The night air was heavy and clammy, filled with the sharp, rainy taste of rain that never seemed to fall. The small home on the outskirts of the city was lit by the faint glow of candles attached to the walls, flickering and struggling in the dim air, the shadows on the wooden floorboards and old peeling paper dancing and stretching out in all directions. Emili stood in the living room of the home, her eight months of pregnancy a heavy weight on her spine, her hands naturally braced against the presence inside of her in a futile attempt at protecting herself from the creeping fear in her mind, her breathing shallow and uneven, the smell of lavender from her bath hours earlier overpowered by the presence of the oppressive, rank smell that invaded the room in waves when the wooden door burst open.
"Who are you guys?" Emili's voice shook with tremors of fear that scratched at her throat, her wide eyes mirroring the figures of the intruders with the moonlight streaming through the broken door.
The burliest of them, a brute of a man with a beard so thick and unruly that it seemed to swallow the lower part of his face, pushed forward. He was a big man, a block of muscle and fat that strained against a stained shirt, and the deep, rumbling voice that spoke made the hairs on the back of Mitch's neck stand on end. 'We wanna meet this Kinard. Where is that ass hole?'
Emili's ears were filled with the pounding of her own heart, a crazed drumbeat that resonated with the fear flooding her veins. She spoke softly, the words a murmur that drowned in the rush of blood in her ears, "He…he's in Malaysia. Are you guys his friends?" The smile she managed to slip on felt like a pitiful mask that leaped at the seams, her lips shaking with the effort as she spoke, "It's a late night…You shouldn't have come in like that."
One of the three—a thin man with a cigar clenched between his yellow teeth, his nostrils emitting wisps of curling cigarette smoke like two aspic-poisonous snakes—is snarling: "This son of a bitch welched on us as soon as we sent him our dough and flew off to Malaysia. And then you're telling us to get lost?"
"Yeah, because nothing says 'feminine' like a face full of stubble and a gut that's gonna make her look like a reject from a bad Eighties bodybuilding fitness video!" The bearded giant interrupted him, his meaty hand upraised in a placating gesture. But his eyes. cold, hard black holes with no soul, no kindness—and a depth of hunger that was nothing at all like anger. "Chill, bruh. Can't you see the dollars right in front of us?" He let out a laugh that was evil incarnate—a guttural vibration that made the very walls
Emili's anger momentarily flared, briefly lighting up the void, as she shouted in desperation. "What in the world are you talking about? Can't you see I'm pregnant? I'm a mother of young children!"
The cigar man's hand swung in a blur of movement that was too quick for her to react to, his palm slapping across her face in a loud explosion that sounded like a gunshot. The shock from the slap turned the room sideways as pain blasted from her face in a brilliant white flash, the force of the contact tearing at her skin. She collapsed to the floor as her pregnant stomach thudded in shock against the hardwood beneath her feet. A shout ripped from her throat as she clasped at her stomach in pain, the tiny life within kicking in protest at the agony that was radiating from within, as she was unable to defend herself against the attack, her own body, overstretched at eight months pregnant, failing her as she lay there in the cold room with scalding tears flowing down her abused face.
The third man, bald headed with sweat shining like a shimmering aura under the candlelight, his pockmarked scalp glistening with the scars of numerous brawls, lunged forward. His fingers snarled viciously through her hair, her scalp ripped with tormenting force as he hauled her across the floor toward the kitchen. Emili's cries into the night were raw and savage, each tug lancing agony through her scalp, her nails scrabbling futilely at the wood as she was dragged with all the tenderness of meat. The stench of her own sweat and the invaders' filled her swirling senses.
They lifted her up—grat brutal hands bruising her limbs—and flung her.
The pain of the landing shook her backbone, and she felt her stomach thud against the table edge, sending another ripple of agony through her, causing the world around her to blur. Like flaying human flesh from bone, they tore away the clothes she wore: cloth ripping with violent jerks, buttons flying like small bones, until finally, her nightdress was no more, and she was left standing there, shivering with goose pimples bursting through her skin, shame, and terror rising like a bilge of sick-churned stomach.
"Please stop," Emili begged, her voice shattering into sobs as tears left paths of salt on her face and pain pulsed through her being. "I beg you. you'll kill my unborn child in my womb. I'll give you the money. Please."
But their faces were stone—empty, monster holes, devoid of human features, with eyes glazed with lust and cruelty.
Two tiny figures appeared from the hallway. Akira and Vernon, his eyes burning with a child's anger, his tears glinting on his lashes; and his brother, Vernon, only five, his legs shaking with fear. "Leave Mama, or I'll kill you!" Akira screamed.
Catching sight of a porcelain vase on a side table, Vernon reached out with both hands and flung it. It sailed through the air, crashing into the bald man's head, its sickening impact audible as he stumbled, falling heavily to his knees, blood flying in a warm arc as he clutched at the gash, his fingers crimson between them.
