On my list of fun things to do, burning alive is not in the top ten. Hell, it is not even a contender. Yet here I am, tied to a stake and burning. It’s funny because these poor humans don’t realize what I am. Most people can’t see beyond the veil. They assume I’m a witch. They think that burning my flesh will kill me off. They are right to fear me, but a little fire won’t do the trick. However, none of them see the big picture. These townsfolk can’t fathom what they have just unleashed upon this quaint little village. I was just passing through the area on my way to my cozy little cottage in the woods.
A crowd gathers beneath my stake, every man wearing a black top hat and every woman wearing a leather apron. The people scream at the top of their lungs, some of whom are holding crucifixes high in their hands. A few children approach the pyre, staring in terror as my skin peels from my body. That’s when I see one little girl staring into my eyes, not with the same gleeful delight as the rest of the crowd. No, her eyes are filled with terror. She gets it. She can see beyond the veil, and she sees my true form. The dark creature beneath this somewhat harmless human exterior. I laugh a little to myself at first, but after a few moments, I cackle louder than the crackling of the fire, half choking the entire time. The townsfolk back away, staring me down as the last of my skin burns, leaving nothing but a charred skeleton.
Then, everything disappears, and I’m left to stare into an endless expanse of darkness. Then, something hits me or rather I hit something. A gust of wind blows through my body, sending a shiver down my spine. Ash coats my bones as globs of flesh rise from the ashes. Every moment I spent burning on that stake is magnified tenfold while my skin regenerates layer by layer. After an eternity, my eyes receive the faintest bits of light until a lush grassland fills the horizon. A wall of trees sits beyond the prairie, and I walk towards the forest. I clench my fists and goosebumps run down my arms as black ink coats my hands. Fingertips morph into claws as the ink drips from my hands until it crystallizes harder than any steel crafted by mortal hands. I’m grateful to the townsfolk who set me free. Unfortunately, someone has to pay the price. I have a tithe to satiate, and I’m three hundred years late on payments. I funnel the ink to my back, crystallizing the ichor into bat-like wings. I leap into the air and speed through the forest. It only took me a few minutes to find a village. The village looks similar to where those mortals burned me alive. I plummet toward the church tower of the village, surrounding myself in a black sphere. As I descend faster and faster, I channel more and more energy into the sphere until it covers most of the village in its shadow. The church grows larger and larger until it fills most of my vision until…
Detonation. My darkness swallows the surrounding area as I rise from the wreckage of the church. People fill the air with their screams as black specters swallow them whole. Nothing fills me with delight more than screams of honest terror. I slip through the ruined church, noticing pews have pierced through the stone walls. My specters run amok through the village, claiming souls for my master. A priest emerges from the only intact room of the church, carrying a bowl in one hand and a crucifix in another. The priest thrusts the crucifix towards me, blinding light emanating from the ornament. Without hesitation, I slam my hands onto the ground, several black tendrils rising from the darkness around his feet. I lift my hands from the ground, each tendril wraps around the priest’s legs. The priest dips his crucifix in the water, splashing droplets all around his legs. Everywhere the water touches, the darkness dissipates, leaving behind withered grass and cracked stone. I launch a whip of darkness towards the priest, but he thrusts his crucifix toward the whip, dissolving it in the overwhelming light. The priest starts chanting something under his breath, firing a bright beam of light towards me. I tumble just beneath the beam, and it scorches off the tip of my left wing.
A cacophony of screeches echo behind me as my legion of revenants return to my side. However, my ears cannot detect a single human cry amongst the noise. The priest must have noticed this too because his triumphant smirk turns into a somber frown. I smell something sweet, the scent flooding me with ecstatic glee as the priest collapses to his knees. His crucifix tumbles when it hits the ground, the wood carving losing its obtrusive glow like a fire running out of fuel. I stalk my way towards the priest, stomping his now-dead crucifix under my feet. Wood splinters everywhere. My legion of specters follows behind me, but they stop where the crucifix hit the ground. The priest sobs to himself, pounding his fists on the ground. I stand over him for a moment, ink swirling in my claws, awaiting my command.
