are part of my extended family, and I owe Mayer to help in any legal matters. I would have talked to Sarah myself but thought it best it came from you.”

Simon gave Daniel a kind nod. “Give me a few days and I will call. I’ll talk to Sarah and see if she needs help with the estate.”

Mayer had named Simon as Director of Shin Bet. His role of overseeing Israel’s Internal Security Department now had no purpose. As Simon drove home, he tried to get a grip on his feelings. He liked to think of himself as an introspective man who could step back and analyze how he felt about things—sometimes even critiquing himself in ways few others would dare touch. But there were no words for him today—at least not ones he wanted to state. Today was all about taking stock of what had happened in the previous few days while attempting to grasp why his mentor, father figure, and hope had all but vanished.

When Simon arrived home, he carefully opened the large envelope to not damage the contents. Inside, he discovered a letter and a large journal. He brushed his hand across the front of the dark brown journal adorned with a raised black dragon. The worn exterior and the yellowed pages showed many years of labor etched inside. Mayer had spent many hours crafting the words, hoping to share his wisdom.

The book was a treasure trove of knowledge, but after what had happened, it didn’t come without a price. Simon’s grip tightened on the edge of the pages, then he slowly released them with a sigh. He lifted the letter and read while he rubbed the cross dangling from his neck.

Simon,

I guess my time on Earth came to its end. Try not to mourn too much. I had a noble existence. My and Sarah’s joy multiplied when you came into our lives. You gave us a purpose we needed. We believed you were God’s gift, and we raised you as if it were our divine calling.

When I finished this letter that I’d been writing for years, I wanted to leave part of myself behind, something tangible, before death snatched my soul. Somewhere along the way, you developed a unique identity—one that no one else could fill. You were ours; we loved you like our own flesh and blood. It was hard letting you go from our care, but Sarah and I knew it was time for you to make a difference in your corner of the world. As I say my farewells to life, my love for you will linger on with my last breath.

Enough of the mushy talk.

You’ll find a sealed envelope tucked away among the pages of the book. I’m well aware of your ability to manage your finances and make sound investments. I know you don’t enjoy surprises, but we still started another savings account for you—not from us but from your family. Forgive us for what I’m about to say; our goal was to provide you with a secure financial future.

Your father purchased a large insurance policy, a double indemnity plan in case he died by any means other than natural causes. He bought smaller ones for your mother and sister. After your family received a proper funeral, 960,000 shekels remained. Sarah and I never touched a single agorot, and we set up an annuity for your future.

Simon stood and moved to the window. He gazed at the moonless night sky and the stars shining bright over Jerusalem. Simon remembered the day his family had died thirty-eight years ago, and he wondered if his life may have been different. He had trained himself to block out the incident, but today, his mind relived the event that had changed his life.

At the time, he was seven years old, and his parents and five-year-old sister were exploring the Old City. Simon’s father was studying the area for a book and turned the trip into a family adventure. The day was hot, exhaling its searing warmth into the ancient city, and although they were suited for the heat, refreshments were in order.

Simon pointed to an ice cream shop, and his father nodded in agreement. He and his sister were excited, and when they arrived, his father asked, “Son, what do you want?”

Simon examined the menu on the wall. He wanted everything. “Let Lisa go first.”

“I want vanilla and chocolate,” Lisa answered quickly, and Simon sighed, wishing she had taken longer; he always needed more time to decide.

Simon wanted something unique. He liked to explore new things, a trait he had inherited from his father. When his impatient sister was around, he learned to compromise to keep the peace. “I’ll take the vanilla.”

Simon’s mother laughed. “You two, you’re so predictable.”

When the family left the shop, Simon and Lisa skipped across the stone streets, carrying their various flavors.

Their father pointed out several old landmarks in the Holy City, teaching his children about history and religion. Their faith was an important part of their family, and his father, a professor, never missed an opportunity to educate his children.

