All Life Demons

“GERARD!!! Come forward” a deep booming voice echoed throughout the great dark hall. Two large double-stone doors slowly crawled open to reveal a cavernous throne room. Lit only by torches, the large rock expanse had a single blood red and golden-tasseled carpet that stretched the entire length from the entrance to the very foot of an impressive granite throne. On either side of the carpet, dozens of trident-wielding soldiers covered from head-to-toe in silver-plated body armor. Shoulder-to-shoulder with weapon in one hand and shield in the other, they stood completely still, immersed in the eerie silence. That silence was soon shattered though by the reverberating sound of approaching foot steps.

Accompanied by two identical guards at his side, a young man appeared in the entrance way to the throne room. Attempting to look brave in front of his Lord and Master with his obsidian eyes, he gulped down a large lump in his throat.

“You may leave us,” the Lord waved a hand at the two guards who promptly turned about-face and exited.

The Lord’s fiery orbs bore into the boy’s dark ones as he nervously began to flatten out his short-cropped raven hair.

“Come forward!” the Lord voice rumbled through the air again, this time with a touch of aggravation.

His voice bounced around so much that it shook the entire room, a stalactite shaking free and crashing to the floor below and crumbling to pieces, barely missing a guard. The young man hardly winced at the noise, however, because he knew his fate was much worse than being pierced or crushed to death by falling objects. In fact, he was sorely disappointed that it missed him.

Sighing dejectedly, he began his long descent down the endless carpet and kneeled in front of the throne, head bowed.

“Gerard, my son, do you know why I am in such a state right now?” The Lord thundered.

Without looking up, he replied, “Yes, Father. I have failed you yet again.”

“Remind me once more; what was your mission?”

“To kill the Archangel Michael,” Gerard answered standing up, his head still hung.

“What’s that? I don’t think the guards in the back heard you!”

“TO KILL THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL!” he yelled.

“And did you kill him?” his father pressed.

“No.”

“And why not, my son?”

“He beat me too badly, Father. He nearly sliced me through with his magic sword and he burned me with Holy Water.”

“And why aren’t you dead?”

“Father, I suppose he thought I was. Both of us were very near death. But in a last ditch effort, with all the strength left in my body, I leapt on him and bit into him as hard as I could. Unfortunately, he still had power in him and he tossed me over his shoulder and then took off. He left me lying in a pool of my own blood.”

“Show me these injuries of yours,” the Lord demanded.

Rolling up the sleeves to his black button-down shirt, Gerard revealed a web of deep, bright red scars covering the creamy-white skin of both his arms. Unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it just off his shoulder a bit, showed more similar cuts. Finally throwing the shirt away and slowly turning around, the Lord stared, unmoved, as his eyes wandered over random patches of burned flesh that scattered from his son’s back and shoulders and up his chest. Two pale pink lines ruined the near-perfection of his beautiful face, just under each obsidian orb.

“Like I said, he just left me there in a pool of-”

“A pool in which you should have stayed,” the Lord interrupted. “Gerard, this is the final straw. Time and time again, you have failed me. You are out of chances now. I am your Father, the Great Lord Satan; I demand perfection. Failure is weakness, and weakness is unacceptable. And now you leave me with no choice but to deal with you myself.”

“Please, Father, no!” Gerard cried, getting on his hands and knees.

“I have thousands of other sons and daughters; what is one less?” the Lord Satan spit. “And get up off the floor, you cowardly dog!”

Gerard quickly crawled back on two legs before his father had the opportunity to kick him.

“You have angered me for the last time. You,” he growled, pointing to a guard. “Fetch me my son’s soul stone, now!”

“NO!” his son screamed. Just then, the air in the throne room became deathly still and quiet.

Barely undetectable at first but slowly coming into perception, Gerard felt the room begin to shake around him with a low rumble. Without warning, the young man was knocked off balance as dozens of stalactites crashed around him. Curling into a ball and tucking his head under for protection, he waited patiently for it to be over. Again, he was disheartened when he looked up and met his father’s evil angry gaze. Gathering himself up and brushing tiny pebbles and dust off himself, again, Gerard tried to plead his case again.

“Father, please reconsider. Don’t destroy my soul stone. Don’t destroy my immortality. I promise I’ve learned my lesson. I will never fail you again, you have my word. One more chance is all I ask.”

With hopeful eyes, Gerard returned his father’s look. Satan’s look, however, was as cold and hard as the marble upon which he sat.

“Why do you do deserve another chance?” he finally asked calmly.