“Why don’t you finish me off? Can’t you tell that you’ve already won? You destroyed my entire town, killed everyone in the region, desecrated a sacred site of pilgrimage, and broke my spirit. What else is there for you to do?” the priest says.
“Well, I’m just trying to decide the best way to deliver your soul to my master. I’m also curious to know if I can even lay a claim to your soul in the first place. I suppose there is only one way to find out!”
I latch my claws around the priest’s neck, pouring my darkness into his flesh. However, the darkness halts as it reaches his chest. The priest’s body convulses, each limb shuddering like he’s been electrified. I throw the priest down to the ground, his body spiraling through the air until his neck smashes against the wall, letting out a loud crunch. I step out of the small chamber, drinking in the carnage that I’ve wrought across this place. Several windows lie shattered, blood drips down the walls, and livestock run rampant. Yet, I know my master will not be sated by this offering; he’s never sated by my tithes. I snap my fingers, and I return to a “normal” human woman. My legion is gone, sunlight returns to the abandoned village, but life will not return for some time. I doubt that life has returned to my village either, or at least the place I was sealed.
I wasn’t so powerful when I was first sealed away. I was bound pretty tight to my cage. In fact, my soul was chained within the body of a little girl. Too bad that little girl didn’t get to live out her life. I stole her soul after my power leaked out when the girl turned five years old. Her parents didn’t notice that their little girl grew a lot quieter. Nor did the rest of the village. When I grew to the age of thirteen, my “brother” found me carving a runic circle in the backyard of our house. He never said anything to our parents, and I never figured out why. He must’ve thought that I was just playing around in the dirt like any other ordinary kid. Church officials in our village did routine checks for witches, but they somehow never discovered my true identity. How they pulled that one off will forever be one of my biggest questions that will never be answered.
At the age of fifteen, the cracks in the sealing spell broke open, allowing my power to erupt out into the world once more. The day was consumed by darkness, and my body was covered head to toe in abyssal tattoos. My brother tried to grab my shoulder, but he dissolved into a puddle of black ink himself. For some reason, I mourned my brother’s death like a normal human. I had never mourned the loss of a human before that point, and I have not mourned the loss of one since my brother’s death. After my brother died, the village sought out answers for his sudden disappearance. I tried to find a way to bring him back to life, but to no avail. Whenever I tried to revive my brother, a specter would rise in his place. The grotesque creature would always crawl towards me, bowing to me as if I were its queen.
However, I am no queen. To my specters, I am omnipotent because I never falter once before them. My powerful, controlling grasp never relents on their souls, they never feel anything unless I allow them to. But no matter how powerful I am, my master is always much stronger than me. Or so he tells me. He is always certain to warn me that I’ll never reach his level, and I’ll forever be his servant until time stands still. I doubt that. If I collect enough souls, I could free myself from his clutches. Break the shackles of the cage I’m in. Shatter the will of my master, beginning my own path toward world domination, destroying the will of those who oppose me, and freeing myself from the darkness that swallowed my soul all those years ago.
Souls can be tainted by all sorts of implements like demonic blood, though I never thought the effect would have worked in reverse. Nothing prepared me for a demonic being influenced by a mortal soul. Demons have a hold over vast amounts of power within the Underworld and the Mortal realm, but sometimes people can hold powerful residual energies as well. Human bodies hold volatile amounts of spiritual energy within them, but this body has a much higher capacity for spiritual energy than any other. Additionally, it seems that this little girl’s body has been fused to my soul because every time I regenerate after death, I revive in this same body. Also, as my expertise in my power grows, the girl’s body grows as well. By now, I’ve reached what humans call adulthood, but demons don’t age anywhere beyond that. Unfortunately, that means I’ll need to watch my back until I have the power to battle the heavens.
