Beginnings - The Devil

The Devil leaned back, put his feet up on his desk and laughed a hearty deep-throated laugh that echoed through the streets of Hell, which rumbled like thunder across barren sand, which shook the walls and rattled the souls of the minions of slaves under his control.


The devil lifted his eyes to heaven and swore in victory. He raised his voice in triumph, cursing and profaning his maker, touting superiority. His eyes burned with hatred, black soulless eyes stared upward, smoldering with pride and arrogance.

He gazed into the mirrors lining the walls of his office and admired his beauty. He was an exquisitely beautiful man, well dressed, well spoken and physically imposing. He could dominate or charm the hearts and souls of those he turned. He used every ounce of his beauty for the work and he was very good at the work.

He could twist and turn the soul of man like a rag to be discarded or make them jump and dance like a marionette on a stage. He had perfected the craft, he knew the souls of man and he knew their desires. He could navigate the dark recesses of their minds, stroking or punishing, tempting or consoling. He blinded them in any way they needed. He was without conscience. He ached for their misery, joyed in their sorrow, reaped ecstasy in their mourning and regret. He dabbled in hopelessness and pride. He was the Devil.

The worlds were turning. He could feel the anger, the sadness and the loneliness increase. He could see the tide of humanity swelling in concert with his will. He had trained his minions well and they worked tirelessly for him. The souls of his father would be under his control in the end, just as he had threatened and boasted when last he spoke with him. There was no doubt. But his father, this was not a thought that he dwelt upon. It made him uncomfortable.

Thoughts of his father made him angry and confused. These were the only times that he felt uncertain, as if not in control. His father, whom he hated, haunted his dreams. Even in their last meeting, when the devil was cast from his father’s presence, as he was spewing forth venom of hatred and loathing; he remembered his father’s eyes.

Those eyes, which had looked upon him since he was young, and whose eyes that he had wanted to please, and from whom he had yearned for approval. They did not look upon him, at last, in anger or disgust. His father’s eyes had been filled with love and sadness as he had banished his son. Tears had filled those eyes as the son turned to leave. The Devil would never be able to cause those eyes to show forth the same hatred that he, himself, felt inside. His father would always love his son.