A/N: I have created this story with one theme in mind, should you be wondering. At the very base and core, I ask about the person, as an individual, and his destiny. Can we chose our own path, or is there a predetermined plan laid out before us? Worse yet, is the path we chose the one that leads us to our foretold fate in the end? How can we know what it is? Can we even know what it is? In effect, can one man (or woman's) choice alter the rest of the world? Was it meant to be at any rate?
Well, unfortunately, I do not have the answers. Perhaps you might find closure for this wondering mind of mine Damien and Pip…
Warning: Angst, boyxboy relationship, slight character death and torture, sprinklings of religious mojo jojo.
Disclaimer: Only South Park related item I have is the Eric Cartman shirt that reads, DOES NOT PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS.
Summary: Damien chose his path and in the end it turned out to be destiny anyway.
Remember:
"Blah" – Speech
Blah – Memories
Blah – Self Explanatory
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Flames leapt from the ground, burning away flesh bit by bit. Screams rose through the air, slicing the smoke and fumes. The smell of brimstone was heavy and air laden with ashes. Black and grey flecks ironically fell like snowflakes toward what was once earth. No more though… no more than smoldering rock with the damned branded and weeping in the streets.
In fact, one body lay cold despite putrid fires around him. His eyes were growing darker and his thin arms—the horribly charred and scabbed underside displaying the numbers he was condemned with—reached up to another body lying a few feet away.
"I… I can't… I can't take it," he confessed, tone hoarse and strained. The person's dark head tilted up exhausted at the one who had spoken.
"You can do it, Kyle," the other whispered. The poor soul's, now named Kyle, eyes dampened and his head swam around him.
"I-I'm so sorry, Stan! I'm going to die and I've brought you to Hell with me," Kyle's tears slowly slipped down his filthy cheeks one by one creating brilliant streaks of white. The one named Stan struggled to inch closer to his friend.
"Don't say that! I refused to leave you!" Stan barked out, his arms scuffing along the boiling asphalt to reach out to the red haired man in front of him. "I will not sit back in luxury while you suffer…"
"You would have forgotten…" Kyle's voice came out scratchy as he tried to hold in his sobs. Stan's pale eyes watched as more brine collected on the edges of those dark lashes. Not for the first time, he wished he was stronger so he could have wiped them away.
"I cannot--can never forget you," Stan said solidly. Sometimes it was the only solid thing left in the world for Kyle.
"But you could have been so happy," the Jew—nay, the condemned—begin to lose his will to speak. Stan stared with horror as his friend's eyes were beginning to flutter closed.
"No! No! You're wrong! You're my only happiness!" Stan shouted and it seemed that even the billows of noxious gas grew silent with ragged, labored breathing the only sound in the ruins of a small town. "Oh, please don't give up Kyle! Don't give up!"
"But I'm so sleepy… It's so cold…" Kyle was mumbling. Stan's wretched fingers dug into the lose gravel and melting glass, further slicing open his perspiring flesh. Ever so weakly Kyle's arm lay outstretched to him and Stan could remember a time when the skin was healthier… cleaner… and felt as smooth as silk.
"I'm begging you Kyle, we just have to wait a little while longer… just a little," Stan was murmuring as he dragged his body across the earth. His tattered rags did nothing to soften the immense pain of fire licking his entire being. Kyle's once green eyes, now almost black they were so dark with soot, fought to remain open.
"We've waited so long… can we not rest from this?" the boy's elegant speech was reducing to slurring and guttural moans of agony. Stan felt his lips tremble as he shook his head, dark hair plastered to his forehead, and Kyle felt ashamedly mesmerized in his half-dead state.
"No, we're so close… so, so close. Just a little longer, he'll come for us… and then I can show you heaven… I promise wait only a few more hours… Just a few…" Stan was pleading, hand stretching until he could feel the bones grind together. Kyle flatted his hand against the steaming ground, letting it crawl closer to the unblemished arm.