I leave the ruined village in my wake. It doesn’t need my presence anymore anyways. The damage has been done, and my hunger has been sated. Walking amongst mortals has left me with a greater understanding of how they operate. Mortals often lie, steal, cheat, bargain, kill, conquer, and devour everything in their tracks to secure a legacy as if the grass beneath their feet care about who rules over the land. The grass just needs a little place to collect sunlight and it’s happy. My bare feet squish the blades of grass as I trudge my way to the next village. If the people allow me to live without bothering me too much, I might just let them exist in peace. Birds chirp as I cross the threshold into the forest. Branches swat at my limbs as I walk through the dense foliage. Vines coil around branches and trunks of trees, spiraling up to the sunlight above. Sunset is approaching. The animals are growing restless, and the spirits of mortals wander through the trees. Subjugated already dead souls proves to be exhausting, so I avoid claiming them. It’s harder to take someone’s freedom once they’ve tasted what freedom is like. I am no different.
I reach my hands toward the sky, energy crackling throughout the forest. Trees sway in the wind, buckling beneath the weight of the immense power. I close my fingers around the power of the forest, and a patch of green smoke manifests in the air. I track the trail, following the deep verdant green smoke through the darkening sunlight. Night is the keeper of my kind. We worship the dark like mortals worship the light. Our protection from the oppression of the light, and our forefathers were banished to the depths of hell. Hell is a dark place. Fire burns you, yet nothing can be seen. Fires in the mortal world provide light and protection, but fires in hell devour the light, leaving nothing but darkness. An eternal darkness that nothing can pierce. Hope is a dangerous thing for a demon. We are destroyed by the recklessness of hopefulness. My mother was spurned by a lover who gave her hope. I refuse to meet the same fate as my mother.
My mother was a queen. I am a princess exiled from her land. We are both victims of circumstance, but mother lost herself in the grief of her mortal lover. My father did manage to make himself a demon, but the transformation left him a mangled wreck just like the tortured branches on the trees around me. The stars shimmer in the night sky, while cirrus clouds leave faint gray streaks across the horizon. Yet I stumble upon a clearing in the forest with ancient ruins far older than many civilizations in this world. The site draws the darkness out from my body, forming my demonic body once more. I study the site, staring at the drainage channels that lead to the central circular trapdoor. Everything within this region screams a trap, like a hidden hand clawing at my energy, threatening to tear it from my body. Each hidden hand screams in the depths of my mind, agony coursing through me like a rushing river and carving scrapes into my thoughts. It takes every ounce of my power, of my will, of my soul to escape from the ruin. As my body starts to recover, I sprint away from the frenetic dissonance of the ruin. It felt like raw, unbridled chaos.
Humans sleep a lot. After one hundred years, I still haven’t managed to get used to dreaming, nor have I adjusted to what my mind does while I’m dreaming? The dawn’s light pierces through the thin gray veil drifting just above the horizon. Spires of trees reach their way toward the heavens. Most creatures find it quite unbearable when they can’t see much more than around thirty to forty steps ahead of them. I can safely say that I am the same. Nothing is worse than a day wasted, all the potential in the world squandered thanks to a few lazy clouds. I hate the way that water clings to this mortal skin. Demons don’t have skin like humans do. Rather than doing nothing, I slip out of my cave, raindrops pouring down onto the forest floor and splashing back onto my legs. So, I run as fast as I can, hurtling over fallen trees and broken branches. Yet after running far enough to a few hundred thousand meters, I discover an abandoned cottage.
The windows are cracked and shattered, a few glass fragments still sitting in the broken frame. I knock on the door, and the wood creaks as if it hasn’t been touched in decades. I shove the door open, stepping into the central hallway and coughing more than a tuberculosis victim. A few relics still sit upon the shelves like a rose-colored dress smothered in gray powder, a handmade chair that looks to be in almost perfect condition, and a book that looks as if it could rot away any minute now. I struggle to see any further than a few footsteps ahead of me as the muted gray light reaches its limits in the main room. Despite the darkness, the area radiates calming energy. This place speaks to this mortal flesh prison, my heart beating slow and smooth in my chest. I slip into another room, unearthing a bedroom. A dirty bed sits along the wall, with a small lump sitting under the blanket. I channel my ink into my right hand, claws stretching my fingers twice as long. I peel the blanket from the bed, revealing the skeletal remains of a young girl. A young girl that could have been me, or a young girl that the original owner of this body could have been.
