R&R, please. I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I just needed to get this out of my head. Please Review; please? That's how desperate I am. Well, bye. See ya.
Even in Hell,
The Show Must Go On
8--------8
The room was dark; only vague shapes could be made out from the dying flames that flickered from the rapidly shrinking candles. Wax dripped ominously from an unknown niche onto the aging wooden floor, a soft hiss heard as each drop hit the hard, icy surface, echoing throuhout the cavernous theater, for it was a theater; at least, at one time it had been. The once plush velvet seats were old and tattered, the beautiful cardinal-maroon color having long since faded away to a most bizarrely shaded gray, the stuffing now composed almost entirely out of mold and strange insects not often seen in the light of day, or anywhere where common men existed. Yes, these insects were not at all common; they thrived on spells, and spells alone. They devoured any form of magic their chosen master desired, never kept as pets, but as unsuspecting predators, ready to suck the essence out of any lifeform which crossed its line of vision. Indeed, these parasites were not desired as pets, or even ingredients for some rare concoction; no, they were not wanted by anyone. Save for one young boy.
A spotlight hit the stage, blinding the silent creatures which occupied the well-worn cushions of the invisible audience that no longer existed. A small, thin boy, with a long, untidy mop of hair the color of black mud stepped timidly into the yellow-gray light; it, too, seemed to have aged greatly over the years. His large brown eyes seemed too big for his face, accented by the shadows underneath his them from the loss of precious slumber, due to the frightening nightmares that felt all too real to be dreams; and the images which haunted his mind from dawn to dusk, placed there by people who had said that they were family, that they could be trusted, but they felt more like monsterous creatures, his keepers in the dark, hiding eternally behind a mask, only showing their true colors when the sun went down. He looked around nervously, afraid to see who was in the crowd, for fear that it might be his unforgiving masters. His skin appeared palid and sallow in the light, pale as the moon at winter's dusk, with clouds blanketing everything around them. The bleak darkness of the theater seemed to close itself in around the child, held back only by the shield of the yellow-gray spotlight.
A sound startled the child out of his reverie of thoughts: that of a pair of gloved hands, clapping, from somewhere within the vast auditorium of impending doom. "Well, then, my boy, are we ready to begin the trick? Or do you need further convincing?" A deep voice rumbled throughout the theater; even the walls trembled at the sound, causing flakes of plaster to fall to the carpeted aisles on the far reaches of the theater's gaze.
The boy shook violently as the effect of the Voice's words sunk in, like the decrepit smell that smothered him, choking him, surrounding him like the swirling shadows that bit and clawed and knawed at his flesh and mind, until there was nothing left but an ever-fearful heart, and a skeletal frame from the happy child that had once existed, with bright chocolate eyes that shone with a joy that could only belong to a young, unblemished soul. Now, all that was left was a figure, too young, and yet too old, to know, to feel, or to even remember what life even was. His eyes no longer shone, not even with tears; those had dried up long ago; they were now the color of charcoal, lifeless and dull, and flecked with shades of something unknown, a color with no name, and yet which spoke of a sadness that few shall ever experience.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded, biting into his lower lip until it bled, gripping at his torn clothes, his heart already filled with a cold and simmering dread that this was the last sight that he would ever see, the last memory that he would ever know of, the last time that he would ever breathe. He silently pleaded to God to save him, to rescue him, to send something, anything, to come for him and beat the bad guys into a pulp, like in the books he had once read.
But like he thought, but like he knew, nobody was coming, and no one ever would. No one would ever come to his rescue.
That was just the way it was. And the way it would always be.
The Voice rang out again, chuckling this time. "Good. This will make things so much easier on the rest of us." He clapped his hands, once, twice, three times. "Ombra, Nemesi. Come out and help your cousin into his chains. Make him as "comfortable" as you can."
Two young boys that were identical in almost every way possible bounded into the light, grinning in such a frighteningly menacing way that it would put the Chesire Cat to shame. They were both dark creatures in themselves, their eyes glinting with...bloodlust, perhaps? Anticipation? Excitement? Or was that just the child's own twisted reflection that lay within, mimicking him in a cruel and sadistic manner that even Lucifer himself never had?
