"Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it."
-John 8:44

New Orleans Horror Story: Antichrist

'I cannot begin to fathom why I record this. Perhaps I've retained more humanity than I realize. The urge to be remembered, to have one's thoughts immortalized is common among mortals. But I am at least two thousand years old.

'Where I lived, who I was, and how I died have long since been erased from my memory. My Master has that power. Indeed, I think he watches me as now as I write and plans to destroy everything: this document and my memory of it. But perhaps after millennia of enslavement, I have at last found a sliver of independence. He hears my thoughts. He controls my actions. He lives through me and I, through him.

'Possibly I was a scorned lover who offered my soul in exchange for vengeance, but I only suggest this because I have an unreasonable tenderness towards fervent hearts turned bitter. Perhaps I was a great leader of men. Dying in battle, I may have offered my immortal soul for mortal victory and glory. This is the true process of our growing numbers. Legend says we are fallen angels; a myth perpetuated by my kinsmen who dream of unknown splendor. The truth is we have always been broken.

'On the past, I shall say no more.

'There is great reason to look forward to the future. Our victory is close at hand. Perhaps that is what drives me to record all I've done, all I can remember: pride in my achievements and greed in taking credit. Perhaps I shall send this to Headquarters so my Master cannot steal what is rightfully mine… Assuming he does not destroy it first.

'Forgive me, excitement doesn't come easily and I find it difficult to contain. Let me begin at the beginning – or at least, the earliest I events I recall.

'Following my recruitment, I was assigned to oversee a tiny village in the Scandinavian tundra. The cold did not agitate me. Perhaps I was already familiar with the area or maybe I'd only known oppressive African heat and snow was a welcome change. There I go again, attempting to fill gaps that I know will never close.

'No one expected my assignment to generate much. We, the "fallen" ones, cannot touch or communicate with the living. Sometimes we whisper and they listen without hearing. Elements are easier to control. I wasn't given much to work with, but given time, I was able to increase the population while decreasing crop growth. When I encouraged them towards pillaging, they obeyed, and violence replaced their peaceful agricultural society.

'Nanna, a young maiden in this tundra, was my greatest accomplishment to date. I spent her youth stripping away her protectors and brought a handsome, selfish fellow to her door. When he betrayed her, as I knew he would, she attacked his village and slayed his family. The survivors retaliated and sprung a war. Innocents, children, cattle, and strong men were all slaughtered in glorious savagery. She'd taken the seed of pain I'd gifted her and reaped legendary woe.

'I requested – and was granted – permission to follow her bloodline, but none of her descendants presented the right temperament to repeat or even surpass lovely Nanna. Until now.'

There was a knock at the door. The Assassin known as Razorfist quickly closed his book, but not quick enough. Gris-Gris had opened the door without waiting for a reply and raised a brow at the odd scene.

"Keeping a diary or writing love letters?"

"Fuck off."

Gris-Gris threw a thumb over his shoulder. "Time to work."

'I am free to leave or possess Razorfist at will, and although he's aware of my presence, he dares not utter a word. He, too, fears my Master. With him I walk into the meeting room, where we know Bella Donna waits. This Matriarch of the Assassins Guild, descended from Nanna, carries all my centuries of scheming in her swollen womb.

'Her child is the pinnacle of all our work.

'All my work.

'But Heaven is acutely aware of my actions and today three of their finest accompany her. The birth must be approaching. They cannot touch or guide her any more than I; they're only here to frighten me. If I dig into this baby too deeply, they will kill it. I must be very subtle. So I depart from my host and wait until he is alone again to return.'

'Sorrow, tragedy, strength and triumph are not the immediate consequences to the action one takes during life. Power and deficiencies pass from parent to child. And because like attracts like, spawn is destined to become an exaggerated version of its forbearers. This was how I spun together the Guild of Assassins.

'What is the dissimilarity between an army and a mob? My plans for the Guild did not disperse with tempers, but would extend across countries and generations. For that, I required a leader. A powerful, brutal, effective one.

'Before the creation of man – but after Heaven's legion – the Tyrant toiled with a great many beasts considered failures: giants among them. They were destroyed in the Great Flood. Somehow, one survived to become the immortal Candra. Perhaps they were all immortal; I cannot say. They lived well before my time. Or perhaps Candra survived in the womb of her human mother while her father and his failed ilk were massacred. At any rate, she survived and claimed the Guild for her own.

'My Master was displeased.

'"You've given them too much power."

'I was removed and stationed elsewhere, but on that, I can say no more. My memories of that time have been obliterated. I only know that when I returned, Candra was granting droplets of godhood to her favorites.

'Nanna's descendants, now called the House of Boudreaux, led the mortal members. Marius and his wife Louise had spawned two children, Julien and Bella Donna, who were as violent and mighty as their Vandal ancestors.

'The wife I poisoned with cancer. My aim was to drive Marius to madness, but the man was made of sterner stuff. His children, on the other hand, suffered devastation from her demise.

'If the pair created a child together, I knew it would be my crowning achievement in pure wickedness. The boy agreed. He was mad enough to lust after his sister, but not monster enough to rape her. I could not force his hand but her heart I could turn.

'Enter: a handsome, selfish fellow named Remy LeBeau.