The bearded man roared and launched himself at the boys. Its massive hand slapped Akira hard enough to jar his bones from his body, sending the child crashing to the floor as his face blossomed into a crimson welt. The bearded man seized Vernon by the hair and jerked him up before knocking heavily into his belly. The boy's lungs exploded in a shock of breath as he doubled over in torment.
A scream ripped out of Emili's very essence. "You bastards! You leave my kids alone."
The cigar man slapped her again, stars exploding in her field of vision, as he pinned her down and took her in a very primal fashion. The rape was immediate and savage—agonizing as he pushed his way inside her, forcing his body into hers with raw strength. "Please leave us. don't do it in front of my children," she begged, her throat raw and rupturing: "Please, leave us." The skin was on fire, her body ripping apart, her blood warm and flowing between her legs, the wooden table groaning under the assault. Humiliation engulfed her—she could taste her boys' cries, feel their helpless gaze, and it broke her apart.
The bearded one pushed Vernon to the ground like rubbish and growled at the bald one, who was standing up, blood flowing down his face, "He had his chance. It's mine now. You take care of those kids."
He grabbed hold of Emili's throat, digging his fingers into her skin, choking her, as he shifted himself and plunged into her, breathed explosively into her. Every thrust of his hips drove like a hammer into her, the pain lancing through her pelvis, her loins locking in torment around the unborn life. She screamed silently now, her tears exhausting themselves, her vital limp and unresponsive to the waves of nausea and torment that suffused her.
"I, Lucifer—the fallen one, the devil himself—observed from the sidelines, unseen yet ever-present. I looked up at the cold heavens and whispered, "Oh God, did I order them to do this? No. But Your creation…for which You exiled me…these are the monsters."
The bald-headed man was now wiping blood from his forehead with a scowl as he stumbled towards Vernon. He thrust the boy roughly against the wall, his hand clamped viciously on his neck with bulging veins on the child's face from lack of oxygen. Akira was charging with the hopelessness of his despair when the cigar man blocked his path to grab a candle from the wall sconce with its fiery flame.
He ripped the shirt from Vernon, laying bare the thin, pasty skin of the boy's exposed chest. Then, with intent torture, he upended the candle, letting the hot wax flow in rivulets onto the sensitive skin. The skin hissed as the hot wax touched it, searing and blistering as it melted into the boy's chest. Vernon screamed—a thin, blood-curdling shriek that echoed the cries from the merefires of hell itself—his small body bucking wildly as the pain overwhelmed him, the stench of charned skin rising like incense to forgotten gods as the screams were reduced to whimpers and the boy passed out into fainting Agony.
The cigar man, turning, struck a half-full bottle of wine against Akira's head. Glass exploded with a cascade, shards embedding in skin, hot blood flowing down the boy's face. Akira fell, insensate, a lifeless form.
Emili observes with lidded eyes, her soul bled dry. She had no words, no strength, her soul dead, her body a host for this never-ending cycle, each man following the next, the grunt of beasts, the sweat that dripped from their bodies, the wet slaps of their bodies, the symphony of her destruction. She lay back, a broken doll, her eyes on the ceiling, her soul numbed.
Sated now, the creatures soaked the house in gasoline—the acrid smell of chemicals wafting into her nose even through her drugged haze. The cigar man carelessly flipped his lit cigar to the floor. Fire erupted in an instant flash, hungry mouths consuming walls and devouring curtains crackling in fiery frenzy.
Emili, mustering the last remnants of motherly passion, crawled off the table, pulling herself across the floor, nails tearing through wood, to Vernon as the flames crept up, caressing the air. But a burning beam fell from the ceiling, weighing heavily upon her legs, while her clothes, hair aflame—skin churning black, melted flesh—no scream forced its way through her tightened lips, only a muffled pain as she was burned alive. Final prayer, a tender whisper to the God:
"Please. Save my kids."
Then Lucarious appeared out of the smoke out of no where, his wings masked. He saw me watching and hugged the lifeless, bloody forms of Akira and Vernon to his chest, his face twisted with a sorrowful smile.
"You're violating the laws of the fallen by saving them," I said, my voice eternal and weary. He answered, with eyes that blazed with rebellion, "I was thrown from heaven to return you, Lucifer. If I can resist the laws of the angels... then i can rebel the rules of fallen angels for these innocent celestial souls."
And with that, he disappeared into thin air. The house buckled in a blazing inferno, its timbers creaking and snapping as the flames devoured everything in their roaring chorus. Then all was silent, except for the soft, mirthful glow of embers.
I turned to leave, the question always on the horizon of my thoughts:
"Am I truly the god of sins or humans took that title?"