Underworld Fan Fiction ❯ Blood Legacies ❯ Prelude ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Mykal Lakim 
Non Anime: Underworld Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Occult / Supernatural | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.04.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 975 | Visits: 740 | Status: Completed
Non Anime: Underworld Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Occult / Supernatural | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.04.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 975 | Visits: 740 | Status: Completed
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was void. Darkness was over the surface of the oceans. At that time, oceans covered the earth; and the spirit of God hovered over the waters.
God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good and so he separated the light from the darkness.” The man finishes his sentence placing an emphasis on the word darkness.
Lifting a cigarillo to his lips he draws deeply as the jukebox plays Nickelback’s song, “Burn it to the ground tonight.” The chorus has him enraptured for a moment, heightening the pleasure he feels from the simple act of drawing on the sweet, savory, strawberry cigarillo.
Closing his eyes in relaxation, he holds the draw, lungs full of the smoke. “Perfect” is the word that comes to mind. How he loves human inventions, regardless of how long they’ve been around. Although the wrapping is about the only thing original about the cigarillo, it has served its purpose, resin creeping at the tip, unseen by the coloring of it but the taste remains the same, delectable, delicious vice.
Walking around the dimly lit table, another man grabs his beer, taking a sip, cuts in, “And this is your basis for good and evil?” His words clearly interrupting his associates’ moment, a coy, smug smile slowly melting from his face, a look of distain and utter disgust coming over him as his eyes slowly open.
“No you moron,” the man hisses sharply, “What you fail to realize is that in that instant, God knew he had to separate light from dark.” Dropping his pool stick to the table, perfectly balancing it between two fingers and the gently grip his other hand holds on the base, the tip meets its intended mark with a loud crack as the number eight ball smoothly finds its target.
Looking up with a look of superiority he finishes, “And that, my friend…is game.” He puts the cigarillo out on the edge of the pool table and begins to walk away.
“So you know this how?” The other man cuts in.
Hearing the smart-ass comment, the man turns his head –and gaze- towards the jukebox behind them, across the room, nearing the bar. With his eyes fixed on the machine, they quickly meld over becoming black pools of darkness. Almost instantly the jukebox volume turns up louder, bass thumping the walls as the chorus kicks into a climax, the singer’s voice yelling, “The world keeps turning, we’ll burn it to the ground tonight.”
With the volume louder and the music blaring he turns his eyes back to the dumbass in front of him. Invoking his strength, he moves on the man with a supernatural fervor, snatching him up by the throat, smashing him into a wall, just missing the dartboard.
“I know this….” The man hisses, “ Because I KNOW!” As he leans in, face to face with his victim, reality seems to burn around him as an arid ‘aura’ of darkness and shadows “burn” around him, greyish smoke colored wings extending effortlessly from his back. His piercing eyes almost seem to glow with remnants of an orangish-red color amongst the black.
“My…..mmmm… gkkkk” The victim’s mind begins to fracture as delirium sets in, his comfort, everything he’s ever taken for granted, is blown away by the presence of this creature, holding him in a death-grip. The demon crushes his throat, holding him limply as if holding a mere ragdoll.
“MY GOD!” the demon snaps at him while the sound of breaking flesh and crushing cartilage pop under his grip. Releasing his victim, the body slides against the wall, landing on the floor as if in a drunken stupor. Dead as a doornail.
What has been revealed to be a demon, an escapee from Perdition, the one true Hell, a land of nightmares and torture. Not a place of simple fire and brimstone, but an entire realm, a mirror of our earthly realm, blown apart as a apocalyptic wasteland. Blue skies replaced with burning fires and sulfuric winds. Every street is a cavern leading down to The Pit –a prison system of rusted and worn steel where demons torture the souls of the damned. The so-called “Christian hell” almost seems like a vacation compared to Perdition. No creature could truly fathom the true depths of the torture that comes from being exiled there.
Proud and reeling from the sensations running through him, the demon adjusts his collar, ‘folds’ his wings and simmers his eyes as they return to a more “mortal” appearance.
Turning his gaze to the bar around him the demon is almost shocked to see that no one looks up from what they are doing. Not a single interruption, not one glance. No one cares.
A smile creeps on his face as he reaches into his pocket, pulls another cigarillo from the pack. With a gentle pat the cigarillo transfers easily from the pack to his lips. With a flick the Zippo lights the cigarillo and he draws the sweet smoke into his lungs, the taste of strawberries on his lips.
Exhaling the smoke over a lampshade he casually reaches into his pocket dropping off the lighter and picking some money out. With the cigarillo gently balanced between his lips he sorts the bills and coins, dropping the currency on the table.