Gerard was slightly taken aback by the question. He was begging for his own well-being here, and he couldn’t think of an answer, let alone a good enough one.

“Because…” he hesitated, still not sure how he would finish his life-saving thought. “Practice…makes…perfect,” he said each word a little quieter and blushing madly.

Stupid answer. Stupid answer.

Truth was, he had messed up on his missions a lot. Simple missions at that. And this time, he seemed out of excuses. Waiting for the inevitable to happen, Gerard bent down to pick up his shirt that lay in a crumbled mess on the ground and buttoned it back up, ready to take it like a man-err, demon. With a steady, calming breath emptying and refilling his lungs, Gerard kept his gaze straight on his father.

“We are in luck.”

Suspiciously narrowing his eyes, Gerard waited for his father to continue speaking.

“Your most recent enemy, Michael, has fallen.”

“Fallen, Father?” Gerard asked like he’d never heard the word before.

“Yes. Seems our dear angel is a bit of a clumsy one. He was seriously wounded in an accident and fell off a cloud to Earth. His wings are gone, along with his magic. Even better, a mortal woman who is caring for him thinks she’s in love with him.”

Gerard couldn’t believe his ears. Michael, powerless, and in the care of a mortal woman! It was too good to be true. Try as he might, the demon struggled to keep the gleeful smile off his face.

“Gerard, I want you to go into the town square and make an announcement for me. I want a meeting with all my sons who can attend, here in my throne room at noon sharp tomorrow. I want to discuss with them an important assignment regarding this news.”

Seeing the opportunity before his very eyes, Gerard spoke up. “I can do it, Father.”

To that, Satan uproariously chuckled. “You?! Why would I trust you with such a mission? You’re lucky I’m allowing you to live. Go, spread my message; or is that even too difficult for you?”

Each word stung Gerard through the heart worse than his angel-inflicted wounds, ten-fold.

“Please, Father; I can do this, I know I can. I can feel it.”

“And you did not ‘feel it’ all those other times?” Satan said matter-of-factly.

“Father, PLEASE. Allow me to do this. To regain my honor and your trust. Let me prove once and for all that I’m not just some useless stool-pigeon. What does this mission entail, anyway?”

“With Michael out of the way, that puts me in the perfect position for what I’ve been trying to do for years now.”

“An Anti-Christ?”

“An Anti-Christ. What I need is someone to go down there and steer her away from the angel long enough to implant these,” he explained, pulling out a small vial from his back pocket. “I assume you know what this is for, Gerard?”

The demon nodded, without saying a word.

“After the seeds have been planted and the child finally born, I need that someone to keep the baby out of harm’s way, from Heavenly intervention, until their eighteenth year. That is when the child will be sent back to me where they will start their full training.”

“Father, that sounds easy!”

To that, Satan stared right at his son with a ‘That’s what you say all the time’ look.

“Father, I have the charm and wits of a dozen men. Women cannot resist me. Send me on this mission. I promise, I will not let you down.”

“Are you sure you want to deal with the Church again so soon after suffering such injuries?” he asked, indicating his son’s battered body.

“It will heal in no time. And I am always on the look-out for priests and other Church officials. So, can I go?”

Rubbing his temples slowly, Satan gave his son a defeated, “Yes, you may go. But be warned, Gerard,” he said much more seriously. “This is your absolute last chance. Do not mess this up. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father, you are clear as ever.”

“Crystal?”

“Crystal.”

“Good, now, come here, I have to show you something,” the Under Lord beckoned his son forward.

With a wave of his hand, a giant wall of fire suddenly appeared, hanging in the air. Through the flames, an image started to appear. It was a woman standing next to an all too familiar man.

“She is Violet Cordell. That, as you know, is Michael. I have been watching them for the last day since his fall. She is twenty-five years old, and lives alone in New York City. She recently broke up with her boyfriend, so you should have no problem there. I don’t care what you do; seduce her, rape her, kidnap her, threaten her; it doesn’t matter. I don’t care how long it takes. Just make sure what’s in this vial gets in her. And do not step foot back in Hell until your mission is complete. Again, is that understood?”

“Yes, Father, I understand.”

Staring more intently into the fire, his attention was locked on the woman. She appeared to be cleaning and dressing up Michael’s wounds that he inflicted.

Serves him right for using that sword on such a flawless face as mine.

Just the thought of winning back his father’s trust made a sinister smile creep across the demon’s marred face. This Violet was his ticket back. She would be his. Whatever it takes.