PROLOGUE

It was dark, the breeze chilly and the ground hard—nothing too peculiar for the beginning of November. Leafless trees swayed overhead, while a full moon illuminated a dirt path leading up to an overhead cliff. A metal sign beside the edge of the path bore the words, in rusty, fading letters: DEVIL'S PEAK.

In the past, during the 1980s, this place had been a spot for young teenagers to drive their cars out and make love on their dates—many virginities had been broken here, and perhaps that was just as well. Hardly anyone dared to tread on these properties anymore since the accident in 1995, but that didn't stop a select few from being adventurous. Two figures approached the edge of the path; one, a tall blond with a goatee and hair tied back in a ponytail, the other, an ebony-haired teenager. The blond drew in a cold breath through his lungs as he drew his bomber jacket tightly around himself, glancing at the swerving road that led up to the cliff.

"It's even better at night," he proclaimed excitedly. "No wonder so many people loved to come up here."

"Rusty, you're a freaking moron," the ebony-haired teen said, drawing his arms tightly around his chest, his breath coming in cold, visible puffs. His stomach and head hurt, and he felt nauseous. "What on God's green earth could have ever convinced you to come up to this place at night!"

"Ya don't have to be a straight-A student if you already think too much." Rusty smiled, looked toward him. "Come on, Terr, where's your sense of adventure? I thought you loved the city at night."

"The city, not the outskirts," Terrence replied, loosening the rolled-up sleeves of his overcoat. "Besides, I hate this place. Do you even know why this place is named Devil's Peak?"

"Don't know, don't care." Rusty shrugged, then started forward. "Come on, the view at the top is awesome. Unless…" He snickered to himself. "You're a 'scaredy-baby', that is."

Terrence flushed slightly; he hated it when Rusty referred to that incident. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he muttered, "Fine, fine, I'll go with you. But if anything happens I'm going to blame you for it, got it?"

Rusty didn't answer, only smiled and began to climb the rocks that led up to the very top of the cliff. Terrence didn't want to; this place gave him bad vibes and he was still feeling sick ever since he got out of the hospital a few days ago, but he wasn't about to let Rusty win with his petty insults. He sighed and stepped forward, grabbing the first hand-holds that became the stairway to the top.

Rusty was already halfway up to the top, and he was about to start climbing when a bright flash of light came from behind them, illuminating the area in a harsh white glow. Terrence shielded his eyes, and Rusty whipped around, hands and feet still digging into the holds, as the light grew brighter, then dimmed and swerved to one side of the road.

It was a car that had given off the light—a red convertible; Mustang, to be exact. It bore silver lining and a gold hood ornament, license plate number MACHO7. Both boys had been around the city long enough to know who owned a signature car like that, and, needless to say, they weren't pleased to see it.

"Oh, God…" Rusty leapt off from the cliffside, skidding down and landing rather hard on his back. Terrence leapt down from his place on the cliff and stopped, shielding his eyes from the glare of the headlights. They both heard the clicking sound of a car door being opened, then saw a lone figure step out into the bitter night.

"Well, if it ain't the two white-trash faggots from down the road." The teen, a male in his seventeenth year, folded his arms and laughed. He had a muscular structure, dark brown hair in a buzz-cut, and flawless facial features. He stepped toward the two, then placed his hands at his sides, glaring at them menacingly. "And just what do you think you're doing here?"

Rusty glared; gritted his teeth as he stood up. "Back off, Chuck," he growled, his hands forming themselves into fists. "This ain't your territory."

Chuck smirked, walked up to Rusty; the two were now face-to-face. "You know what?" he gave the blond a shove backward, causing him to stumble and smack against the cliff. "You two are middle-school trash. I'm a high-school senior. I go where I want to go, got it?" He took a few more steps forward, shoved Rusty again. "You got that, you hippie trash?"

Terrence knew he was going to be beaten for it, but he turned his head toward the older teen. "Leave him alone, Chuck," he snarled. "He didn't do anything to you."

Chuck backed away from Rusty, began walking toward Terrence. "You trying to talk back to me, punk?" he said, slamming a fist into one hand. "Well, I got plenty more for you and your faggoty friend. You're the one who killed your father, right?"

