Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29791712-20160514034918

One down, one more to go.

Once I finished choking the poor bastard, I threw his lifeless body on the floor, and took a moment to catch my breath. I never pictured myself killing another person this ruthless ever again. But then again, I didn’t have much of a choice. Without a decent weapon to wield, I couldn’t kill my competition as painless as I planned on doing.

My palms and fingers remained stained with my opponent’s blood. I stared at the details of my hands with both horror and fascination. I had forgotten what they were capable of.

I shifted my gaze from my bloody hands to the corpse lying next to my feet. His name was Lucas something. The details of this man’s life, both his previous and afterlife, left my mind once we started to brawl. At this point, I tried avoiding getting some form of attachment to anyone I fought with. It saved myself from feeling guiltier right after I take their last breath away.

Bruises and cuts covered Lucas’s body like disfigured tattoos. His face and ribs appeared the worst of them all. A person once told me to never reveal your weak spots during a fight. Lucas failed to do so. Each blow I sent to his ribcage and jaw, he winced and always retreated right after. I realized then those were his most sensitive area. After I discovered this information, it was all in a matter of time before I won.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that I felt sick each time I looked at his beat-up body. Except sick wasn’t the right word. I felt downright disgusted. Even after death, blood continued to ooze from some of his open wounds. Some of his joints looked broken and twisted. Halfway through my match with him, I lost sense of what my fist were doing.

Soon a red and thick puddle of blood would accumulate under his body. I didn’t want to be there when this happened. I made to leave the building I was in, but then stopped myself. I almost forgot.

I approached Lucas’s body, kneeled down next to him, and dug my hand into his pockets. Blood splashed my forearms the deeper I searched, which made me feel from disgusted to downright vile. I finally felt what I was looking for, and pulled the item free.

I lifted the upside-down cross up into the light gleaming out the shattered window. The artificial sun’s rays spilled its golden shine down on the piece of silver. A bright speck of light reflected off the metal, and aimed directly onto my forehead. I felt the heat burn a mark on my skin.

The cross looked beautiful. Even though the silver was very small, the tiny and creative carvings sketched on the hard surface mesmerized me. I wondered if Satan himself crafted something this stupendous.

I shoved the cross inside my pouch, which contained two other of the six symbols in which all participants were required to collect. I originally started off with Lucifer’s face as my first stone. Throughout the duration of the game, I discovered that the little stone offered a huge amount of energy if you rubbed your fingers against the metal’s horns. Each time my skin touched the damn thing, I sensed its negative energy flowing deep into my bloodstream. I knew the venomous source of power poisoned my soul, but the strength it gifted me with seemed worth sacrificing the little traces of innocence I had left. But after being sentenced to hell by God himself, I doubt I had any of that left.

After I murdered my first enemy, and acquired his charm, I tried grazing my skin with the small pentagram. I expected a new type of power to flourish inside of me, but nothing came. I realized then that only the original talisman we were all gifted with can grant us advanced energy. With this in mind, I made sure not to abuse all the juice I had left with Lucifer’s face.

I knew for a fact Alejandra contained the other three remaining symbols I needed to gather. I hesitated to step outside into the battlefield. I always stumble and grow numb pondering about her. Before this game started, Satan looked each and every one of us directly into our eyes. I stared down at the creator of all evil, and received the malicious vibe he sent us all. But nothing would ever compare to the way Alejandra made me feel whenever we made eye-contact. Not only did I feel my inner soul quiver and melt inside my body, but her eyes only spoke of doom and dismay. Even after the circumstances Alejandra and I endured, I had hope that my eyes appeared kinder than the ones she carried.

Of course I’m no saint myself. There’s a reason why I was kicked down to Hell in the first place. They say the weight of our past doesn’t follow us in the next life. You only liberate yourself from all your mistakes and sins, and become one with the earth in a sanctified matter. I had this in mind my last few moments alive in my previous life. Even after all that I did, all the people I killed, all the crime I accomplish, and each and every person that I hurt, I thought some salvation awaited me once I died.

Even when I realized my wrong-doings, and tried my best to fix the destruction I caused, it was too late for me. All that bullshit that God forgives everyone was a lie that I foolishly believed. I depended on that single false-fact that I could be forgiven, and that I could repent for the damage of my actions.

But the gates of Heaven rejected me. God himself flicked me from the clouds above, and the pits of Hell swallowed me whole.