"Is it like in the bible?" Kyle asked, quivering from fear as he felt his heart beat erratically. Stan made a noise that could have been a chuckle, but it was groaning in the back of his throat.
"It's so much better… It's bright… and cool… It's paradise… I swear, you'll love it," Stan was weaving stories together in his mind, trying to build up Kyle's will to live. "There's no pain, just pleasure. A palace, huge ivory walls and gold panels… angel's soaring through the air… Beautiful blue skies… Nice soft beds."
Kyle made a sound that Stan almost remembered as a pleased hum. But it had been so long, he wasn't sure if it was only his imagination. They inched closer and the tips of their digits brushed over one another. Stan wanted to cry at the feeling of rough calluses where gentle pads use to be.
"That's right, Kyle… Just hold on to me, and I promise you'll be saved," the dark haired boy tightened his fingers over the back of his secret love's hand. Kyle nodded bravely as he held as taunt as he could to the hand… Kyle wished their hands could stay entwined for all eternity.
Be careful what you wish for…
The sweet, yet awkward hold was swiftly penetrated when nails erupted from the underneath the concrete debris. Shrieks pierced the air, as well as bones and rotting flesh. Recoiling in misery, neither young man noticed a dark figure emerge mysteriously from the fiery pit around them.
A sinister laugh echoed throughout the empty streets, filled with revolting corpses, not all of them in one piece. The tiny one with shredded crimson hair convulsed with damp cheeks. The other was shaking from pain, yes, but rage faded it away, leaving only his quaking body.
"Fucker!" he cussed, spittle and blood flying from his mouth. The shadowy silhouette of a man stepped out from an inferno, it's blaze bright and scorching at everything… everything except the white skinned, broad, dark man lazily walking forward to the two curled on the floor joined at the hands with several nails sticking out. They were mangled into an oozing mess of deep, chilling red and ashy black.
Bending down, the man was tsking, prodding in a falsely kind manner at their hands. It caused Kyle to scream out and Stan's hands twitched making him grunt. Satisfied with their response he pushed himself back up, crossing his arms over his chest, black clothes not even smearing with blood.
"Do you see what happens when you seek comfort in my land?" this new character questioned. Stan was flexing his fingers as he tried to pull himself up. The person's devilishly handsome face frowned. "Now, you don't want to hurt yourself, do you?"
"Bite me, you bitter jackass!" he yelled, finally coming to his knees. The unholy eyes flashed and suddenly Stan was lying flat on his stomach again, crying out in distress when the feeling of teeth sinking into his skin caught him off guard.
"Stop! Please, stop! Stop hurting him!" Kyle beseeched. The Dark One lifted his brows and turned his face slightly. Kyle panicked as Stan writhed in complete and utter pain. "I'll do anything! Just stop!"
"Anything?" the False Prophet asked, eyebrows rising suggestively. Kyle sobbed, squeezing his eyes tight. Stan began to feverously shake his head, mouth rambling protests that cut off into howls as the teeth turned into sharp razorblade-like incisors.
"Yes! Anything!" Kyle agreed. The Evil One sighed and waved his hands, Stan immediately stilling, panting as slick sweat rolled off his body. Kyle shivered, straining his muscles in his fingers to close over Stan's. Their digits stroking together tenderly in the syrupy mess of their hands.
The stranger scowled as he roughly grabbed the back of the redhead's sliver of clothing. It practically fell apart as the dark one literally ripped the damned hands away. Stan cursed out again, "Son of a bitch!"
"Close, Son of Satan!" Damien proudly exclaimed, features drawn in a grim joy. Kyle was suspended up in the air by the neck, gasping. The boy tried to claw at the large hand crushing his windpipe, but he was so pathetic…
Damien was thoroughly enjoying the helpless squeaks coming from the tiny Jew hanging limply from his hands. The blasts of smoke rising around him and his playthings made him exponentially full of glee.
