See, some people try to make characters of who they wish to be, some make characters of who they are, and some are scared, because they believe it will get them institutionalized, and some people are just crazy, and some people are just stupid, believing they are something out of reach of who they are, and some people, are just like you. They see the world and how it works, how the evil wanders, and how you can’t trust anyone with a smile.
There’s this place in Southern California called Jurupa Valley, where a demon lives. Some can call his name, some don’t know it, but some have his name written on them, they are his pack. The “scard” they call it, the only card he’ll give you, is a scar over the right eye. You have no idea who he is until you hear him, or even see him, if you know his signs. First thing you can tell, his laugh. A sound that calls from hell, and only pure insanity can form it, and no fake laugh can form it, only the ones who witness it can be shaken from him.
The second you can tell is his personality, kind at first, but if you confuse him, he will ask you, why are you here and the ones who have fallen for his blue eyes really concern him, he is worried, he asks you, who sent you and of course, he’ll try to scare you off, you don’t know who I am, who I killed, who sent me, and who I was born to, and this is a warning, stay away, he won’t lift a finger to send you running, and he won’t regret it. He has no reason to do it other than one, remember what he said “…and who I was born to” because that was a hint, he was born with the same blood of a goddess, someone he was formed for, halfhearted and given to a woman with the body only the divine has formed. He was sent from the Devil, and of course, you would stop believing this far, saying this is just some other demonic fan-fiction. It is not. The demon is the apprentice of the Grand Marquis of Hell, Andras, with the head of the blackest raven, the body of an angel, and who carries a saber; the sixty-third spirit of this world, and the leader of the thirty legions, who gives murderous ideas, and the man I speak of, is his pet, the black wolf who he rode to battle on. The Wolf was born in love with the goddess he was formed for. He will do anything for her, and takes failure personally, and that is extremely underemphasized. He takes it to where he will pay for his failure, with his own blood and flesh. He’s inseparable from his goddess, even if someone was to get in the way, he would force them away, one way or another.
Another way to determine who he is, is his growl and actions. He will look around, sniffing the air, creating a low growl from his gullet, he doesn’t trust a human, and he’ll look at you just as if he was looking right through your body, and into your heart or mind. You shouldn’t cross him if he looks at you like this, because he’s looking for a way to kill. He’s always alerted, so never try to scare him, because he will bite. He isn’t human, not fully, nor spiritually, he was born a wolf, formed in the eyes of the Devil, and created with the looks of man, but is full animal…
The rain trickled down on this cold October night, very odd weather for this part of California to get any rain but when it does, it packs a full loaded gun of phantoms. Thunder, what is it to this foreign place, it’s a symbol from heaven or hell? Neither, it’s a symbol of purgatory being real in this world, it is this world. You can run, keep doing that until you become tired, but it won’t hold up for long, because he’s following, he’s rushing, dodging your tricks, your turns, your obstacles. The black cloak that falls over his head, that’s his fur, the knives under it, those are his claws, and the scar over his right eye, that’s his memoir, his history, his remembrance of who made him and who his heart is owned by, the Devil and his Goddess. You run, you fall, you get back up again, because the ground is wet and you now fall into an alleyway in a concrete jungle, but this is someplace where you regret being. You see the bodies of dozens of others, you scream, but he falls from the heavens, and now he’s in the way of the only way out, but you’re the one who is seen as a trespasser. See, the thing is, he carries mercy today, he is willing to kill you than let you live in the maze he’s created. It was formed to drive even the strongest of men, to a pulp of insanity. He takes a blade, and slides it in you, killing you within seconds, because this isn’t a normal sword, this is the sword of Andras, his mentor. It isn’t killing you fast that the sword can do, it’s the fact that it’s nearly impossible to miss with it, see, the power that Andras has is he can escalate any fight and give precise advice to kill anyone. The wolf-man cuts your meat to transportable sizes and leaves the rest for the ravens who come in the morning to finish the job. The rest, bones and everything, is swept up by the rain water when it all flows later the next day into the sewer. These bodies are being fed on, not just by him, but he goes back home with bottles of blood and meat, and when he walks through the doors, he is greeted by his loving Goddess, and their beautiful pup. Your flesh will be fed upon, from these horrifying wolves.
Some will call upon the false reckoning like they own the force of death and hate, some play with their own lives, wishing they are the forces I speak of. But who really can call upon the darkness of Hell, some speak of horned men, black ravens, scarecrows and blood drinkers as a tale of fun, who will train in the time of reckoning, who will raise themselves in the world we all hate, who will become the new world’s generation, who will lead them into battle, who will call these beings back from the darkness, back from the dead, and back from Hell. Who are you, but an origin story? You tell your story like you are made to entertain the humans, only you can see if you are one of the pups of the Wolf himself, one of his apprentices, one of his descendants, one of the ruiners of the world, the creatures of Hell who follow me, yes, me, one of the demons who have fallen, the new demons, The New Origins will rise, and who will take pride in this, the ones with the scards, the ones with the fur, the claws, the ones who know their origin, the ones who are… like me