I mustered up the courage to step outside. Black smoke polluted the air and blinded my sight. No matter how thick the mist, however, the sun’s light always managed to penetrate through the smoke, and surface itself on the ground. Red and puffy clouds floated above, teasing me with a false assumption that it may rain. At that moment, I would’ve given up my right limb if it meant just one minute of rain.

The inside of my throat felt like a desert. Even the saliva inside my mouth dried up. Each time I swallowed it felt as if I inhaled a ball of flames. The skin on my chapped lips began to peel, which left ugly and painful bruises. As I stalked outside, trying to discern through the black smoke, I disallowed my body to completely collapse. I went through the game with avidity and confidence the first few days. It felt great to finally be free from Hell. After a while, however, the harsh conditions of the battlefield took its toll on my body.

I have to give credit to Hell, however, for preparing me to face these obstacles. I knew for a fact that if I died, and I went straight into this game, I wouldn’t had survive the first hour, let alone the first day. After you experience everything Hell has to offer, anything else feels like Heaven itself.

The last time I spotted Alejandra, she was chasing after another opponent. At that same moment, I was in the pursuit of hunting down Lucas. A part of my mind told me to ditch Lucas, and to worry about Alejandra. I could’ve snuck up on her as she busied herself trying to kill the other enemy, and I would’ve killed two birds with one stone. After dealing with that, I could’ve gone back to Lucas, and put the poor bastard out of his misery.

But something told me to just follow Lucas. It must’ve been my conscious, of course, which is the worst thing to have in a place like Hell. I think that’s what sets me apart from everyone else down here. I witnessed my brothers and sisters perish from all the endless torment we received. Some of us lost complete control of who we once were.

That didn’t happen to me, however. I refused to let myself be consumed by Hell’s torture. Every second that I spent being whipped and beaten, I grunted and told myself to never lose hope. I know it sounds crazy to have such a mentality in Hell, but I just couldn’t detach myself from that mindset.

And it only became worse once I first heard about this game that happens every single year. It provided a purpose for me to look forward to.

I knew that if Satan ever announced my name for me to partake in his game, I would accept it in a heartbeat. And I knew I had to win no matter what. Nobody maintained the willpower that I nourished. Nobody in Hell had the drive that made me push myself to my limit. This game shared its impressive set of opponents, but they failed to defeat me. They didn’t contain the hunger in their eyes the way mine did. Every time I stared at my enemies, their eyes spoke of fear and doubt. Mine only displayed anger and vengeance.

The only one who brought me bewilderment was Alejandra herself. But only she can do that to me.

However, I had my reason to be aggravated with her. After all, it was because of her that I died in the first place.

I traveled around the battlefield for a good five minutes without having a sense of where I was heading towards. I first followed the route in which I believed Alejandra ran towards, but that lead to nowhere. I proceeded to pass through the remaining sections I never stepped foot on, and still no sign of Alejandra or the person she followed. I had in mind, however, that Alejandra killed the poor son of a bitch already.

That left me and her alone in this game; the last two opponents.

Suddenly I didn’t feel weary anymore, and a new foundation of passion built itself inside of me.

I knew right then and there where she was. Knowing her, she would want me to confront her at the center of the battlefield, named Satan’s Throne, right next to the statue where you needed to place the six symbols inside in order to win the game. Make me do all the work, of course.

“Get ready, bitch,” I whispered to myself. “I’m commin’ to finish what you started.”

During my journey towards Satan’s Throne, I thought back upon my memories with Alejandra. When she did kill me, and I found myself in Hell, I knew for a fact I would find her in this demented place with me one day. I expected to see her, however, around a decade or so after she took my life away. It shocked me when I sensed her presence three years after I died.

We both lived notorious and vicious lives. We involved ourselves with the worst of criminals, robbing banks, stealing money from whores and hookers, killing innocent lives, and a plethora of other nefarious schemes. The money we accumulated seemed unrealistic at first, but after a while we adjusted to the fabulous lifestyle. I felt like a king, and Alejandra became my queen of evil. I remember the both of us having the time of our lives. The rush of performing sinful acts and ruining other people’s lives felt better than any drug known to mankind. Hell, we felt invincible.

During those first few years we abused the power of our youth. I never pictured Alejandra and me as bad people. We both grew up in the projects, dealt with the hardships of surviving with only minimum wage, and sucked in our dangerous environment. I saw my own mom raped and used like a sex doll. I saw her drug addiction exceed to dramatic lengths to the point where she sold her body for more money to buy more drugs. Men and women everywhere were killed or taken to jail for all the wrong reasons. I absorbed all of this negativity in, and it influenced me and my actions.