They came to a standstill in Holy Sepulchre Church’s courtyard, which had ancient buildings surrounding three of its sides. Simon examined a domed structure standing proudly on the left, housing Jesus’s tomb beneath the roof, and another domed complex on the right, covering Calvary. Through its antique walls, the fourth-century church communicated its spiritual meaning to the devout, preserving the most important event in Christian history: Christ’s execution and the spot where he resurrected from the dead.

Simon snatched his father’s shirt. “When are we going home?”

His father rested his hand on his shoulder. “How come? Do you miss Canada?”

Simon eyed the church. “No, I go for this old stuff. Was wishing we could stay longer.”

“I’m ready to go home,” Lisa said. “All this is boring. I want to go back and play with my dolls. I know they miss me.”

Their mother giggled. “When you get older, everything will have more meaning, and you will appreciate everything God gave us.”

Simon’s father chuckled. “We’ll leave in a few days.”

Simon listened to the citizens speaking to each other in loud voices and a weird language. Their gestures differed from what he was used to, and their clothes were foreign to him. He saw armed military personnel patrolling the streets. “Why are there so many soldiers?”

In front of him, his father knelt. “For many years, if not millennia, various nations sought the sovereignty of Jerusalem. Many men fought wars to gain control of the Holy City. The city is now part of Israel, but others seek to take it away from them. The soldiers are here to defend the city and us, and we must respect them.”

As they walked toward the trade district, a young man approached them with resolve in his eyes. He tapped the professor on the shoulder, and Simon realized he was concealing something under his jacket.

“Are you … Professor Gowar?” His voice trembled.

Simon’s father faced the visitor, scrutinizing him. “Yes. Do I know you?”

“I have a gift for you from a long-lost acquaintance.” The young man unzipped his jacket, revealing an explosive-laced vest.

Simon’s father spun and spread his arms to shield his family.

A stranger’s hand grabbed Simon and pulled him under an overcoat, using his vast frame to protect Simon. An enormous explosion consumed the district. The intensity of the blow converted the crowded marketplace into a scene of turmoil. The stranger gripped Simon tighter. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the winds blasted and deflected around them. People screamed, and shards of glass and other debris flew throughout the courtyard. As the walled streets rang with the noise of the explosion, Simon tasted the dust and smelled the burning rubble mixed with the odor of burning flesh.

The stranger released Simon when the sound and force of the blast had receded. He noticed everyone walking in a trance, some crying, others moaning in pain. Soldiers and the uninjured poured into the street, attempting to assist the wounded. Simon searched the area for his family. When the smoke and dust subsided, it revealed his loved ones. His mother’s and sister’s lifeless bodies clung to the stone walkway, while his father attempted to move beside them.

Simon, stunned, moved in closer. “Dad …”

Professor Gowar was struggling to move his head when he noticed Simon standing over him. “Simon, are you all right?” He coughed, splitting blood from his mouth.

“Yes, Dad, but Mom and Lisa can’t move.”

His father took his hand. “Son, I need you to be brave. Always remember us and bring joy into your life.” The professor struggled to remove a crucifix from around his neck.

The stranger who had protected Simon knelt, removed the necklace, and placed it on Simon’s neck. With his bright amber eyes and his golden long hair, the stranger appeared as an angel, and he peered into Simon’s father’s diminishing gaze. “Do not be concerned. I will safeguard your son. God has a plan for him. Join your family and go with the Lord.”

His father’s throat gurgled, his eyes glazed over, then rolled back, and he took his final breath.

Simon remained still. His emotions were pulling in opposing directions.

He felt the stranger’s touch on his shoulder. “My name is Ansel. I’ll be there for you whenever you need me. I want you to keep three words in mind.”

Simon’s tears stained his face.

“Build the Monument. One day, you’ll understand the meaning of the words.” A raven landed on Ansel’s shoulder as he stood. He turned and vanished into the haze.

A soldier emerged from the mist and approached the shaken boy. “Are you hurt, little man? Where are your parents?”

Simon gestured to his family.

The warrior regarded Simon, then his fallen loved ones, before kneeling and examining each one to determine whether they were still alive. He faced Simon. “We need to look after your family. Can you tell me your name?”

