The Many Faces of Evil

I, Daniel, woke, staring at the ceiling. Every day I had cursed my parents for leaving me to burn in this place. Burning in Hell was more of a colloquial term, considering that hardly any of the Circles were actually on fire. It was, however, about 1000 degrees Celsius down here, but demons got used to that.

Part demon. Humph. Just because my figure was constantly bathed in shadow, just because my eyes glowed yellow, just because my halo was red... just because I was so fundamentally different, Michael had decided to leave me with Lord Beelzebub.

Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies. The bastard was a great demon fly himself. Oh, don't get me wrong, he's very intimidating in person. Demon fly does seem ridiculous on paper, though. His body was a cross between an exoskeleton and scales and was black and brown-red, the color of dried blood, and his wings were translucent and the yellow of vomit. Perhaps the most frightening image was of his face, which held two not-quite-human eyes. They were black holes, endless portals into the abyss with a pinpoint of flame at the bottom. Beelzebub's mouth was a pair of black mandibles that looked as though they could rip a man in two with one brief swipe, then drag the broken corpse into his set of human teeth.

I would say that he was a softy in an ironic separate paragraph, but the son of a bitch was ruthless. I had toiled day in and day out under his command while he verbally abused me, telling me what I was doing wrong, telling me how to fix it, and threatening me with a few hundred years of torture. Because of this, I had grown strong, grown into a formidable warrior.

Grumbling, I got out of bed. If only I were more of a morning person... Oh well, there were some things to which I would never bother adjusting. I stood out on the balcony outside of my house, letting the blazing morning air brush against my face. I lived in the Seventh Circle of Hell in the city of Dis (take a look at the Wikipedia article on Inferno by Dante), so when I had a brilliant view of a boiling lake of blood. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, mind you.

"Daniel!" shouted a familiar voice. Down below was a familiar fly fluttering on my back porch. I threw on my black robe, secured it with the red sash, and jumped down to join my instructor.

"Hi Beelzebub," I greeted him, bowing comically.

"Good morning, smart-ass," the great fly grumbled.

"Someone not have their coffee this morning?" I asked, leaning against the wooden railing.

"How would I drink coffee?" Beelzebub asked, crossing his upper two arms.

"My point exactly."

"Daniel, I think you're ready," the Lord sighed, wishing he could have fought against the decision.

"What say did you have in that," I wondered.

"It was six to one," Beelzebub explained. "I think you can see how that vote worked out."

"Aw, Bubby, why'd you have to vote against me?" I said in a mocking tone.

"That's why!" the demon yelled, throwing his four arms into the air. "You're immature, you can't take anything seriously, you're hostile to everyone, and you're too smart. You act like a complete dumbass one moment, then outsmart a scholar the next. What is wrong with you?"

"I'm an angel living in Hell," I replied, very gravely. "I don't know how to act. No one teaches me anything that will get me far in life. You just instruct me on not how to get killed. I love fighting, I do, but it's not exactly every person's dream to just go running around with a sword in hand, doing whatever he's told by some oversized pest!"

There was a moment of silence as this honesty was shed on Beelzebub. It was the thousandth time, literally, he had heard a variant of that speech.

"I... I give you my unwavering support," the demon sighed.

"Thanks," I said, perking up and walking into the kitchen to grab a breakfast on the go.

"You manipulative bastard!" Beelzebub, one of the seven greatest masters of manipulation, yelled in fury. I replied with a rude gesture.

***

"What do you call yourself?" Satan asked.

You must be wondering what he looks like. Well, I hate to go so low as to compare things to movies, but I can't quite seem to figure out how else to describe him; if you've ever seen the Balrog in Lord of the Rings, he's much like that. The difference is that he's not on fire and that his eyes are much like Beelzebub's: black holes with fiery pupils.

"My name is Daniel," I answered, standing tall, gripping the hilt of my sword, "son of Saint Michael and the only Hell-angel. I stand tall and proud as the only one of my own, a sentinel of the white flame."

"Very poignant," Satan complimented, rising from his throne of skulls. "I like you, Daniel the Sentinel. You are accepted as a warrior of the flame. I have seen you in battle. You shall be my personal warrior aide."

I smiled, rolling my shoulders back a little bit, more than satisfied with the result.

"Your first act of business is to go see your family and tell them the good news," the Prince of Darkness said, waving me off. Beelzebub and I adjourned from the hall.

***

So this was my other home. The air of Hell had been that of hate, pain, and anger and I had grown used to that; the feel of Heaven was that of happiness, acceptance, and peace. I absolutely hated it. An angel smiled at me in passing, causing me to shiver in disgust.

"Welcome home, Daniel," Saint Michael-- Dad-- greeted me.

"Yeah, something like that," I scoffed, looking at the paradise before my eyes.