all consuming evil
11:42 Oct 10 2012
Times Read: 465
All Consuming Evil
Messing with the Dark Arts
Corruption. Hatred. Evil. The three things that I have come to love over the years. Many years, spent alone in the dark corners of this terrible city, no one to comfort or care for me. Now, I am older and deformed. Not physically, but mentally I am severely unstable. I know I am, so don't feel sympathy. I have come to enjoy insanity. It has been my only true friend.
I am here. All alone. My flat hasn't changed since the moment I first saw its pale green walls, brown carpet, with only a bed and a television to keep me company through the long and harsh winter nights. They say boredom is a crime. They are wrong. It is a punishment. They also say the Devil makes work for idle hands, but they turned out to be right in this instance.
The toilet and communal kitchen was below me, on the forth floor of this despicable building. Even from the outside it is hellish and uninviting. I think it was the place that brought on my depression. I had been spat out by society, abandoned to live out the final years of my horrible life in this hateful location. Hell was below me. Hell is everywhere around me now. I am here for hell, to do its bidding. The power Satan holds over me is so total that he has become my puppeteer, making me dance if he so wishes to. He is my master, and I am no position to go against him.
Tonight is the night. The early moon is crisp, pale, and the stench if greed haunts these very streets. As I slowly walk down to my place, my spot, I can see the horrors and abuses that are around me. All seven sins, accumulated in one giant den of squalor and hate. The late night streets are silent, except for the distant sound of drunkard merriment, the calling of faraway voices of prostitutes and the steady rap, rap, rap of my footsteps on the cold cobbles that make up the street network through the city. There is something else. Voices. Voices in my head. They say things to me, every waking hour; every spare moment that I am alive is filled with their subtle hints, or their harsh instructions. They tell me to unleash hell onto this world, to open Pandora's Box, to eat the forbidden fruit. And now, for the first time, I am going to listen.
I stop in the street. Here we are. I look up at the moon, partially covered by the mist and cloud of the night. It is bright, big, and full, covering all surfaces of this inky blackness with a pale glow.
Say the Lord's Prayer. Backwards. The number of the beast is carved into my forehead. I am silent. I shudder, as the expected pain arrives, ripping my back into lashings of agony. The pain mounts as I hunch down to the floor, the screams and growls emanate freely from my lips. I stare down at my hands, the skin transforming into a combination of black and red, claws growing from the places where nails once resided. I scream as I feel the wings escape from my spine, growing out of the flesh of my back. I kneel to the floor as the agony takes over, becoming truly unbearable. The top of my head bursts into volts of pain as horns sprout from beneath my skull, accompanied by a ball of flame. It was like being reborn, except the pain was more intense and I was the one experiencing it.
Then it stops. I look down at the rain soaked stone, and see a new reflection. The face is black, the eyes are red. Behind my smiling lips I can see not just teeth, but fangs that protrude both above and below my lips. I am complete. I can see the huge shape of the wings that are now a part of me. I look down at my hands. What now resides before my eyes are much longer than before, with added muscle and strength. The claws at the end are four inches long, curved and sharp. Perfect.
I can stand up. I am now eight foot. My cloths are gone, lying in shreds on the floor because of the excess growth, but I am not embarrassed. I have no genitalia anymore, and no belly button; all s just plain black and red. I am one of them; a Dæmon, a servant of the Antichrist. I am his to do with as he sees fit. I am yours to command, master.
The voices again. Carnage. Destruction. Pain. They give me meanings to words that I have never known the truth of before. I jump up, flap my wings and I go, soaring through the sky. I am already scaling the rooftops, surveying the rooftops of this place. Covered a mile. Two. Another one. I have never been this fast. See a tall building in the distance. The tallest in the city. Smile to myself. Fly towards it.
Nearer, nearer, nearer. It is barely ten meters away. I tuck in my wings, and plough through the glass of its north side. Silence for a few seconds. i shoot through the other side, hover in the air and turn around just in time to see the building begin to crumble and then completely disintegrate at the point of contact. Screams. A passing woman on the street. She sees it, and then looks to me. Screams harder. She will be mine. I fly towards her. She runs and continues screaming. I swoop down, already able to perform elaborate stunts and acrobatics in the air. I could easily catch her, but I chase her, leaving until the last second until I grab her with my talons, take her into the air and rip her retched head from her body. The screaming stops. Throw the head to the floor. Gore on her flesh, her blood, the blood that resides within her chest. Satisfied, I rid the corpse into more pieces, and throw them all to the ground far below. Lick my lips with a serpentine, black tongue. I carry on with my rampage.
Whoever I see, whatever I see, I destroy it. Can nothing quench my appetite for destruction, my thirst for blood? I kill over twenty. Feel full. Littered the streets with corpses. That should keep them bus for a while.
Fly back to my home. There in an instant. I land silently on the roof. Clamber down the wall, next to my window. Slip in, the gap appearing like nothing to my immense form.
I concentrate. Feel the pain that I will grow to love arriving again. My shape weakens, I wretch on the floor as my teeth retract and my whole body shrinks. The wings are gone, residing in the cavities of my spine, the claws shriveling up, returning to the nails they once were my skin is now the pale white it once was. I look in the mirror. I am back to normal, with nothing to set me apart from the others except a slight redness to my eyes. That will remain there forever, a constant remainder of the Dæmon that will exist within me until the very end of my days.
Repeat. Go out, kill, drink, feed. The head of corpses lining the walls of the cemetery cannot satisfy my thirst. I need more. Give me more master. I beg of you. I require more blood. Summon me to the netherworld. I can watch the gates of hell; begin the tortured soul's horror as they walk through the doors of Lucifer. I am yours to command.
Draw a pentagram on the floor with the spike of my claw. Burn candles, sing the lords prayer. Backwards. Everything is the same as last time. The moon is high in the sky. Night. The time for dæmon's to be free, to exist. Flash of fire. Intense heat. No pain. The flames lick the black of my skin, but with no avail. Blackness. Then some light. I can see some of the embers still flickering out of focus. Then they are gone.
Turn around. There he is. My master. Horned son of the jackal. I kneel down, worship. He likes this. He clicks his fingers. I look up. Pain. More incredible than I have ever imagined. So powerful that my nerves cease to exist. Arms, legs, dead. still alive. Turn my eyes upwards. He is standing over me. Smiles. Rips my soul out through my face. I scream. Writhe in agony on the stone floor. Nothing left. Tosses my body to the side. Bursts into flames. Takes my soul. Shiny, pale white glow balancing on the edge of his clawed finger. It is his now. He eats it, consumes the spiritual side of my existence. His. Gone. Nothing. Empty.
END
By Richard McLaren
Published: 1/20/2009
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