Today I’m doing something a little different again. As you can tell by the title this is the first chapter of that story I was talking about. I hope you all like reading it just as much as I liked writing it. But if you have any suggestions or ways I could possibly make the story better, please don’t hesitate to let me know. That’s just about it for this intro, I’ll see you in the next post.
It was early Sunday morning when Damien was roughly shaken awake. Still groggy he turned over and tried to get back to sleep when he was practically dragged off of his bed.
“Get up, we’re going to be late for church” said his mom.
“Yeah yeah, I’m up” he said.
With this happening every week you’d think I’d get used to it, thought Damien.
For years his parents had been dragging him along to church every Sunday morning. Maybe his parents thought that going to church would “cure” him of his interest in the occult but so far it hasn’t worked out like that at all.
You had to actually care what was going on in church for it to help you at all. Damien was one of those people who didn’t care for Christianity or any other religion, and this church service played out just like every other one. He sat down with his family and zoned out until the service was over. Like always he didn’t remember anything the pastor had said and his mom yelled at him for not paying attention.
The rest of the day was rather uneventful. It wasn’t until nighttime that anything interesting would happen. But of course Damien didn’t know that yet. This Sunday night there was going to be a blood moon. He was about ready to give up on the supernatural. If this summoning ritual in the woods under the blood moon, didn’t work, there was no hope for him when it came to this stuff.
It was a still and silent night. The leaves on the trees weren’t even rustling when Damien walked into the forest, a gas can in one hand and a dagger in the other. Deep in the woods there was a clearing where the ground was completely taken up by a flat rock. Nothing ever grew there so it was the perfect place.
He poured the gasoline on the rock in the shape of a pentagram. He sliced his hand with the dagger, grimacing with pain as he dripped blood on each point of the pentagram. He set the gas on fire and started chanting in Latin. He didn’t fully understand the words but apparently this was a spell to summon the devil. Finishing his chant he dripped more blood into the flames. They flared up higher than his head and turned blood red with smoke blacker than the void.
When Damien looked to the sky the moonlight had been completely blocked out, or rather the moon seemed to have disappeared completely. He looked around, trying to find his way out of the clearing but his eyes were met with smoky darkness on all sides. The air was filled with the same black smoke from earlier. But somehow it wasn’t making him cough and he had no trouble breathing. Then a voice echoed out from the darkness. Like ten voices were speaking at once, it was deep and rumbling with the faint sound of crackling flames in the background.
The language it spoke was not one Damien understood. His chants had been in latin but he felt that these words came from a much older tongue. Something so ancient that it had been lost to time all but completely. Could this be the tongue of origin that was written of in his books. The language spoken by angels as well as God himself.
But this being was no angel. It was almost certainly a demon. The ritual he had done was meant to summon a demon. But it was almost as if he had gotten summoned instead. Why was a demon speaking the language of God though? It didn’t make any sense but Damien realized his question would probably remain unanswered. Still, he had to ask.
“What are you saying?” He said, “I can’t understand this language that I’ve never heard before.”
Seemingly caught by surprise, the voice paused before saying any more. Then it resumed its speech, this time in English.
“What are you doing here?” It said, “Why did you perform such a ritual and how did you survive?”
“I never expected that to work so I didn’t really think about what I’d do if it succeeded. Also, what do you mean survive? Was that magic supposed to kill me?” said Damien.
“No, but of all the thousands who have performed that ritual you are the only one who was able to both complete it successfully and survive its effects.” Said the demon.
“What kind of a ritual was it?” asked Damien, “even though I was able to do whatever it is that I did I still don’t fully understand what that is.”
“I’m afraid I can’t explain that myself,” said the demon, “but I will take you to the one who can.”
“Who might that be?” Damien asked.
“I’m sure you already know his name.” said the demon, “the one who will be able to answer all your questions is none other than Satan, the most powerful of all demons and ruler of this land.”
“Really!?” said Damien, “but why would the devil himself want to talk with a human like me? Is he the one who brought me here?”
“Just wait,” said the demon, “all your questions will be answered in time. Just know that you are special. If you were just like all the other humans that ritual would have killed you.”
With that the darkness and smoke started to fade. In front of him was a massive fortress of black stone lit by torches with blood red flames. Standing beside Damien was a figure cloaked in shadow. The darkness dripped off of it almost like oil. Was this the demon he had spoken to? It floated towards the huge iron gate and opened with a wave of its hand before vanishing back into the shadows like smoke into a cloudy night sky.
Damien strode forward, keeping an eye on his surroundings as he stepped through the gate. As soon as he crossed the threshold it slammed shut behind with a resounding boom so loud it put all but the biggest explosions to shame. It was almost like the sound had been inside his head because his ears weren’t even ringing. But after the boom there was silence.
For a moment Damien thought that he had gone deaf. But when he tried to put his hands to his ears he realized his ears weren’t there. For that matter neither were his hands. When he looked down, where his body should have been was a cloud of smoke. When he moved he wasn’t really walking, instead he floated wherever he wanted to go.
He took another “step” forward and the surroundings changed before he could blink. If blinking was even something he could do anymore. He was now in a long, pillar-lined room with a huge throne at the far end.
The throne was a hulking, monstrous thing that stood at least four times as tall as Damien if not more. It looked as if pieces of the fortress walls had been haphazardly thrown into a pile and melted into shape. Black and red flames sputtered in the space between the stones. Occasionally they flared up, illuminating the dark room for a short time before fading away under the throne again.
Damien allowed himself to drift forward until the figure sitting on the throne came into view more clearly. Aside from his height he looked a lot like any other man. He was covered in what seemed to be burn scars. He had a pair of angel wings on his back, or that’s what they used to be anyway. Now they were tattered and charred black. Only a shadow of their former glory.
As Damien approached further the one on the throne spoke.
“So, you wish to know why you’re here when so many before you failed?” they said, “Come closer and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“So you’re Satan?” Damien asked, “You’re a lot different than I imagined you being.”
“That I am.” Satan said in his deep, booming voice, “That I am.”.