Prologue-
Maybe if I slit my wrists, it wouldn't hurt so much. If I was bleeding freely, releasing me. God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore.
This is the story of a boy.
The boy was young. He was weak in body, weak in mind. He went through the motions of life alone and without thought. He was uncomfortable around people, and was well experienced in the ways of self-denial.
This boy was always afraid. He was afraid of other people, but mostly, he was afraid of himself. He was afraid of the images his mind created, late at night. Visions of blood, of demons and shadows and horrible, ever-expanding chasms that led to the very depths of Hell.
Yet he was also fascinated.
He began to pour himself into these visions, with every ounce of his strength. He read books, scores and scores of books. Books filled with demons more terrifying, more powerful, more deceitful and venomous than anything his mind had created. And he was glad.
Until news came to him; his only living connection to the natural world, his only sister, had died.
So the boy dove deeper. He spread all of his soul across the pages, searching for a glimmer of hope. He searched out of fear, out of desperation, out of curiosity, loneliness, out of a sheer desire to defy the rest of the world.
That is when he found the Demon of Demons. The Demonic Messiah.
The Demon of lies, of betrayal, of hatred. The Demon of thievery, of infidelity, of defiance. The Demon of mistrust and the Demon of shadows and the Demon of blood.
The Demon was a sick and twisted mirror of the Divine. He dwelt in an unholy trinity; he was the greatest of three evils. One of darkness within light, One of violence within Hatred, and Himself, one of Deceit within Deceit.
The boy was thrilled.
He found contained within the book, the story of the Demon's entrapment, along with his two companions. He also found, the Demon's Promise.
"Light will call out to the Darkness, to complete what is not whole. Pieces of will and fragments of desire, placed within my mirror, bring life to the deceased. Blood poured from the soul of loneliness, I will cure what harms you."
So the boy said to himself "How beautiful a story! There is not a word out of place. Perhaps, even, this is real? I must try it for myself."
This was to cause much strife.
With unsteady hands, the boy performed the ritual. On an eve within the warmest of months, when the moon was eclipsed fully in shadow, the boy took an old hand mirror, one that once belonged to his mother, and shattered it precisely at midnight.
After the fragments had flew, he gathered the shards and arranged them in the shape of an Egyptian Ankh, the symbol of life. Shakily he held his hand out over a soot-stained platter and slit his left palm, squeezing the deep red blood onto the platter and letting it form an uneven puddle.
Somewhere in the night, a Darkness stirred.
Gently, carefully, he dipped the bottom of each shard in his blood, before placing them back into their correct positions in the mirror. More than once he accidentally cut his finger tips trying to arrange them straight.
The Darkness sniffed, licking it's lips in thirst and expectation.
When finally the mirror was whole again, the boy began the final step in calling the Demon. With slow deliberation, in a voice that was anything but steady, he recited the incantation.
"Maybe if I slit my wrists, it wouldn't hurt so much. If I was bleeding freely, releasing me. God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore.
"Light will call out to the Darkness, to complete what is not whole. Pieces of will and fragments of desire, placed within my mirror, bring life to the deceased. Blood poured form the soul of loneliness, I will cure what harms you.
"Now if I may slit my wrists, it wouldn't hurt so much. If I was bleeding freely, releasing me. God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore.
"God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore."
And with that, a single boy who lived weakly and in fear, sealed the fate of all.