"Come this way, your sacrifice, and hold out your hands for the manacles, ball and chains." The boy with almost poisonous green eyes hissed into his ears as he shut the heavy iron rings around his hands; his wrists were too skinny for them.
"Now Ombra, be kind," The boy with harsh icy blue eyes chided his twin. "At least have the respect to call him by what he really is." He paused.
Ombra grew impatient for his brother's answer. "Well, what is it?"
"Maggot meat!"
The boys burst out laughing as they secured the child's chains. They bounded away for a moment or two, then reappeared, pushing an old glass tank that was filled to the brim with icy water.
"Is everything ready?"
The Voice whispered, almost excitedly. The twins looked at each other, that identical grin growing wider. They turned back towards their master, their father, their god, and spoke one, single word.
"Yes," they hissed, like two slithering snakes, with eyes as poisonous as their venom.
"Then begin." And they started forward, their faces stretching into a sinful grimace of gory pleasure as they began to circle the tank, their laughter echoing throughout the cavernous theater like wild hyenas before they attacked their prey, watching the young boy before them rise up, the top of the tank like a gaping mouth, ready to swallow him whole.
And as the chains began to bring him down closer to the black water, the child whispered one last word, and his final prayer as the rusty ropes grinded to a halt, leaving him hovering ten feet above it. Anticipation and fear hung heavily in the shadows. Everthing hung still for several seconds, watching.
Waiting.
Wanting.
"Daddy."
Then everything happened at once.
The child dropped down into the tank. The lights burst into an explosion of fire, quickly extinguished by the tidal wave of swirling starving shadows, throwing everything into darkness. The top of the tank sealed shut, locking the child away. A low chuckle rumbled ominously around the theater, while two pairs of eyes glinted maliciously with thirst.
A pair of mud-brown eyes peered out throught the water, and a small hand pressed up against the glass. They looked out, frightened, and all hope died as he closed his eyes one last time, his fingers barely grazing the glass. He thought of his father, the only family he had ever known of, alone without him; he would be so disappointed, and so sad. The child's thoughts died away, and he clenched his fists, trying to be brave, for his father's unknowing sake. A small stream of bubbles spiraled upward from his lips, his final breath slipping away.
And the lights-
-went-
-out.
And when they finally came back on, the room was bare. The only thing that remained was a pair of empty handcuffs, swinging grotesquely from the chains hanging suspended from the ceiling, dripping thickly with a colorless grey substance. The Master held his breath anxiously, as the twin brothers stepped onstage, hiding something behind their backs, their mouths a suspicious red.
"Ombra, Nemesi. Please tell me that this was a success. That the child didn't perish like so many others have before him." The Master pleaded. "There have been too many failures. Please tell me that this one lived, at least. I cannot take any more of this cruel game. If he did not work, then my last hope will be gone, and everything will perish. Please, my boys. Show me what is left, and spare me the theatrics."
The twin brothers smirked. "I think that you will be happy, Master. That is, after we introduce you to someone--special." A figure in the shadows began to glide forward. "May I have the privilege of introducing our new brother, Master?" His mind filled with hope as the reborn child stepped forward; and he grinned.
"My dear boy, my son, my successor. Tell me what your name is. Tell me, before I see the illusion for what it is. Who are you?"
The boy lifted his head at the sound of the voice in the darkness round him. His clothes were no longer in tatters, and his hands were no longer soft and delicate, as most children's hands are prone to be; instead they were harsh, and the bone was almost visible through his translucent skin. But it was the eyes that made the creature's 'face' twitch at the corners of his mouth.
"Father. If you already know, then tell me."
"Norvani." The newborn hissed lightly in approval. "Welcome to the Mortali clan. I have a feeling that you will take my legacy far."
"If I may be so impertinent to ask, Father, but why did you create me? Of what purpose do I serve you?"
