A Revolution (1/?)
Title: A Revolution (1/?)
Author: marmaladeflesh
Rating: R
Summary: The Prince of Darkness realizes the missing pieces of his life and sets out to reclaim them. Not exactly a sequel to Antichrist but is written with that same concept in mind.
Disclaimer: Troy Duffy owns Connor and Murphy. God and the Devil, they belong to me!
Warning: Alternate Universe. Blasphemy. Biblical themes. Macabre. Rhyme schemes.
Those who picture Hell as a dark and crowded place are wrong. The ones that expect to smell the stench of burning flesh and to hear deafening cries of agony are deeply mistaken. Winged demons don't teem the starless sky. The Devil bears no horns or a pitchfork with which to torture wretched souls of the damned.
Truthfully, before man sinned, before the beginning, Hell was created only to please Satan's son. And to this very day exists still, for that reason most of all. A whole world devoted to Lucifer's precious spawn and his favors, his desires, his needs.
In that image, Hell is a world created to shine brighter than the eye can bear. Far brighter than the sun and God's rumored "Promise Land". An ocean of white-hot, rolling flame surrounds its countries with waves that lick on treading feet. Such magnificent fire that may have once fascinated the Son in a previous life is now but as dull and common as concrete.
Satan then spawned remarkable creatures for his son. Tall, masculine creatures with rich dark fur, majestic black wings, strong claws and sharp teeth. But the Son, sometime in his immortal life, grew tired of three headed dogs and winged horses. He requested a friend, a companion to play with. So Lucifer left Hell to the mortal world in the promise of returning with sinners to bring back home.
The damned had once been put to work to build a place in which Satan and his son would reign supreme as King and Prince of Hell. They used what they had: their very bones. These poor souls, they shakily peeled off their skin and flesh and constructed their bones together to match Lucifer's intricate plans, all while screaming until they were dry-heaving and writhing with unabated pain and terror. It had taken a lifetime but the outcome was a grand ivory castle where the scorching heat of Hell's water did not reach.
And as his son continued to grow and change, so did his desires continued to morph into those much harder to obtain. Yet the Devil's unsurpassed craft succeeded in bidding each and every one of his son's demands. A whole world dedicated to Lucifer's spawn. For he so loved his only begotten son that he gave the world.
Hell is no underground torture chamber. It wasn't made to punish souls, but sometime in the milleniums it had become a holding cell for the dead; the ones denied entrance to Heaven.
There is pain, no doubt, more than simple humanity can permit. But Hell is not punishment through pain of the flesh. After only centuries of physical torture upon their broken, screaming bodies, do they acquire the absolute truth that Hell is, in all aspects of the word, infinite. They are driven mad with increasing hopelessness, deranged with metaphysical hardships. They cannot escape or die and worst of all, find content in the lost pleasures they once loved. An eternity without consummation.
The King never knew perpetual boredom like the teeming souls inhabiting Hell. He found peace in serving the Prince in the hopes to make him happy if only for a moment. That was the order of things. The aspiring Prince would always bear a longing in his heart for something new and the King would always find a way to fulfill it. Until that night when the Son wished for something not even the Devil had the power to grant.
*
In an homage to gluttony, the long stretch of dining table was adorned with such a luxurious feast. Fruits ripe and nearly bursting through the skin, a train of succulent dishes generously spilled over the plates under them. In the center, a plump sow trimmed with lettuce and garnished with an apple in its mouth, it's seared skin gleamed copper under the candlelight. On each end of the table sat Satan and the Son. They skimmed off only the outskirts of the lavish meal before them, ate only a minimal serving.
The Prince was slouched over the table, head in his hand while he picked at the contents of his plate and fed himself grapes occasionally, gaunt in his young way. He looked nothing like his father. While the Devil was beautiful that concept seemed all too foreign to him. By luck he was more human than his father, and humans were ugly, filthy beings.
He looked at his father across from him with eyes so dark it brought a shadow to his lids. He eyed the King. His features that were sharp and characteristically alluring. His handsome body thin yet sturdy, feminine yet masculine. He watched his father's strong yet graceful hands grasp his cup of wine and drink from it before he resumed slowly abrading his dinner. His mannerisms so adequately timed, almost seemed planned well ahead. His harrowing silence. His calm. It drove the Prince mad.
