The Devil Cries

 
Lucifer twisted on his bed, his body covered with a cold sweat. Strange voices, women’s voices, echoed in his head.

“….child of your body.” One said.

“They’re alive, they’re all alive”, said another.

His father’s voice joined the women’s, “She’s your mother.”

Then the echoes of laughter, maniacal, insane laughter, rang in his head.

With the laughter came flashes of memories, brief moments in time that his mind had buried so deeply that he hadn’t realized they existed. His mother, dressed as a warrior, blood splattered across her vest. A man that looked vaguely familiar stood slightly behind her, a look of adoration on his face.

A little boy, dark eyes shining, looking at him with a smile as he held out a frog like an offering. His mother again, her long, flowing hair glittering in the sunlight; a happy smiled on her face as she looked loving at him and the little boy.

The memory of thundering hoofs, the screams of dying men and the sickening smell of roasting flesh pierced his mind. A flash of his mother, held captive by strangely dressed men, screaming out his name…..he couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he knew it was his name.

Pain lanced through his chest, his mother screamed and struggled all the harder until one of the men drove his lance through her stomach. His vision darkened at the edges even as she sank to the blood soaked ground and reached out to him.

Then darkness, complete and silent, followed by maniacal laughter again. Satan’s laughter. The creature he thought to be his father had laughter at a child’s death.

Lucifer sprang from the bed, his clothes sticking to his damp body. Fear, anger and some emotion he couldn’t identify raged in his chest. Shedding his clothes, he stomped to the bathroom. Making the water as hot as possible, he stepped into the shower. His skin blazed red immediately, but he took no notice. Grabbing his scrubby, he scoured his skin, rinsed and did it again. By the time the water was cooling he was beet red from head to toe, and still he felt dirty.

His mother. The woman he had lusted after was his mother. No amount of soap would wash that off. Yeah, he was kinky, he’d been into the absurdly strange sex that pushed all limits. But his MOTHER? He lusted after his own mother? He knew she was his Mother, the flashes of memory he had experienced confirmed that one simple fact.

And the other little boy? The vague figure of a man behind his mother? In a flash he knew. The little boy had been his brother, a brother that he had no memory of. He couldn’t remember having a family, only Satan and that twisted bitch he had been forced to call Mother. Lilith was not the mothering type, although she was the mother of millions.

Lucifer experienced a feeling in his chest, a tightness that made it difficult to breathe. Spots appeared before his eyes and he felt a strange sensation behind his eyes. He had never been sick, had never suffered the pains of illness. So the feeling in his guts was not anything that he could identify until it was too late. He vomited before he knew he was going to.

Standing under the now cold water, Lucifer cried for the first time in his long existence.