The blobs of soot floated about them, masking the scarlet hair the color of dusk. He was lost in the scenery as if he was watching from everywhere, which he might have been. That was until a sturdy grip wrapped around Damien's ankle.
Damien's eyes widened and his attention snapped down to see Stan, arm rigid and immovable wound about his leg. His hold on Kyle loosened only a fraction and a slight bit of brimstone clotted air found its way into the suffering lungs. However, it wasn't the grasp of Damien's ankles that had him stunned. It was the look in those watery eyes.
Sympathy, pleading, pity, fear, helplessness...
"Don't… Not him… please…?"
Love…
Damien glanced back up to the condemned. The numbers seeming to peel from the twiggy arms… Damien was breathing harshly, unable to take the stench of death, of brine, of hell. His hand was aching to clench tighter, watch him die; watch someone else lose everything they ever cared for…
"I'm begging you, Damien… Please don't take him away from me… not like Pip," Stan choked out, holding out his palms childishly. Damien's hurried breathing instantly stopped. Before he knew what happened, Kyle had been launched out of his hands, and straight into the waiting arms of the other dark haired lad.
Kyle and Stan tumbled to the ground, skin splitting, more blood rushing out of their bodies. Stan was holding Kyle so close, so securely, Damien couldn't watch them anymore. His head whipped another direction and his eyes seethed quietly.
Stan was rapidly brushing the windswept curls of burgundy out of the way of Kyle's watering orbs. Kyle fully supported himself to his best friend, coughing and moaning into the now weakened chest. Tear were freely cascading down Stan's face as he leaned his forehead against the boy in his hands. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou…"
Stan peered up as the sound of rubble met his ears. His fingers curled possessively across Kyle's shabby clothes, eyes fearfully searching, but the Anti-Christ was no where to be found. The Jew's moans were dissipating now and Stan decided it was time for them to go to the church…
"You came back to me…" a small boy was standing at his door, the fluorescent light spilling out, giving him an ethereal complexion. Damien knew then and there, he wanted to be with Pip forever. Even if he had to fight his way into heaven…
Damien was walking along the streets, or what could have been called streets had they not been demolished by his armies of demons and shadows. His face was stone set and his eyes blazed like the fires around him. It was not that Damien was soft… it was just that he didn't want anyone to feel like him…
"Damien… I-I think I'm in love with you…" his voice cracked and Pip's tears were flying fast from his eyes. The Son of the Devil immediately sprang from his seat and pushed away all the sadness from those bright cerulean eyes.
"Shh, don't cry, it's all right…" he murmured, body bent as he carefully wiped the damp cheeks with his thumb. Pip shook his head, the neat golden hair waving slightly, teasing Damien's fingers.
"It's not! Don't you see?" Pip protested, diving straight for Damien's chest. Damien's arms automatically trapped him firmly to his body. "We can't be friends anymore…"
The Offspring of Evil felt his dreams crash around him… His eternal bliss shattered so simply… All he wanted to do was hold tighter, but Pip was ashamed to love a monster such as him. His arm's quickly dropped to his sides. "You… no longer want to be near me?"
"No…" the Brit whispered. He meanly swiped at his reddening eyes. "I am so sorry Damien… I want more… I want to be with you!"
Damien gasped and stood back unexpectedly. Hearing Pip wanted more was the last thing he thought he would hear. "More…?"
"You must think me disgusting!" the golden haired boy was burying his face in the heel of his palms. Damien shook his head, stepping forward to bring those hands downward. His eyes met the sight of blotchy red cheeks and brine covered eyes.
"No… I don't," the Anti-Christ confessed, "I think you're gorgeous…"
"Wha—" Pip's words were cut off as a pair of warm lips prodded against his own…
"Our father who art in heaven—"
Damien's head indolently turned to the sight of the temple not too far from the ruined building he lazed on top of. They were praying. How pathetic. Their savior would not come from simply praying. Nothing ever came from prayers…
"He's not listening, foolish humans," the dark man hissed and spun back on his heel so he would not suffer to see the dimly glowing gold light that reminded him of someone long gone.
