I sighed lightly from utter boredom and began to press my thumb into the sharp rose thorn, blood slowly forming and running down my thumb. The pain was minimum and uninteresting. I casually tossed the rose to the side of the office and it the black rose promptly burst into flames. I picked up the second rose that lay in the vase next to me and began to once again press my thumb into the various thorns the lay along the rose's stem. The vase itself was entirely black, matching the roses themselves; my father was very OCD about everything matching and looking unison, with a beautifully detailed golden rose etched on it. The vines coming from the thorn wrapped completely around the vase and the rosebud was near the mouth of the vase. The rosebud itself was dripping a red substance, obviously blood, onto the various other petals and leaves of the rose. Altogether the effect was beautifully chilling. Not that I really cared at all. I pressed my finger harder into the rose thorn and then tossed it across the room where it burst into flames like the first one did. I began to reach for the third one when I heard a small voice.
"Ahem." A small voice, a women's voice, said. I looked up to see a women glaring at me from behind the reception counter. She tapped her fingers impatiently and kept glaring at me. "Would you please stop destroying your father's things Damien? I don't believe you father would really like you bursting his poor flowers into flames and nearly setting his workplace on fire." She looked back at something on the counter, presumably paper work and I set another rose on fire. She looked up and glared at me. I glared back, picking the burning rose in between my fingers; my flesh beginning to burn, and tossed it into the air. It then proceeded to implode mid-air. "Damien!" The receptionist screamed. I looked away from where the rose had imploded to turn and glare at her. This bitch was seriously beginning to annoy me. Telling me what to do and shit, who the fuck did she think I was? I cleared my throat and picked up another rose, the flesh on my fingers no longer burned.
"Let's get three things straight right now bitch." I started. The look of disbelief on her face was pleasing. Very pleasing. "One, go fuck yourself I'll do whatever the fuck I want. Two, were in hell you stupid bitch. The means where surrounded by fire. Yes I know the concept of that is shocking but do please try to realize that where we are we are surrounded by fire, thus making it no big deal if I set this said building on fire." I paused to catch my breath and enjoy the look on the receptionists face. She looked like some stupid animal of sorts and I had to keep myself from laughing. "Third and finally, I'm the fucking son of Satan. What makes you think I would listen to what you say?" I paused again briefly and then added "If I really wanted to I could kill you I could" just to see how she would react. I smirked when he skin paled and her eyes got big. "Not so high and fucking mighty now are we?" I thought happily. I turned back to the rose in my hand and proceeded to stab myself in the finger with the thorns again. Bored, I threw this one as well and set it on fire. It was several minutes later and several burnt roses before the receptionist spoke up again.
"Damien?" She asked quietly. I paused midway through ripping off the petals of a rose to look at her. Well more like glare at her. I was still a tad annoyed that the bitch even thought that she could tell me what to do. I looked back to the rose and continued to rip of the petals.
"This had better be good." I threatened, smirking as she squirmed a bit. Apparently she was afraid of me and my little threat. Good. Everyone under me should fear me. I could see her squirm out of the corner of my eye as she weighed the options of what she should say to me. I smirked again and set yet another rose on fire. She cleared her throat lightly picked up a few papers from the counter.
"Your father will see you now Damien." She said quietly. I stood up slowly, tipping over the vase by "accident" with my hand, and watched it fall to the floor where it shattered. The water soaked the carpet and the roses went limp. The receptionist looked from me to the roses and I shrugged my shoulders, smirking. "Opps, my bad. I'm guessing you should clean this mess up before my father sees it." I said casually. When she didn't move I turned and glared at her. "Like now." I said quietly. She immediately stood up and hurried over, saying I'm sorry several times as she began to pick up the pieces. I smirked again and walked down the hall past the receptionist's office. I was soon at my father's door. It was a majestic beauty made out of the richest of woods and metals. Naked fingers rose from the carved fire with my father promptly sitting on his throne above the burning people. The affect was stunning but to flash for my tastes. Of course my father was a hug showoff and had to flaunt his immense power and the way he handled it.