My heart skips a beat as a distant shriek carves its way through the air. The rest of my body sheds ink, stitching my demon form to this mortal frame. The rain still pounds the forest outside, the tin roof singing a cacophony into the aether. I summon a few of my specters into the main room, each of them wielding medieval weaponry. I never know what weapons my specters will wield when they rise from the grave. The shriek echoes again, and I close my eyes, unleashing a spool of black ink that spreads all throughout the house. I weave the ink out into the forest, each droplet hitting the leaves and triggering a pore on my skin. The droplets collide with the rain, dispersing onto a being in the middle of the forest. My pores open all at once, pain flooding through each possible nerve. I draw my ink back to me, each sensation overwhelming my thoughts.
“You are nothing but a tool, though you’re a very useful tool, darling,” a vile voice shouts from the forest.
“You. I hate you. For every single thing that you’ve done to me, every year that I have been sealed in this body, every lifetime that I have lived in this mortal flesh, and every moment that I have spent burning alive for your wicked plans, I hate everything about you,” I hiss.
My specters prepare their weapons as a figure walks towards the house. The figure marches toward the house, its radiant light frying me and my specters. I duck behind the bed, recalling my specters. Footsteps echo through the house, while dusty lights ignite once more. I look around the bedroom, finding a window untouched by the blinding radiance. I leap through the window, glass shattering all around me. I scramble to my feet, running as fast as my mortal legs can take me. I sprint passed several trees, vaulting over fallen branches and trunks strewn along the ground. As I’m running, I notice that shadows are being cast towards ahead of me. I look over my shoulder, finding a golden man floating towards me, a halo of light encircling his body.
“There’s nowhere for you to hide, hideous creature. I’ll bring your severed head to my commander, and the body of the poor mortal you’ve possessed!” the man shouts.
“I didn’t possess this body. I was sealed in it. And you’ve made quite the gamble. Do you think that I won’t be able to harm you because you wield a little bit of light.”
I weave a wave of ink into the shadows in the trees, sprouting black branches from the bark. Each branch separates into several vines, wrapping around this wannabe angel. The man writhes and struggles against the vines, but whenever he breaks one of the vines, two more take its place.
“Talk about a hydrangea bitch!”
I pour more ink into the surrounding trees, conjuring more branches and vines around the would-be hero. By the time I’m done ensnaring him in vines, I find his light a lot more tolerable. Instead of a blinding blur of brilliant sunshine, I find a mortal man encased in a silver suit of armor. Golden engravings lie etched into the silver plate mail armor, but nothing too powerful to defend against me. I could drain his soul for my army, but there could be some use for the man alive. I ball my fingers into a fist, pulling the crusader towards me. The crusader groans as the vines grip tighter and tighter, cracking his silver breastplate as dark tendrils erupt from within the armor.
“I shall give you an opportunity to save yourself from death. If you are willing to aid me in finding another home, I will spare your life,” I say.
“I would rather die than help a demon. My god will save me from your vile powers, and I’ll emerge victorious from this trap.”
“Sure, sure. And your light fared so well against my abilities earlier that you’d like to do a repeat attempt.”
I spread my fingers wide, the vines tearing apart the crusader’s armor, broken scraps of metal littering the forest floor. The crusader stares dumbfounded as vines dig into his flesh, darkness creeping up his veins. The crusader recites a prayer while a dark stain builds up on his pants. I clench my fingers once more, and the vines cease to move. I walk closer to the crusader now, his once furious light all but extinguished, and brush my fingers against the bottom of his chin. The crusader’s eyes fall upon mine, a smile creeping across as the man reaches his breaking point.
“This could all be over if you just help me out. Your soul won’t reach whoever you worship.”
I spread my fingers once more, the vines snaring his wrists as blood trickles down the length of my dark constructs. The man lets out a defiant shout as my power creeps into his chest, bursting his heart into a million pieces. The vines spread throughout the rest of his body, draining whatever scraps of power the crusader had left within his flesh. I snap my fingers, commanding the vines to retract, tearing apart the crusaders flesh. Scraps of flesh fall down to the ground, soaking the grasses and ferns in crimson tears. I weave a web of darkness in the air, occluding the light of the sun and life. I stare at the web, expecting to find the crusader’s soul. However, nothing appears. I dispel the darkness, letting out a vicious snarl.