“Simon Gowar,” he said through tears.

The soldier rose and took Simon’s hand. “You’re coming with me. My name is Mayer, Mayer Rabinowitz.”

Simon’s attention flashed back to the present. His whole body shook as he touched the crucifix around his neck. His troubled feelings flowed freely as he recalled his awful past, and a tear fell from his eye. He sat at the table and resumed reading Mayer’s letter.

We intended to rock you with the funds passed down by your family on your 50th birthday. Yes, you will be stunned.

Simon, you are a rich man. The six-figure sum turned into millions over the past thirty years. Please leave government work. The stress will wear you to nothing. Become a writer like you once wanted. Your many adventures over the years will give you plenty of material.

As for the journal, back in 2013 when you were thirty, I started a search for your family on genealogy sites around the internet. I looked for aunts, uncles, and cousins but only found a handful. None responded over that first year. Sarah and I were heartbroken, knowing you were alone, so adopting you a year after you arrived in our lives and replacing the family you lost was the right decision. We insisted you call us by our first names out of respect for your actual parents. I then had an idea and wrote a story based on your ancestors’ and your life. Add your thoughts to the pages. You will recognize the fictional parts and remember the truths. Change the names; you don’t want to give away secrets associated with the actual characters.

Simon stopped there. Mayer, are you sure this is for me? Or meant for someone else to take it on and carry its legacy forward into the future? It seemed like an eternity had passed since he’d last seen Mayer alive. No one realizes how much time we spend pondering when a loved one dies, leaving us alone with only gloomy images to fill every waking minute.

His thoughts drifted to a few days ago when he had held Mayer in his arms. Simon noticed a tiny smile on the prime minister’s lips as he knew this would be their farewell embrace. All that remained was Mayer’s steely stare, and his hand tightened around Simon’s arm, as if clutching on for dear life as death took its final grip.

He had once heard Mayer say, “The way you spend your life reflects on who you are. Every decision you make affects the fate that befalls you, so why not choose wisely?”

Earlier, this quote had run through his mind as he stood in front of Mayer’s crypt, but it consumed his thoughts more as he read from the letter. His mentor was a seer. He had taught him to live every moment, reflect on each conscious thought, and chart his own course when turning the pages in this brilliant book called life to manage his destiny.

How can I survive without his guidance?

He remembered all the lessons Mayer had given over the years. Simon had always been a good person. He’d done nothing wrong and had kept his word to others for as long as they’d kept theirs. Mayer and Sarah had been proud of how noble he’d preserved himself, but it had been because they didn’t realize how terribly dark he was on the inside. They had reasoned that since he wasn’t doing anything wrong on the outside, his mental health must be fine as well. But they had been mistaken.

Mayer and Sarah never heard the voices in my head, the murmurs that made me feel guilty for having lived through the deaths of my family members.

He knew he needed to block the sorrow from recent days to survive. Those tales of mystery and courage he had read after his family’s tragic death helped him cope, so he picked up the journal and began reading.

Chapter 2

The Chamber of Deception

Mayer’s Journal: Trial of Man Cometh

Samael is in death’s shadow. He believes if he cannot flee, his authority will soon fade away.

They must remain weak, and their fears must survive.

Visions had tormented him for years. The future would always flash before him, but now the meaning is becoming clear. He can see the prophecy unfolding in front of his eyes, and he knows if it comes true, it will bring an end to his years of toil. If the message of the vision spreads, he and his followers will vanish into the abyss. If he could just keep it buried long enough, they might prevent disaster. Samael must act fast.

An ever-present revelation enters his mind.

We’ll soon learn about the oracle’s tidings. Not only will the meaning reveal the prophecy, but it will also expose the theme that goes beyond the prophecy. Not because they learn to live with their demons but because the vision will teach the lesson of overcoming their demons.

His chest burns, and the image of the coming age flashes through his mind.

I must prevent the oracle’s message from reaching the righteous.