"What a prick." I murmured as I pushed open the large doors with very little effort. I stepped quickly into my father's office, the doors shutting behind me. I walked forward. My father's office was a large spacious room clad in dark reds and browns. Chains hang from the ceiling and the wails of the dead filled the room with their horrible cries. Lava formed a circle around the center of the room and my father sat in his throne, a figure of the torment and devastation the was Satan- I stopped abruptly at the sight in front of me. Replacing the dark tone of the room's once dark colors were light creamy colors. Sic kingly beautiful shades draped down from the ceiling and the once pleasing sounds of the screaming dead was replaced with light airy music. In the center of the room was a large water fountain and I swear for a moment my heart stopped at the sheer atrocity in front of me. "DAD!" I screamed, my voice echoing in the vacant space of the room. I nearly died from utter humiliation as my father came prancing, literally prancing mind you, out of the side balcony. Normally resembling a man at about thirty with long black hair and in long robes my father he now resembled a man in his early twenties short brunette hair with blonde streaks, wearing extremely tight pants and a pink shirt. He looked to me and smiled.
"Hi son!" He called affectionately. The soft playing music was beginning to hurt my head and the music playing stopped abruptly as I set the radio that was playing it on fire. My father looked from the burning radio and then to me. "What?" He asked.
"What? WHAT? DAD THIS PLACE LOOKS SO FUCKING…ARGH IT LOOKS SO FUCKING GAY DAD!" I screamed. He looked me up and down and I twitched a little.
"I think it looks fabulous." He said bluntly. I had to fight down my ever rising urge to scream bloody murder.
"It looked fine the way it was before, father. If I were Satan none of this shitty gay-ass stuff would be anywhere near my work place." I seethed.
"Yes, if you were Satan but you're not." My father challenged. I wanted to scream in rage. My father had just officially crossed the line. He could be all flamboyantly gay at home and shit but this was his work place, where he planned for world domination and such. Where he brought death to millions and he had disgraced it. "What, you think you could be a better Satan then me, son?" My father asked.
"You bet I fucking could!" I screamed. He gave me a curious smile.
"Fine then, let's make a bet." He said casually. I stood there silently, my curiosity provoked. "Damien Thorne, if you can capture the heart of someone who has been promised to heaven, the heart of an angel, then you may have my position as ruler of hell." I smirked.
"That's all? I tear the heart out of an angel so easily-" My father stopped me.
"No Damien. You must get the angel to fall in love with you in order to become ruler of hell, and just to make things a bit harder you must now fall in love with said angel as well."
I nearly screamed and threw-up at the same time at the mention of love. God I hate hate hate hate hate hate the word "love." I stuck out my chin defiantly. "Pssh this'll be easy." I said. My father smirked and opened a small portal.
"Then step forth into the portal and find out WHICH angel you'll have to make yours my son." He laughed. I stuck out my chin and effortlessly walked into the portal. I exited into the small snowy town of South Park. I looked forward to see a younger version of me standing over the body of some poor mangled it. Great, time travel. I could see Death looming over the body and I suddenly stopped. I remembered this day. This was the day that the British kid had died.
"Oh, you are not serious." I said out loud. I could hear my father laughing at me and I clenched my fists. Despite his super fag appearance my father was still the leader of hell for a reason.
"Ah but I'm not Damien. You must clip the wings of Phillip Purup and get him to fall in love with you," My father paused as I cringed. ", and then fall in love with him. Do this and hell if yours."
"You make this sound like a life or death situation dad. I still get to be ruler of hell at thirty." I commented. My father laughed harder. "What's so funny?"
"Son," My father said laughing. ", if you fail you shall never be leader of hell."
"SON OF A BITCH!" I screamed, nearby trees and civilians catching on fire.