Containing himself no longer, the Prince spoke,
"Father, I bear a desire that I must speak."
The Devil's lips formed into a devious smile as his fork and knife was set down, mindful of his son,
"What is this fetish that you seek?
In Hell, the twisted tongue was bent to rhyme.
"Today I walked through the valley of death,
and all around me were souls, a prayer on their breath.
They pray and curse God's name in vain.
Perchance to rest, they beg to saints.
Their pleas became mine; an angel I devoutly wish,
for only this should bring me bliss."
Lucifer just nodded to his son, a plot forming beneath his wicked eyes.
*
The Prince appraised the boy present before him, tongue idly swiping along his lip. Soft, boyish features with fair skin and light blond hair. He leered,
"What brings you to my circle of Hell?"
"My time was short, sir. I've little to tell." His voice null,
"With the torment of fiends my life was shrouded
in solitude it was surrounded.
The loneness of my life was done,
I shot myself with daddy's gun."
This was an exquisite find indeed, but no angel. Angels don't kill.
*
The Prince conveyed the land below from his white tower, elbow rested against the arm folded over himself, a cigarette perched between two fingers, gnawing at the nail of his thumb. A paintbrush in his right hand.
'The pit of this well where I lay
echoes louder each passing day
O, why must I have fear,
of what it is I feel?
It bubbles like a sore;
that everything I'll ask and more
is not enough to salve my hunger.
Til late last night in my dreadful slumber.
When I laid to rest my weary head
a dream to me seemed heaven sent
I'm shot to shame!
An angel's face that holds no name.
But when I wake it's all the same;
I hear them pray
an angel's name that holds no face.
This consternation digs in me,
denies me rest for centuries.
And whilst everything fails,
my blistered bitten fingernails
bleed out from me
for eternity.'
He was disrupted from his reverie when he heard a whisper.
The boy's vision was blurred and his forehead slickened with the fall of hot tears. They dripped from the ends of his blond hair, mixing into the bucket placed directly under where he was strung upside down like cattle in the will that not one drop of blood be wasted. More steadily than the dulled drip of tears was the stream of red that flowed from the deep slash in his gut, filling the bucket. He felt his bowels spill out from him, escaping him, and all he could do was cry and curse the name of his lord and hang limp and watch the artist paint more horrid scenes with the blood.
A pained hiss, "Connor, Connor, lama sabachthani?"
The Prince whipped his head around to look at the boy, cigarette between his lips,
"What did you just say to me?"
"I pray to the messiah, not you sir, I beg your pardon."
"This name Connor is familiar on my tongue.
Though how, I've forgotten.
An angel is he?"
"Aye, a saint, I say to thee."
"A saint you say? I must confess,
why does this name strike interest?"
Something in the mention of the name struck a chord, a want so powerful in the Prince that it reverberated in his very dark soul. He stood confused, his brow furrowed in wonder as he listened to the gutted boy speak. Even as he did, blood bubbled in his throat and was spat out through his lips,
"I'm perplexed you should forget.
Apparent as smoke from your cigarette.
The Son of God, a brother too,
it was a womb he shared with you."
And like Hell's wave, memories, a lifetime existing long ago, flooded through him, drowning him in blinding heat. He resurfaced with answers to questions and more questions unanswered. He carried a first name, and a second. And on the earth he struck fear in the eyes of evil men. Furthermore, and undeniably so, the longing in his heart so deepseeded was that for his forgotten brother.
"Apart from him any longer, I cannot stand.
Where is my brother, I demand."
"On God's green earth by His will, I know."
The Devil's son; the Prince; Murphy be his name, he contemplated this deeply. Can it be that this was what he'd been searching for all along? To grasp the fact had his heart beating, his head buzzing. So close to being complete. Elation spilling from him, he made his decision,
"Aye, amongst the living then, I shall go."