Samael gazes into the heavens, his heart burdened with grief. He was once a fascinating spirit, one of the most powerful beings in the world above. But God banished Samael to Earth after he rebelled against him. He is imprisoned in this place, surrounded by darkness and hostility.

When Samael stargazes, he remembers how they used to fill him with joy. They now serve only to remind him of what he has lost. He misses his brotherhood and allies who stood by him and encouraged his testament to flourish. Most of all, he misses the rush of victory, as well as the taste of his opponent’s blood and the scent of their death.

He stands and paces, his heart pounds, and his hands grip in agony. He can’t help but feel as if he is losing control of his existence. Although he was self-governing and powerful, after his capture, everything and everyone conspired against him. He couldn’t understand why he must endure such injustice while everyone stood by and watched. All he could do was suffer and stew in his own fury and anguish. His only source of solace is a sigh, a phantom echo in the surrounding silence.

Samael’s penal complex is not a traditional prison but a single cell buried at the base of an active volcano. His captors barred the pit with iron bars and permitted vile creatures from the desert to occupy the cell. Every time the mountain rumbled, the cage shrank a bit more, and every sound became louder.

His weak, red eyes fill with sorrow—not the crimson shade but the rusty tinge of old blood. He listens as the whispers of the dead enter his mind, drifting through the Earth, until they consume his thoughts—disturbed murmurs of abuse, of vengeance, of rejoicing in his disgrace. In the pitch darkness, he’s all alone. The only sound drowning out the deceased’s whispers is the rattling of the never-ending chain wrapped around his ankle.

The sealed walls mock his lifeless soul as his opponent’s mysterious words flash across the confines, and his ears ring with death threats. Samael displays his middle finger and laughs at their complaints. His captors know well that his gestures simply highlight his growing insanity. His imprisonment denies him the ability to choose; he’s aware, but his confinement prevents him from leading an active life. His immortal tyrants demand their prisoner be tortured for the rest of eternity to digest his heinous role.

A rare common sense idea comes to mind.

I could confess my shame and ask for prayers of kindness.

Samael rubs his chin and mulls over the thought.

Bullshit. Bondage fills me with childlike desires.

He hardens his thinking and abandons his brief exercise of meekness. The inmate lacks fear.

Samael tries to cope with his hopeless reality. That he’s bound troubles him, and his waning influence weighs heavily on his mind.

The trauma he caused from his cruel traits altered the minds of humans. Despite the obstacles connected with his fall from grace, he used his charm, and society surrendered to his whims and perverted calling. He wore an ambiguous smile, the grin his victims feared, before he laid waste to his adversaries.

The fiendish demon caused immense pain and destruction wherever he went. People shuddered in his presence, and for good reason; his cruelty was legendary. But even with all the havoc he wreaked, his followers couldn’t help but delight in his magnetic personality. He had an answer for everything and a quick wit, along with a razor-sharp tongue that could slice through any opponent.

But something dark lurked beneath his smooth façade. Greed and spite motivated the demon, and he took great pleasure in inflicting harm on others. He lured and teased his victims before ripping them apart, limb by limb, savoring their horrified screams.

Long ago, Samael entered a world of darkness, where he could take advantage of man’s frail soul and set forth a new frontier. Before his arrest, he spent his jovial years strengthening his brand of evil. With designed control, Samael rooted his wicked ideas into the world and watched as sin flourished. Humans eventually grew tired of this monster bullying them and begged God to remove him from our world.

Now he can only fathom what life may have been like outside his prison walls.

His freedom has a chance if his doctrine is still alive and well. A vivid image enters his thoughts, and his mind’s eye focuses on the devices of men pedaling his dreams.

My subjects will arrive, and I will float free from my eerie confinement. They gather their flock to fight the noble ways of the righteous souls, leaving my legacy to live forever.

Samael raises his fists and shouts, “A promise when I’m free: an age will arrive when man prays for their demise, but they are helpless to achieve the end. They will wish to perish, but the Angel of Death will ignore their sinful souls.”