That was when Damien came face to face with his most loathed angel.
"Don't you have virgins to seduce?" the False Prophet growled. The being floated gracefully, only the tips of his toes barely brushed the tarnished building. Dark chestnut colored hair tumbled from his head, framing a sharp visage with carved chips of ice as eyes. The angel with expansive and brightly silver wings did not smile.
"You need not be so harsh. They are not all damned to hell…" the angel's muted voice was like honey, slow and warm. It did not soothe the demon, but merely serve to grate on his worn nerves. Scowling, Damien strut over to the edge of the wrecked ceiling and contemplated leaping.
"Has God come to gloat; is that why you were sent, Angel Gabriel?" he demanded, eye's focused on the scarlet horizon. Gabriel wafted closer to also gaze upon the dark sun barely visible through the mucked haze. Powerful wings beat, causing fluffs of feathers to spiral in the make shift wind. They frizzled into gray dust once they came into contact with the boiling earth.
"No," he answered softly. Damien scoffed but otherwise showed no other signs he wished to continue conversation with the higher being. "I have only come to see. Many of us have you know… It has been a long seven years."
"Not long enough," the Anti-Christ argued, eyes narrowed at the tiny dot shimmering in the blazed star just beyond the planet's reach. High Angel Gabriel's pale eyes glanced over to the tense figure beside him. Ironic that those two beings of another plane could stand so close together yet remain so opposite in this world.
"You still hold a grudge against these mortals, young Damien?" he questioned coolly. Damien's eyes flashed and he swiveled his demonically chiseled features toward the angel.
"Angels and mortals alike! I will not lose this battle!" the dark man exclaimed. Gritting his teeth to regain his calmer attitude, Damien pointedly stared out at the slowly growing spot in the wavering distance. "My fury is much too strong…"
"His love is stronger," Gabriel stated, sorrow leaking from his frame. Feathers cascading like tears toward the flames searing across the broken and splintered rubble of asphalt. The red irises of the demon dilated to inky black.
"Do not preach of love, Angel Gabriel. It's too late for that," the demon wearily warned.
"You chose your fate, did you not Father Thorn?" the divine presence asked.
"My own fate! Not his!" Damien shouted, eyes closed as the deep crimson swirled back so fast, it ached. The angel merely bobbed in the sparse burst of steam. It circled around him, unable to touch the pureness that was the messenger of the Lord.
"I am sorry… I did try to warn you," Gabriel amended. The Anti-Christ bent over as if in an extreme agony. On automatic, the angel moved to offer a helping hand. Quickly Damien shoved it away, burning threads of their fabric for a moment. The messenger immediately drew back, fluffs drifting about the transcended beings.
"Leave me; your precious humans' savior has finally arrived…" Damien commanded, hand covering his orbs as they bled into a muted fire. Gabriel gave the slightest of bows before the wings fluttered tightly together... and he was nowhere in plain sight. In the next few seconds, the dark one's back straightened and he sighed. Letting his hand fall to his black robes, Damien smirked as the raging breeze swept the cloth toward the silhouette blocking out the angry sun.
Lying together in the dim light of the moon, the two men were shivering. Leisurely they explored the other's body. Silver light crept in and made Damien's dark eyes sparkle. Pip absently discovered he was staring as the Anti-Christ tilted his head off to one side.
"You look happy," Pip quietly explained. Shocked, those dark orbs widened. Blood worked it's way over Damien's face, giving the pallid skin a rosy glow. Pip couldn't help but laugh as he pulled his lover closer in order to breathe in the scent of shadows and a metallic wine.