*
A/N: Something different I hope. I'd love to hear what you thought. It would definately speed up the writing process :)
Author: marmaladeflesh
Rating: R
Summary: The Prince of Darkness realizes the missing pieces of his life and sets out to reclaim them. Not exactly a sequel to Antichrist but is written with that same concept in mind.
Disclaimer: Troy Duffy owns Connor and Murphy. God and the Devil, they belong to me!
Warning: Alternate Universe. Blasphemy. Biblical themes. Macabre. Rhyme schemes.
Those who picture Hell as a dark and crowded place are wrong. The ones that expect to smell the stench of burning flesh and to hear deafening cries of agony are deeply mistaken. Winged demons don't teem the starless sky. The Devil bears no horns or a pitchfork with which to torture wretched souls of the damned.
Truthfully, before man sinned, before the beginning, Hell was created only to please Satan's son. And to this very day exists still, for that reason most of all. A whole world devoted to Lucifer's precious spawn and his favors, his desires, his needs.
In that image, Hell is a world created to shine brighter than the eye can bear. Far brighter than the sun and God's rumored "Promise Land". An ocean of white-hot, rolling flame surrounds its countries with waves that lick on treading feet. Such magnificent fire that may have once fascinated the Son in a previous life is now but as dull and common as concrete.
Satan then spawned remarkable creatures for his son. Tall, masculine creatures with rich dark fur, majestic black wings, strong claws and sharp teeth. But the Son, sometime in his immortal life, grew tired of three headed dogs and winged horses. He requested a friend, a companion to play with. So Lucifer left Hell to the mortal world in the promise of returning with sinners to bring back home.
The damned had once been put to work to build a place in which Satan and his son would reign supreme as King and Prince of Hell. They used what they had: their very bones. These poor souls, they shakily peeled off their skin and flesh and constructed their bones together to match Lucifer's intricate plans, all while screaming until they were dry-heaving and writhing with unabated pain and terror. It had taken a lifetime but the outcome was a grand ivory castle where the scorching heat of Hell's water did not reach.
And as his son continued to grow and change, so did his desires continued to morph into those much harder to obtain. Yet the Devil's unsurpassed craft succeeded in bidding each and every one of his son's demands. A whole world dedicated to Lucifer's spawn. For he so loved his only begotten son that he gave the world.
Hell is no underground torture chamber. It wasn't made to punish souls, but sometime in the milleniums it had become a holding cell for the dead; the ones denied entrance to Heaven.
There is pain, no doubt, more than simple humanity can permit. But Hell is not punishment through pain of the flesh. After only centuries of physical torture upon their broken, screaming bodies, do they acquire the absolute truth that Hell is, in all aspects of the word, infinite. They are driven mad with increasing hopelessness, deranged with metaphysical hardships. They cannot escape or die and worst of all, find content in the lost pleasures they once loved. An eternity without consummation.
The King never knew perpetual boredom like the teeming souls inhabiting Hell. He found peace in serving the Prince in the hopes to make him happy if only for a moment. That was the order of things. The aspiring Prince would always bear a longing in his heart for something new and the King would always find a way to fulfill it. Until that night when the Son wished for something not even the Devil had the power to grant.
*
In an homage to gluttony, the long stretch of dining table was adorned with such a luxurious feast. Fruits ripe and nearly bursting through the skin, a train of succulent dishes generously spilled over the plates under them. In the center, a plump sow trimmed with lettuce and garnished with an apple in its mouth, it's seared skin gleamed copper under the candlelight. On each end of the table sat Satan and the Son. They skimmed off only the outskirts of the lavish meal before them, ate only a minimal serving.
The Prince was slouched over the table, head in his hand while he picked at the contents of his plate and fed himself grapes occasionally, gaunt in his young way. He looked nothing like his father. While the Devil was beautiful that concept seemed all too foreign to him. By luck he was more human than his father, and humans were ugly, filthy beings.
He looked at his father across from him with eyes so dark it brought a shadow to his lids. He eyed the King. His features that were sharp and characteristically alluring. His handsome body thin yet sturdy, feminine yet masculine. He watched his father's strong yet graceful hands grasp his cup of wine and drink from it before he resumed slowly abrading his dinner. His mannerisms so adequately timed, almost seemed planned well ahead. His harrowing silence. His calm. It drove the Prince mad.