He lowers his arm and straightens his upper body, forcing his chest outward, declaring his deviance. “Your grievance has no effect, and I succumb to no scourge! When the time comes, I’ll be free and join a powerful coalition!”

The volcano awakens from its slumber, and the earth rumbles with a terrifying rage. The air is thick with clouds of dust that make it nearly impossible to see as the waves of heat become sultrier. With every explosion, the ground trembles, and more bits of dirt fly into the sky. A sandy storm knocks Samael off his feet as he staggers against the stinging wind rushing across his face. Something heavy hits him on the backside, and he hears a loud snap close to his ear. He falls to his knees, and the rough stones implanted in the soil opens his scabs. Blood seeps through his torn garments, and slivers of jagged clay protrude from his open wounds. The spinning wind hits a section of the mucky stockade, causing words to surface and dust to fall. The letters shift and adorn the inside barrier with a phrase: Virtue Always Triumphs Over Shame.

Samael reads the message, and his dark eyes fill with boredom. A frightening cry escapes him till a booming thunder disturbs his thoughts and ripples throughout the prison, challenging his lust for hate. A thunderous crash makes Samael’s body quiver with an unknown emotion. A surreal sense of panic flows through him, and he can barely suppress a whimper. The beast within him stirs, and Samael experiences fear for the first time in ages.

The spinning torrent of magma adds another layer of contempt to the prison as molten lava flows from the mountain’s walls, forming a moat. As pumice bubbles spurt and pop, the river orbits along the void’s border. A strong and disabling agony overwhelms him, and he curls his arms around his belly to soothe himself from deep, intense pain.

His brazen eyes glare upward, tears of blood oozing over his cheeks. Never has he faced this kind of punishment. “I refuse to surrender my oppressive passion. My self-discipline continues with zeal. Bias wardens may constrain the physical frame, but the belief lives on.”

He’s always been a fiery individual. When he believes in something, he acts on it with all his heart. But his beliefs are evil, and it’s for this reason they sentenced him. Many view his hunger and control as a threat, and they’re looking for revenge. Faced with torture, he won’t back down and allow his captors to crush his spirit.

The charred fog deepens, and streams emerge from the swirling storm that formed along the dome. A series of downpours combine to create a massive whirlwind. The gust slams against him, binding his body to the rocky wall. The tempest subsides, and a new phrase emerges from the haze: The Coming Harmony Approaches.

“Damn you! I condemn your covenant with man. My legion bowed at my feet, and my plan became a reality. With patience, I stood by for generations to rule my regime.” Samael tries to loosen the grip on his body while the pointed rocks in the wall puncture his skin. “Now I sit atop my new throne in the abyss of misery. No creed, no meaning. They sealed my fate behind the gates, and my wishes vanish along with the keys to my jail.”

Samael falls to the surface when his bindings disappear. He crawls to a boulder and wraps around the standing stone, and his face gently peeks above the shelter of the rock.

When he notices us staring, his eyes glow, and he glares deep into our soul. “And you—you are your Lord’s fools. You show me no pity? I acted under my sacred rights. Bravely revenged my former verdict. I stand by my past actions and purpose.” He gazes up, his hands raised to the heavens, pleading his defense. “The bastard son, whose country betrayed him long ago, stole my inheritance.”

We step back from Samael’s verbal wrath while he rages.

“Listen with an open mind and decide whether you feel the same scorn as I argue my defense. Come inside my realm and see how my enticing story spreads through the thoughts of my servants and rivals.”

We observe from above; we want nothing to do with this evil being, and we try fleeing to safety. However, an unseen power forces us inside Samael’s terrifying mind.

Samael licks his lips; the flavor of our souls satisfies all his senses. “Through my cynical lens, my story will expose the coming deceit. A vow to jolt your bones, shock your soul, and make you question your beliefs. Travel back in time to an era of terror and meager valor.”

We shield our ears to avoid hearing a loud creepy groan—a scraping sound, like the rusted gates of a crypt. Our bodies tremble as the bars open to reveal … The Imminent Curse.