"If I didn't know better…" Damien murmured into the shell of the blonde's ear huskily, "I'd say you are prideful." Pip licked his lips nervously as he accidentally scratched Damien's back in apprehension. Damien had to bite back a deep moan at the erotic action.
"And what would you do if I was?"
"Oh, I could think of something…"
In the morning, Damien absently straightened his collar. Decked out in his priest uniform he looked quite dashing in the mirror. A tiny yawn caught his attention making him turn to the bed. His Pip was curled around a pillow, golden hair tangled lightly and glinting in the soft beams of the sun. Unable to contain the grin, Damien walked over to bend down and brush away the lose strands from the nape of his neck.
"Don't forget to say your prayers today," the raven murmured. He let his mouth linger one second longer. Pip peeked open one of his blue orbs and smiled. He nodded and buried his head in he pillow he was cuddling. The taller man stood, rolling his eyes, knowing the blonde would more than likely forget again...
Damien twitched ever so slightly. He explained to his parish it was due to a nervous tick he had as a child that he could never get rid of. The newest father most of the time ignored the holy items of Christ morphing and twisting into demented parodies in the demonic vision and presence. Only another nonhuman would notice. And so one did.
As Damien yawned, by passing the figure of the Holy Mother sneering at him and gnashing her blood-soaked fangs at him, a wince echoed throughout the pews. Blinking, the raven turned his head, stepping back as the sight of a bright white aura surrounded a man with long curling brunet hair and icy orbs. A tight coffee jacket was wrapped around him in the cold, hands in his jeans pockets as he trotted down the aisle, nodding for Damien to get closer.
The Anti-Christ did so and the face of the Virgin Mary calmed and settled back to porcelain, eyes closed; the strangled babe in her arms returning to the placid Jesus.
"That was awfully disturbing," the man pointed to the statue which was rightly back to normal.
"Angel Gabriel! What are you doing here?" Damien asked, surprise sprinkling the words friendly. He motioned toward the pews but Gabriel declined with a wave of his hand. "You're in human form. Are you on some sort of mission…?"
"Not really… I requested this," the angel admitted, a frown wrinkling his virtuous brow. The priest stood confused for a moment. The pale eyes turned away from the demon and focused instead on the cross where a melancholy figure of the Messiah hung for all to worship. "There has been some… discontent…"
"Discontent?" Damien parroted. Gabriel nodded with a sigh, bowing his head.
"With your presence as a priest," he explained, "Many are unhappy with it."
"In heaven?!" the son of evil exclaimed. The archangel did not dare glance up. He merely nodded in the affirmative once more. "Who would have thought…? I thought God would be on my side…" Damien plopped down on a nearby pew, ignoring as he got too close to a glass pane of a non descript angel who then snarled and the feathers melted from his frame, his wings bloodied and rusting a deep black.
Gabriel shied away from the image and Damien scooted over to give him room to also seat himself down. "Many of my kind believe that your presence might warp this hollowed ground and send too many to Hell."
"No, no," the offspring of the devil argued. "I chose a newly built church. The land is not sanctified and very little come to this place. Those who do, I merely try to help, many of them crack dealers or prostitutes."
"Saintly of you," Gabriel mumbled and rubbed at his eyes. Damien felt something jar at the very pit of his stomach. He dared not touch the angel for he was still mostly unholy…
"Can I ever just become human?" the raven seriously inquired. The angel did not respond for many moments. The priest remained silent as well, dreading what he knew was going to be said.
"No."
"Maybe I can earn a soul…" he suggested, voice drifting off, dancing around the alter. Flames flicked as the chilling wind whistled past the open mahogany doors. The mutated angel in the panels of the window writhed and wordlessly shouted out obscenities.
"Damien… you will become the destroyer of this earthly plane," Gabriel confessed. The dark one gasped, noticing the angel was finally looking him in the eye. The absolute surety in that chiseled face made the black heart of Damien literally stop for a split second.