“His soul could not have escaped from my grasp. Where the hell are you, my new pet?”
I summon my most recent specter, pulling the crusader back to the mortal plane. His flesh burns black as tar and his eyes glow a deep violet hue. Each specter has its own distinct characteristic, and the crusader’s eyes are his special trait. I dispel the specter, sending him back to my domain. I shift my gaze towards a faint pulling at the back of my mind. The green smoke reappears for a brief moment, yanking me almost violently against my will. Images of the ruins flood my mind, darkness bleeding out from my flesh, forming spines and tendrils that drag me through the forest and away from the ruins. At the edge of the forest, the spines recede, sending me tumbling across a large grass field, rolling over and over again until I land on a patch of loose dirt. I hoist myself from the ground, dusting off my clothes and brushing the dirt from my hair. When I look around, I find myself in the middle of a dirt road. In the distance looms a large town, several industrial buildings pumping dark smoke into the sky beyond.
Upon reaching the town, I find a dust-ridden cesspool of debauchery. An idiot comes flying through a window on my left, tumbling across the road. As I walk passed, he rises to his feet and charges straight back towards the bar, leaping right through the window he just flew out of. The houses in this town are stacked on top of one another closer than most people in a funeral pyre. I scan my surroundings, noticing a guy robbing a woman’s purse, a child being abused by several other kids his age, and a woman stabbing a man in the depths of an alley. After a while, I reach an inn, which is bordered by the sheriffs’ office. I suppose the inn must be a safe space for someone like me, though I think this place seems like the closest thing to home I can find. I knock on the door, banging my wrist against the wooden frame.
“Hello, is anyone in here? I’d like a room,” I shout.
Not a single sound or voice echoes from the inn, so I break the door in. Wood chunks shoot into the main room, several pieces impaling the wooden counters. I march my way into the main room, but no one’s here. Cobwebs cling to the ceiling, spiraling down to the floors. Dust particles float in the air like dandelion seeds, pirouetting down to the floor in such a graceful fashion. This place is quite deserted, but the furniture says it was used a lot more recently than what meets the eye. I spot a staircase on my left, taking them up to investigate the rooms above.
The second floor features a lot of rooms, some of which are bound to be bedrooms. I open the first door on my left, finding books scattered all over the floor and bloody carvings all over the walls. I shudder at the pull of the words on the wall, slamming the door shut. My heart races in my chest, beating a hundred times a second as ragged breaths flood my lungs. I stumble towards the second door on the left, prying it open with slow methodical precision. Behind the door lies a bedroom, though a corpse lies on the floor. The carpet lies below the body, a once dark-blue carpet now stained black with blood. I close the door even faster than the last, my disgust flickering within my stomach, threatening to unleash whatever contents I have in me. By the third door, I punch it open, shattering wood into pieces. Before my eyes lies a nice clean bed, one untouched by the destructive power of humanity’s sinful grasp. Whilst sin is a festive occasion in Hell, I could care less about it. I feed upon souls themselves, so sin doesn’t fuel my power at all. In fact, human sin feeds my master’s power. Nothing fuels my anguish and hatred more than this loathsome little sack of shit they call a town. Unfortunately for me, I doubt that I will escape this place any time soon.
I collapse onto the bed, energy leaking out in whisps and my claws stretch passed my fingertips. I take a deep breath, ruffling the roots of my crimson waist-length hair that hangs over top my breasts. This young woman would have been such a prize for her husband, though I doubt she would have liked that. Rosita was a fiercely stubborn person, something I must’ve inherited from her. This body is the only connection to her that I have left. Sometimes, I even call myself Rosita in her memory, though it’s more because a demon can’t give away its true name: I will never be someone’s tool again. On my bed, I stare into the ceiling, my eyes tracing inscriptions in circles, adding one layer at a time until no space is left. A faint sound echoes down the hallway, prompting me to slam my door shut. The inscriptions on the ceilings burn black demonic letters in the painted wood ceiling.