"Shut up!" Terrence shouted angrily, clenching his teeth. "What happened to Dad is none of your fucking business!"

Chuck laughed. "Right," he replied. "And you're the one who ran away, right? Worried your mother for five days straight? Gave your little brother a run for his money?" He shook his head and rolled his eyes up toward the sky. "Dude, if I were your mother I would've gotten an abortion a long time ago."

The ebony-haired teen could feel tears of anger brimming at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to give in. He closed his hands into fists; hunched his shoulders. Rusty, who had gotten to his feet, sensed the teen's pain and came forward to help him.

"Hey, Chuck, cut it—" he began, but Chuck turned around, slamming him head-on in the jaw. The blond gave a cry of pain and fell on his back, clutching his face; blood was beginning to trickle from his mouth onto his jacket. Chuck whipped around to face him.

"You had something to say?" he growled.

Rusty shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. Chuck bent down and picked up a good-sized stone, tossed it up and down in his hand. "Good," he replied. "Now that we're all settled out, why not have your face inscribed in stone!"

He flung the rock at Rusty, who cried out and clutched his head. Terrence could now see that blood was beginning to trickle down from beneath his bangs and into his eyes; Chuck did not seem to care about his pain. He growled angrily, then leapt forward, grabbing Chuck around the shoulders.

"Fuck off!" he shouted, shoving the senior in the back with all the force he could muster. Chuck stumbled slightly, nearly tripping over Rusty, then gave an angry grunt and whipped around, shoving Terrence in the chest. He gave a gasp of pain and fell back against the hard ground, the wind knocked out of him, bile rising in his throat. He struggled to get up, but could not; he heard the sound of sneakers on gravel as Chuck approached him.

"You've really done it this time, you little fuck." Chuck towered over him, a large-sized stone in one hand. "I was going to let you go with a few cuts and internal injuries, but it appears you want much more than that." He smiled again, a cold, heartless smile. "I'm sure that your mother will love to see your face in the obituaries tomorrow…I can just imagine her sense of relief…"

"SHUT UP!" Terrence leapt to his feet; his eyes had now taken on a bright yellow glow and his features were frightening, demonic. He kicked Chuck in the chest with his foot, sending him backward; Rusty backed against the wall of the cliff, obviously wanting to stay out of this one. The ebony-haired teen drew his sleeves up, then began to advance on him, fists at his sides, teeth bared.

Chuck was trying to get to his feet, but Terrence was quicker. He raised a hand, causing the jock to leap to his feet, almost like a puppet. He hung suspended as Terrence spoke.

"You think you're all that, don't you? You think that just because you're a senior and a star student, you fucking think you can push us around. Is that it?" Chuck swallowed; Terrence's eyes narrowed further. "Is that it!"

"Hey, man, I was just kidding—" Chuck began, but the young teen wouldn't let him finish. Almost by instinct, he brought both hands forward, then slowly began to spread them apart. Chuck's body quavered, then his head snapped up, his mouth opened wide, and from the neck down his body began to split open.

He screamed for mercy, but Terrence refused. His chest ripped open, his stomach, his groin. Organs spilled from the open wound with cascades of blood; his jacket fell off and hit the ground. The young teen then focused toward his head and snapped his neck forward.

Chuck gave one final screech for salvation before his head exploded, bits of bone, muscle, and brain flying in all directions, along with a wave of blood. Rusty yelped and shielded his eyes; Terrence appeared unmoving. Now lifeless, Chuck's mutilated body fell to the ground, soaking in its own pool of blood. The young ebony-haired teen moaned, brought his hand to his head, then looked toward Rusty. The glow in his eyes had faded; they had returned to their normal state, and he seemed to be unaware of what had happened.

"Rusty…" he began, but the other teen backed away, shaking his head. His gaze traveled from the corpse to Terrence, then back to the corpse, as he finally hunkered down on his knees, hands to his head.

"Good…good Lord…" he stammered, apparently in shock. Terrence reached out a hand to him, then stopped, looked toward Chuck—or what was left of him. A small rivulet of blood slowly began to pool around one of his sneakers as he stared at the body, then down at his hands.

"No," he murmured silently to himself, tears of fright jabbing at his eyes again.

"Lucifer…"