"No… I won't…" he protested in a breath. "I'm going to find a way into Heaven to be with Pip. No one can stop me! I'll even bathe in holy water until my flesh falls off and re-grows human and pure!"
"Damien, you two have already had carnal relations," the angelical being reminded, "Due to church mandate, that is a sin in the eyes of God. He cannot get into Heaven."
"Church mandate also states that you take Christ into your heart and ask God for forgiveness, and since he loves all his creatures, Pip will be forgiven and his soul will be clean again," Damien rattled off wagging his finger. The angel wanted dearly to push it away with distain.
"You don't understand! If you change what is to be done, it will affect the boy too! No one can fight their destiny, Spawn of Satan!" Gabriel cried, standing up with clenched fists.
"God has bestowed free will! I have some human in me! I am free to choice my own path, Archangel!" Damien yelled, voice booming and the lights in the building dimmed, the boards of the wood bending, all the statues moaning aloud and convulsing. Instantly in the face of evil, the higher being's human shell exploded and a golden light enveloped the room. Damien cringed away, hissing as his eyes swirled red in counterattack of a supreme creature of the Lord.
"So be it, Damien, Lucifer's only Child! You have chosen your path! Do not say you were not warned!"
And with that, the world was completely still for a moment…
"Damn you… You will pay for what you have done to us!" Damien promised. As the world was wavering between the times of twilight; where day is not yet defeated and night stalls to cast off its shackles, the False Prophet waited at the edge of the spoils of this once graced city for the Final Battle. His eyes were unseeing, however, on that outline in the distance. Those scarlet eyes were much too lost in memories of the past.
But they refused to think of that one memory when he actually found the body.
Damien was paralyzed. He could not move. His brain wasn't responding. It didn't want to think of the funeral or the year long process of ultimately finding the bastards who did it. The compelling video evidence was on display, the volume only loud enough to be heard adequately, but because of his odd mix of demon blood and hell hound and human sacrifice… it seemed to be screaming at him.
"You dirty queer!"
"Seducing our Father!"
"Rot in hell!"
"Does this feel good…?"
"P-Please! S-Stop…! Auh… no-o…"
Damien could taste the vomit on his tongue. He could feel the brine prick at the edges of his eyes. His ears felt as if they were bleeding. The retinas burned and all he could accurately recall of the day so long ago was the anticipation of the bullet. His prayer was that the torture would conclude soon enough… there would be a Heaven at the end of this Hell.
"O-O Father, w-who art—"
"Jesus Christ, dude! Where did you get that?!"
"Shut him up Johnny-boy!"
"Hollow'd be thy name—"
"Put the gun down! Luke, we were just supposed—"
BANG.
Despite it was only a memory from decades ago, it was real enough to the poor dark man that he could still hear it. It could still be felt in his prevailing body; from the bottom of his core, where that shriveled organ of a heart was to the depths of the marrow of his bones. Gulping, Damien flicked his eyes back to the shimmering image of a person climbing over the hill. Sulfuric air coated the insides of his straining lungs making him recall the verdict.
"Not guilty."
Clawed hands hid the weakness in his visage as he doubled over, screaming like that day in the courtroom. The five stages of grief were overpowered by Damien in all ways. Nothing could be said as to how much those words had hurt.
Until he realized Pip had not even finished his prayers.
"He has to be in hell!" the raven demanded, dirtied hands clutching onto the boned gates of Hell. The Fallen Angel himself stood at the entrance, bulging red arms crossed while shaking his horned head. Damien slammed on the gates cursing in the deadliest voice he knew. After his decision to lead a straight life for Pip, the father and son grew apart.
"I'm sorry, Damien, you know the rules," he responded. The deep baritone trembled and rocked the ground and the wannabe Father felt his forehead crease.
"Rules…?" he repeated..
"The Blessings, son..." Diablo answered, "He was persecuted in the name of Christ for righteousness' sake." Damien breathed a sigh of relief, head hitting the entry and letting a hoarse laugh fall from his throat.