The voice in the shadows chuckled. "Of what purpose? My son, you shall take my place one day. You are the only survivor of the ceremony, an experiment, the only one successful out of millions. Time after time, I have tried and failed to create such a person whose eyes match mine, whose power was useless when pure. For, you see, I am getting too old to control my vast domain; I am too weak to travel out into the world anymore. I cannot hunt for souls to bring into despair or sin, because my power is failing.
"My son. My successor. My last hope. I am dying." And the shadows stilled. Ice seemed to hang in the air, as silence spread like an infectious sore.
"Master? You are dying?" The twins, momentarily forgotten, spoke, their voices unnaturally loud in the dead air betweeen the theater and the darkness. "But why did you not say anything? We could have scoured the world for cures, for curses and enchantments, ANYthing. Why did you not--"
"SILENCE!" The Master roared, and their mouths closed without a second thought. "It is not because of any illness; no, nothing as foolish as that. My power is fading, my control slipping. Whatever is left of my soul is being swallowed by my own minions. And I will be gone before I live. But--before I left my position forever--I wished to find a pure and innocent soul. An inquisitive, but indeed sinless, being. And what better then that of a child? One that I could bend to my will, and mold my design into, so that my legacy could and would live on into infinity. I fell from the heavens to this Earth, and I was pure; but once my feet hit the soil, the shadows swarmed over me, and I became what I am today. And Norvani--" The boy glanced upwards at the mention of his name. "One day you shall become even greater and more powerful then I've ever been. You shall inherit my entire world. But you must learn to control everything that you know of. It will take everything that you have within you. But if you do not listen and follow my advice, this empire will collapse around you. My son, whose name means 'New Shadow'. My reincarnate youth, future ruler of Hell. Do you accept?"
"May I keep the twins for advisors and companions?"
The Master looked over at the two, who looked at their new brother in amazement. "Of course. They are very wise. I would've picked them for you if I had choosen the advisors for you. I trust them with my most important secrets. And, if I had a longer one, I would trust them with my life." Ombra and Nemesi looked just about ready to faint from shock.
"So what is your answer my son?" Silence swallowed the atmosphere yet again. The answer was long awaited, but finally it came.
"Yes."
A tremendous roar filled the theater like a river bursting through a weakened dam, as the shadows and monsters cheered on their future Prince of Darkness. The Master smiled.
"My Boy. You have made the right choice. And your power shall be overwhelming. You will not regret this. I swear."
"Yes Father. Of course." As the boy thought about his forced-upon future, the twins came up behind him.
"Three cheers for the son of Lucifer: Son of God, Son of Man, and a Hell of a Son of a Bitch!!!!!" A great cheer rose into the air as Beezlebub, the Master, strained into a human-esque form.
"Come my prince," He whispered into Norvani's ear. "Let me show you your future empire of sulfur and brimstone. Once you get used to the smell, it's actually rather pleasant." As they motioned to leave, the boy stopped him.
"Sir? I mean, Father?"
"Yes, my boy?" The Devil looked down into his future successor's pitch black, soulless young eyes with his own blood-blue colored ones. "What is it?"
"Why did you bring me to this decrepit old theater?" At this, the Master chuckled lightly.
"Why, for symbolism, of course." Seeing the child's confused look on his face, he began to explain. "You see, I will leave this existence one day, and I had to do whatever was possible to make sure that my empire would not just fade away. So I sacrificed many millions of children for my ceremonies, my experiments, just to do so. And I found the perfect fill-in." He ruffled his hair affectionately as they walked into the darkening shadows, the room around them getting warmer, the creatures underfoot becoming more populous as they walked on.
"But why a theater?" Norvani looked upon his new-found father, a powerful creature of the night, still wondering. And his answer was simple but complicated; such was the Devil's answers to all questions.
"Because," The Master said, the twins following in tow right behind him, "even here in Hell, the show must go on."
"No matter what gets in your way." Satan smiled down upon the boy, and walked away into the rising flames, the stench of burning flesh filling their nostrils as the two rulers, one young, one dying, faded into the swirling shadows around them.
The new age of Hell had finally arrived. But this time, God could do nothing to stop it.
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