Alejandra dad’s sometimes tried to take advantage of her, but she always fought back. One time she stabbed her father on the hand since he went to reach up her thigh. This was around the time Alejandra was fifteen. The neighborhood she was raised in could be compared to mine, but Alejandra had a better sense of herself than I did as a kid and adolescent. She imaged herself as a dominate woman stepping over any guy, and not letting herself be mistreated. She used sex as a tool to get men to do what she desired. She stunned me beyond words the first time we met.

Society created us. The more I think about it, the more I begin to realize why people like Alejandra and I exist in the first place. We’re not all born demons, but something happened in our lives that changed us to these sadistic killers. Everything we witnessed and experienced, from our crappy neighborhoods to the death of our own loved ones, all of that made us numb to any authentic emotion. I know this sounds a bit overdramatic, but I guess you just have had to live it to believe it.

Near the center of the battlefield the smoke began to clear up. Barely any buildings or hideouts accommodated the area, so that left the scorching sun to beam its rays without any restriction. It felt like I just stepped inside a goddamn oven.

I caught the first glimpse of Satan’s huge statue. It depicted the Devil himself resting on a prodigious throne. All sorts of demonic symbols decorated the entire sculpture. Two giant torches stood next to the statue. An eternal black and blue ember burned at the tip of both torches. Everything appeared to be crafted of Onyx, a very beautiful and luxurious color. Whoever chiseled this masterpiece did a remarkable job. I stared in complete awe at the entire thing. It towered over me like a titan. The shadow it casted almost created an eclipse with the sun.

Alejandra stood right in front of the stature, just below the humongous steps. Her eyes met mine, and for once she didn’t make me squeal or gasp out of trepidation. Instead I maintained eye-contact with her, and tried my best to deliver my most formidable gaze. Sweat trickled down my forehead and back, but I had a feeling it had nothing to do with the heat at all, but the nervous energy that transpired between my wife and me.

“Cut the shit, Mark,” her first words to me after a decade of us never speaking. “I can see pass the lies in your eyes. You’re scared, ''aren’t ya?  When did you get so weak''?”

She can never understand why every time I looked at her, something inside me breaks. During the final days of my life, we both argued and fought every single day. We both attacked and beat ourselves to the ground. Sometimes I left her drooling with blood, but other times she left me unconscious. I always resisted using my full strength, however. That was the only reason why I allowed her to beat me up. I never wanted to hurt her face. I never wanted to see her cheeks swollen, or her eyes puffy and black. I never wanted to see the life in her eyes fade away.

Because every single time I looked right at her face, I saw our daughter. I could never hit my daughter the way my wife abused me. I could never let our child watch as her own father stomped the living shit out of her mother. What kind of example would I be setting?

What kind of father am I to let my daughter be born in a world like this?

“You never understood,” I murmured. “You think it felt nice letting our daughter see her own father hospitalize almost every damn week? You think I wanted that for Isabella? No. You let that happen, you selfish bitch!”

I reached for my pouch, and felt around until I touched Lucifer’s horns. I pinched the sharp tip deep into my skin until blood started seeping out from the small cut. Then I pierced my fingers further, and absorbed all of the strength that little charm had left.

Some mystical force surged out of my body. A wild and intense sense of euphoria was captured deep inside of me. All of my senses enhanced to supernatural abilities. I never felt so concentrated and powerful in my life. Was this what God feels like?

“So you’re going all out, I see,” Alejandra said. “You leave me no choice then.” She pulled off something from her pockets. It was one of Satan’s symbols; two lightning bolts connected together. It reminded me of the scar Harry Potter has on his forehead.

Alejandra jabbed the tip of the talisman deep inside the skin on her wrist. The flesh pulsed and puss out blood. Alejandra moaned in satisfaction as she inched the tiny metal deeper into her layers of skin. The strength in her muscles also increased, and her posture seemed more intimidating. Something in her eyes told me that she reached a level even, if not beyond, to the one I just achieved.

Without a moment to miss, she sprinted towards me. Alejandra’s speed baffled me, which left me stunned by the time she stepped right in front of me. I had no time to react before she launched a punch straight onto my jaw.

I expected to be thrown all the way to the end of the battlefield by the amount of potential she placed on that single swing. But instead, I barely stumbled before I found my footwork again. The punch didn’t even leave a burning sting on my skin. The only thing it did was peel a piece of my flesh. Other than that, I almost wanted her to hit me again just to test the full length of my power.

“Is that the best you got?” I asked her, and before she could respond, I sent a kick straight onto her stomach.