"Thank God…" he murmured, closing his orbs and letting his hands go slack. "He's safe in Heaven now…I can still work on Earth and go up with him then…" Damien straightened to leave when his father called out with the worst news yet.
"God won't let him go…"
"What…?" Damien asked, confusion making him look amused. "Just because we—"
"God wanted to make him an Archangel…"
And Damien could not breathe again. Quickly his hand shot out and held onto the bones in order to study himself. Onyx orbs glimpsed up at the sympathetic countenance of the devil. "But I can't touch Archangels! I've not transgressed into a human yet! I would have tainted him!"
"I know…" the beast trailed off. Damien shook his head in disbelief.
"No, you didn't know before did you?!" he questioned. No response. "DID YOU?!"
"Yes… I knew… When I had spoken to God, God urged me to stop the two of you so Pip's soul would not be tainted… but… I was angry at your betrayal," he explained with a rough sigh. Damien's face contorted and he slid down the gateway, his knees scuffing the skulls of the damned and burgundy blood stained the robes of the Priesthood.
"But the prayers…" the raven whispered, head spinning.
"Helped. God readily forgave Pip… but the day of his death… it was only half delivered. Pip is in Heaven, contained. They put him in a perpetual sleep to stave away the agony…" Satan bent down, staring at his son with fiery eyes.
"Then he must fall! They can't keep him up there!" Damien shouted, banging his fist against the crackled ground.
"God believes this is best. I agree. On this matter I will not argue…" The devil put his hand through the gate, in order to pat the broad shoulder, when suddenly Damien whipped away, a glare so terrifying Satan was frozen in his position.
"What God believes?! Wasn't it his beliefs that led Pip to suffer?!" the boy yelled, venom for the injustice turning deadly. "What was wrong with what we were?! With what I am?! His infinite belief and rules and damned lies is what killed Pip in the first place! His beloved humans brutally murdered and r-r-raped—all because they believed God had said it was wrong?! In what way?! Why?! Why blame Pip?! WHY NOT GOD FOR ALL HE HAS DONE FOR US?! HE KILLS US WITH HIS SINS AND HIS LIES! I CHOSE TO DESTROY ALL THAT BELIEVE! THEY WILL PAY FOR THIS!"
That was when Hell and Heaven was silenced and Earth was doomed.
It was only a matter of time for Damien to climb the ladder in the churches. Seven years it took until they eventually declared him Pope. And that was when the serpent's deadly strike infected the world. All Hell broke lose and the human race plunged into chaos. God sent down his messenger angels and the worthy were brought to Heaven and the condemned stayed on Earth to rot until the second coming of Christ would save them all.
And that day was today. It is fated that Christ will win and the False Prophet will fall.
On the battlefield a figure swayed in the moonlight; silver and pale, glinting off the windswept locks of the Messiah before the Anti-Christ. Damien's sharp eyes could clearly see the shining lights of Godliness bouncing off him. Blood red eyes glowered at his opponent.
"Give him back to me…"
The command was flown away, swirling across miles of debris and corpses until it rang across the lands, signaling the beginning of the end.
"Who will win, Stan…?" the tired Jew inquired.
"Christ of course," a close friend said as if a reminder. "You get to go to heaven Kyle."
Embraced in the night, two people lie shivering and in waiting of the inevitable. Two beings from realms incomprehensible to the normal human thought fought for reasons unclear to them other than destiny and choice… and although this nears it's untimely closing point… the memories will not.
"I love you even though it's wrong…"
"Wrong…?"
"What we are doing is a sin. We're going to burn in hell."
"Says who?"
"God."
"Oh. I suppose it might be then."
"Do you still—"
"I love you… always… If God can forgive me just this once, I would like to burn with you forever… because as long as it's your demon love that brands us, then let my pure love carry us to heaven…"
"Yes… fly! Fly us to paradise…"