As he walks out of the bar he stops, propping the door open with his foot, a smile plastered on his face mumbling a sentence to himself as he disappears into the mix of bustling people: “I love this world. “
God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good and so he separated the light from the darkness.” The man finishes his sentence placing an emphasis on the word darkness.
Lifting a cigarillo to his lips he draws deeply as the jukebox plays Nickelback’s song, “Burn it to the ground tonight.” The chorus has him enraptured for a moment, heightening the pleasure he feels from the simple act of drawing on the sweet, savory, strawberry cigarillo.
Closing his eyes in relaxation, he holds the draw, lungs full of the smoke. “Perfect” is the word that comes to mind. How he loves human inventions, regardless of how long they’ve been around. Although the wrapping is about the only thing original about the cigarillo, it has served its purpose, resin creeping at the tip, unseen by the coloring of it but the taste remains the same, delectable, delicious vice.
Walking around the dimly lit table, another man grabs his beer, taking a sip, cuts in, “And this is your basis for good and evil?” His words clearly interrupting his associates’ moment, a coy, smug smile slowly melting from his face, a look of distain and utter disgust coming over him as his eyes slowly open.
“No you moron,” the man hisses sharply, “What you fail to realize is that in that instant, God knew he had to separate light from dark.” Dropping his pool stick to the table, perfectly balancing it between two fingers and the gently grip his other hand holds on the base, the tip meets its intended mark with a loud crack as the number eight ball smoothly finds its target.
Looking up with a look of superiority he finishes, “And that, my friend…is game.” He puts the cigarillo out on the edge of the pool table and begins to walk away.
“So you know this how?” The other man cuts in.
Hearing the smart-ass comment, the man turns his head –and gaze- towards the jukebox behind them, across the room, nearing the bar. With his eyes fixed on the machine, they quickly meld over becoming black pools of darkness. Almost instantly the jukebox volume turns up louder, bass thumping the walls as the chorus kicks into a climax, the singer’s voice yelling, “The world keeps turning, we’ll burn it to the ground tonight.”
With the volume louder and the music blaring he turns his eyes back to the dumbass in front of him. Invoking his strength, he moves on the man with a supernatural fervor, snatching him up by the throat, smashing him into a wall, just missing the dartboard.
“I know this….” The man hisses, “ Because I KNOW!” As he leans in, face to face with his victim, reality seems to burn around him as an arid ‘aura’ of darkness and shadows “burn” around him, greyish smoke colored wings extending effortlessly from his back. His piercing eyes almost seem to glow with remnants of an orangish-red color amongst the black.
“My…..mmmm… gkkkk” The victim’s mind begins to fracture as delirium sets in, his comfort, everything he’s ever taken for granted, is blown away by the presence of this creature, holding him in a death-grip. The demon crushes his throat, holding him limply as if holding a mere ragdoll.
“MY GOD!” the demon snaps at him while the sound of breaking flesh and crushing cartilage pop under his grip. Releasing his victim, the body slides against the wall, landing on the floor as if in a drunken stupor. Dead as a doornail.
What has been revealed to be a demon, an escapee from Perdition, the one true Hell, a land of nightmares and torture. Not a place of simple fire and brimstone, but an entire realm, a mirror of our earthly realm, blown apart as a apocalyptic wasteland. Blue skies replaced with burning fires and sulfuric winds. Every street is a cavern leading down to The Pit –a prison system of rusted and worn steel where demons torture the souls of the damned. The so-called “Christian hell” almost seems like a vacation compared to Perdition. No creature could truly fathom the true depths of the torture that comes from being exiled there.
Proud and reeling from the sensations running through him, the demon adjusts his collar, ‘folds’ his wings and simmers his eyes as they return to a more “mortal” appearance.
Turning his gaze to the bar around him the demon is almost shocked to see that no one looks up from what they are doing. Not a single interruption, not one glance. No one cares.
A smile creeps on his face as he reaches into his pocket, pulls another cigarillo from the pack. With a gentle pat the cigarillo transfers easily from the pack to his lips. With a flick the Zippo lights the cigarillo and he draws the sweet smoke into his lungs, the taste of strawberries on his lips.
Exhaling the smoke over a lampshade he casually reaches into his pocket dropping off the lighter and picking some money out. With the cigarillo gently balanced between his lips he sorts the bills and coins, dropping the currency on the table.
As he walks out of the bar he stops, propping the door open with his foot, a smile plastered on his face mumbling a sentence to himself as he disappears into the mix of bustling people: “I love this world. “