She coughed out blood and spit even before she fell to the ground. Her body rolled away, leaving a faint trail of blood for me to follow. Alejandra tried picking herself up, but I quickly stepped right in front of her, stomped my foot against her neck, and grinded my heel against her backbone. At first she hissed at the agony, but then she began screaming and trashing around like a chicken with its head chopped off. She clawed at my legs, her nails digging deep into my hamstrings and thighs, but I dealt with the pain. The satisfaction of hearing her struggle like a pig in a slaughterhouse overshadowed the sting on my legs.

“I’ll killya again, you little pussy,” she howled. “Imma cut your balls off, you prick!” Before I knew it, she lunged her hand right onto my crouch, took hold of my junk, and squeezed the way one squeezes a lemon to release its juice.

I cried like a bitch, and freed my foot from her neck. As I stood defenseless, Alejandra took this opportunity to tackle me. My back slammed against the ground with a hard enough impact to take all the air away from my lungs. I chocked at the lack of oxygen. I kept on trying to inhale, but it felt as if the air grew as thin as a piece of paper.

Alejandra sat right on my chest, the weight of her body crushing my windpipe. She locked her knees against my biceps, and pushed down until I started to shout in pain. She twisted her knees deeper into my muscles. I felt the ligaments on my arms begin to tear and rip apart.

“Remember when I used to ride you like this, honey?” Alejandra groaned and wink. “You used to love it when I got on top of you. Do you still enjoy it now? Do you want me to go deeper inside you?” She grasped my wrist, and pressed her knees further into my muscles. I screamed and tried to wiggle my way free, but the lock she enclosed me in left little chance of that happening.

Her wide and circular eyes stared down on me. I always saw my daughter in her. Isabella was the only person who could have changed me. The moment I first held onto her feeble and sensitive body, I knew that this girl would do something great for me. I never touched and felt such pureness in someone before. Wrapped around my arms, I knew I couldn’t allow her mind to be ruined by the terrible atrocities I faced. She needed to be the change that could not only save herself, but the people around her.

From the moment of her birth, I dedicated my life developing her into a world in which she could strive and succeed, and not be poisoned by the many evils that possess this Earth. I knew that she would need to stumble and fall in order to grow, but I would make sure I would be there every step of the way. The motivation and hope that Isabella sparked inside of me—just by something as simple as her smile—gave me more of a reason to better myself. My daughter deserved a parent who guided her into the right path.

But my wife thought differently. She still lusted to commit crime and involve herself with the wrong people. This was when the fighting started, which resulted in the worst years of my life. She never cared as much for our daughter the way I did. She didn’t think about Isabella’s future. I tried dozens of times running away from Alejandra, but she always caught us.

Even after I tried convincing my wife to end our wrong-doings, she never listen. I don’t know what went through her head at that time, but clearly she had no care for the future of our child. It pained me to see the woman I love reject and give zero shits about the only daughter she gave birth to. That single fact never got through my head. I tried deluding myself that somehow, Alejandra would make it up.

Right when I realized that Alejandra only cared about herself, it was too late.

I entered Hell knowing damn well that I left behind my only child with the person who murdered me. Nothing that happened to me down here mattered. The real Hell was realizing that my daughter was in the hands of a sick and mendacious person like my wife. I rued the day that I allowed my wife to take away my life. Not only did she kill me, but she killed the chances of Isabella becoming a better person.

“You can’t kill me, Mark,” Alejandra spoke. She removed her hands from my wrist, and wrapped them around my neck. Breathing seemed as impossible as freeing myself. “You’re too much of a damn pussy. If you couldn’t kill me then, how can you kill me now?”

All I ever thought about from the start of this game was my daughter. I knew that if I won, I’d have a chance to see her again. That’s all that drove me. That’s what made killing all those people worth it. As much as I didn’t want to hurt anybody, if it meant reuniting with Isabella, I would’ve fought God himself.

Even if it meant killing my wife, I would do so. I would do anything for Isabella.

“Not this time,” I mumbled, and sent a clean punch to her face. I felt my knuckles crack, and the bones in her nose snap. Snot and blood shot out of her nostrils. The damage disgruntled her, but she maintained her composure.

I would not make the same mistake again. I let Alejandra separate me from my daughter once. I wouldn’t let it happen again.

I punched her once more, but this time I continued to send hit after hit. Even when she tried to push my fists away, I forced my knuckles deep into her face and body. Every jab and swing pained my heart, but I refused to stop. Even when my heart told me to quit, and that I was hurting the woman who I married and loved, I repressed my feelings. I wanted, no needed, to make her bleed and suffer. Alejandra deserved everything I delivered her.