Containing himself no longer, the Prince spoke,
"Father, I bear a desire that I must speak."
The Devil's lips formed into a devious smile as his fork and knife was set down, mindful of his son,
"What is this fetish that you seek?
In Hell, the twisted tongue was bent to rhyme.
"Today I walked through the valley of death,
and all around me were souls, a prayer on their breath.
They pray and curse God's name in vain.
Perchance to rest, they beg to saints.
Their pleas became mine; an angel I devoutly wish,
for only this should bring me bliss."
Lucifer just nodded to his son, a plot forming beneath his wicked eyes.
*
The Prince appraised the boy present before him, tongue idly swiping along his lip. Soft, boyish features with fair skin and light blond hair. He leered,
"What brings you to my circle of Hell?"
"My time was short, sir. I've little to tell." His voice null,
"With the torment of fiends my life was shrouded
in solitude it was surrounded.
The loneness of my life was done,
I shot myself with daddy's gun."
This was an exquisite find indeed, but no angel. Angels don't kill.
*
The Prince conveyed the land below from his white tower, elbow rested against the arm folded over himself, a cigarette perched between two fingers, gnawing at the nail of his thumb. A paintbrush in his right hand.
'The pit of this well where I lay
echoes louder each passing day
O, why must I have fear,
of what it is I feel?
It bubbles like a sore;
that everything I'll ask and more
is not enough to salve my hunger.
Til late last night in my dreadful slumber.
When I laid to rest my weary head
a dream to me seemed heaven sent
I'm shot to shame!
An angel's face that holds no name.
But when I wake it's all the same;
I hear them pray
an angel's name that holds no face.
This consternation digs in me,
denies me rest for centuries.
And whilst everything fails,
my blistered bitten fingernails
bleed out from me
for eternity.'
He was disrupted from his reverie when he heard a whisper.
The boy's vision was blurred and his forehead slickened with the fall of hot tears. They dripped from the ends of his blond hair, mixing into the bucket placed directly under where he was strung upside down like cattle in the will that not one drop of blood be wasted. More steadily than the dulled drip of tears was the stream of red that flowed from the deep slash in his gut, filling the bucket. He felt his bowels spill out from him, escaping him, and all he could do was cry and curse the name of his lord and hang limp and watch the artist paint more horrid scenes with the blood.
A pained hiss, "Connor, Connor, lama sabachthani?"
The Prince whipped his head around to look at the boy, cigarette between his lips,
"What did you just say to me?"
"I pray to the messiah, not you sir, I beg your pardon."
"This name Connor is familiar on my tongue.
Though how, I've forgotten.
An angel is he?"
"Aye, a saint, I say to thee."
"A saint you say? I must confess,
why does this name strike interest?"
Something in the mention of the name struck a chord, a want so powerful in the Prince that it reverberated in his very dark soul. He stood confused, his brow furrowed in wonder as he listened to the gutted boy speak. Even as he did, blood bubbled in his throat and was spat out through his lips,
"I'm perplexed you should forget.
Apparent as smoke from your cigarette.
The Son of God, a brother too,
it was a womb he shared with you."
And like Hell's wave, memories, a lifetime existing long ago, flooded through him, drowning him in blinding heat. He resurfaced with answers to questions and more questions unanswered. He carried a first name, and a second. And on the earth he struck fear in the eyes of evil men. Furthermore, and undeniably so, the longing in his heart so deepseeded was that for his forgotten brother.
"Apart from him any longer, I cannot stand.
Where is my brother, I demand."
"On God's green earth by His will, I know."
The Devil's son; the Prince; Murphy be his name, he contemplated this deeply. Can it be that this was what he'd been searching for all along? To grasp the fact had his heart beating, his head buzzing. So close to being complete. Elation spilling from him, he made his decision,
"Aye, amongst the living then, I shall go."
*
A/N: Something different I hope. I'd love to hear what you thought. It would definately speed up the writing process :)