Her weight on my body loosened a bit. I took this chance to push her away from my chest, and jump on top of her body. I flew high, and landed my knees straight onto her arms. Alejandra squealed, tears draining down her eyes.

For one moment, I laid on top of her motionless. I asked and pleaded for this day to come since the night I died. Everything I experienced in Hell seemed worthwhile just to be able to fight my wife one more time.

“Everything ends here,” I told her. “Tell me something. Who killed you?”

Alejandra attempted to free herself from my lock, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to escape. I overpowered her. She knew that I always resisted using all of my strength. But like I said, I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“You really wanna know?” she asked. The expression on her face went from fierce to sorrowful. This caught me off-guard. “I killed myself. I couldn’t live without you, Mark. I- I loved you too much. I just hoped you would’ve forgave me. The guilt I dealt with right after your death was what got to me. That’s why I…ended my life.”

“Alejandra… Is that- Is that what you truly feel?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “Why would I lie to you?”

“Thank you for sharing yourself with me,” I mocked. “Allow me to express my feelings for you.”

I reached down my pocket, and pulled out the knife that was hiding there from the start of this game. I saved this weapon until the moment came to fight Alejandra. It only felt right.

I raised the tip of the dagger right next to Alejandra’s throat. A low shout left her trembling lips. The pathetic look on her face both satisfied and angered me.

“You cannot fool me again, you hear me,” I grumbled. “This time I won’t let you manipulate me. You left our daughter alone in the outside world with no guidance. What kind of selfish bitch are you.”

She made to speak, but I cut her off by inching the knife deep inside her collarbone. She yowled like a dying puppy. It sounded like music to my ears.

“Shut up, you slut,” I spat. “You listen to me now. I won’t allow you to ruin our child’s life. I never wanted things to turn out like this, but you did this to yourself. Now you’ll burn in this place for the rest of eternity. And I swear to God I will haunt you if you try coming near my daughter ever again.

“Now…I’ll kill you the same way you killed me. Good-bye, bitch. Give Satan my greetings.”

Before she could protest, I slit her throat. I held her mouth with my palm, and gazed deep into her eyes as she began choking on her own blood. They opened wide, the pain and shock in her expression meaning close to nothing. She mumbled meaningless words under my hand. Blood squirted out from the open laceration on her neck, and stuck to my arm and face. It felt warm and tender.

The more time passed that I stared at her eyes, the less I gave a shit about her. Her eyes began calming down and growing lazy, all the life and vitality drained out of her soul. Soon the blood stopped leaking out, and she ended her struggle. I killed Alejandra once and for all.

The moments that proceeded after that seem very vague. I remember taking hold of the three charms she collected, and placing them, along with the ones I had, in their proper slots. After that, Satan’s Statue revealed an open door for me to enter. From then on, it all felt like a bizarre and endless dream. My mind raced with the thought that I finally won. I murdered my wife. Nothing could stop me now.

Satan and I ended up sitting face-to-face. His eyes displayed pride in what I just accomplished. No words passed between the both of us. He gathered himself, stepped in front of me, and placed his gigantic hand on top of my head. After a second or so, I found myself in complete darkness…

Afterwards, I found myself back home… Back home, with the gift Satan gave me. Another chance to make things right.

Have you ever wonder how demons enter this world? You think God allows evil spirits to just manifest onto Earth? No, there must be a certain condition the people in Hell must go through in order for them to become a demon, and given a chance to do whatever mischief they want.

I won that chance. I fought and killed any opponent that got in my way, even my own wife, just to become a demon and return to earth. Once that happen, I’m given the opportunity to do whatever I want. I have no restrictions. I can manipulate people to kill each other. I can convince a world-leader to start the next major war. I can spark mayhem in the most innocent of places. Satan gave me a chance to raise Hell on earth.

But I had different things in mind. My daughter… She’s all alone in this earth with nobody to protect her. Nobody…except her demonic father who voyaged from hell to this world just to see her one last time.

Even as a demon, I will be my daughter’s guardian angel. No matter what, I will be there whenever she needs me. She will feel my presence, as chilling and dark as it may be, but she will find comfort with it. She will understand that it’s her daddy protecting her from all the other monsters in this world. And pretty soon, she will cope with my demonic appearance. She will love me, as I love her, and we will both survive in this earth that has rejected and ostracize us.

And if anyone tries to interrupt that, they will meet the same fate my wife did.  