'No youth I'd previously encountered had ever endured the heartache known to that boy. His mere existence was miraculous. I knew immediately what Belle would learn in future years – that a beaten beast always flinches from the softest touch. Why is a horse with a broken leg immediately killed? It may heal, but it will never carry weight again. It leans on the wrong things. Eventually, the beast is a deformed, demented burden.

'But a child yearns for mercy. And a young woman believes the sex between her legs can miraculously re-grow hearts that never bloomed.

'I watched as he found the center of her world; I watched her share it with him. I whispered "trust him" as he destroyed her faith. I shall never forget the look in her eyes as she realized he'd betrayed and abandoned her. As the last of her innocence died, that pain was achingly precious and sincere – as it never would be again. Ever after, she was mine.

'Julien nearly killed himself trying to avenge his sister. On his deathbed, my Master offered salvation.

'Better he had died.

'The beast that emerged would never seduce his sister. He was ten times crueler and infinitely more hideous than his challenger; women are sensitive to these things. That opportunity was forever lost.'

Razorfist set down his pen, flexed his hands, and then placed his book back in the desk. He'd written enough for one night. When he turned, he was startled to see a man sitting patiently on the corner of his bed.

"I've never known a demon with a passion for stories," he said. The intruder had alpha male charm and an arrogant smirk.

"Know many, do you?"

"I know enough. I'm Ulysses… and I think you know why I'm here. What's your name?"

"Christ-was-a-sodomite."

His smirk tightened. "Let's play, shall we?"

A chessboard materialized mid-air between them.

"We both know how this ends," Razorfist said. "My Master is ever victorious and your Master destroys what he cannot conquer. Over and over, tempus infinitum. Sic semper tyrannis!"

"You're mistaken. I'm no one's servant. Heaven, Hell – you've boxed yourselves in with all your rules. Think of me as a liaison. I'm here to try and reach a compromise that pleases both parties. My only concern is the survival of the human race. Once upon a time, I was one, and I still care about these people. So I'm here to offer what you most desire. What no one else can give you. Freedom. And in exchange, you leave the child forever."

Razorfist cracked his knuckles. "If you were capable of such things, we wouldn't play games."

"I can destroy you outright but your Master would simply send another. You defect and the system cracks."

"You cannot deceive an agent of the Prince of Lies. If I win, you must swear allegiance to my Master. If you win, I will accept what you call freedom and I call death. Watch how my kinsmen will flock to you. Not for their freedom but for your demise. Is this world worth the wrath of Hell?"

Ulysses accepted and moved first.

White pawn to E4.

Belle felt anxious and Remy wasn't helping!

That scoundrel. They'd known each other longer than anyone and she figured he couldn't surprise or scare her anymore. But lately that's all he did!

Last year, he'd suffered a… life crisis of sorts. His Death persona surfaced and his superhero buddies couldn't help. They didn't even try. She'd always been there when he needed her. Always would be. While she kept him sane, they learned how much they'd changed… And how much they wanted these new people. She wished he'd been anyone else. Falling in love with her ex was a literal waking nightmare. His daddy had said it best: "My heart can't take this again".

But he'd given her an incredible gift – something she thought would never happen at this point in her life – a baby.

Like all things from Remy LeBeau, this was a back-handed blessing.

She was now two weeks overdue in a blistering New Orleans August. She could've gone to a hospital for induction but didn't dare. Hospitals were run by dangerous doctors who gave dangerous drugs and asked dangerous questions. This LeBeau baby would come when he was ready and she'd have to suffer his selfishness until then. She should've been used to it by now.

Impending labor didn't frighten her (pain never did), but the last ten months had been full of change when she should've been settling into a comfortable routine. Remy didn't want them to operate in the city limits anymore – "bad business", he said. He wanted them to work with government agencies for immunity; give back to the community; and reward talent over tradition. He was trying to take them back to the dark ages!

After all her hard work dragging the Guild to the cutting edge of criminal enterprise, he wanted a more moderate organization.

And she'd let him!

Now he was trying to convince her to deliver at a hospital. He knew how nervous that place made her! Hospitals were for the sick and dying – not babies. She'd given in to all his other demands to keep him happy, but this was where she drew the line.

Her belly tensed and the baby kicked against it.

Perhaps there was wisdom in laying low for the time being. The next few years would be preoccupied with child-rearing and she knew she'd be happier if she wasn't constantly looking over her shoulder. But she didn't like it. A little voice (angel or devil?) kept reminding her that Remy had left many times, and one day he'd grow bored again. When that happened, only her power could force him to stay… or make him regret leaving. Loving him was easy; forgiving herself for it wasn't.

Ten minutes later, another painless contraction preceded another kick from the baby.

"Buckle up, petit," she said. "We're just gettin' started."

White bishop to C4.

Ulysses appeared pleased with his "fried liver" attack. He did not play the long, methodical game favored by cosmic superbeings. Arrogance made him impatient. If he'd bothered to study the scenario at all, he'd already know his case was lost. Prophets had foretold this child's destiny: an agent of Hell, protected by Heaven, would herald global peace for seven years before pestilence, famine, war, and death followed in his wake. Why would Heaven safe-guard such horror? It would be honor-bond by Ulysses' defeat. And like a spoiled child that can't stand to lose, the Creator would destroy what he couldn't dominate. Prophets had foretold this, too. If Heaven honored anything, it was threats of violence.

Razorfist pretended to be concerned. "A recess?"

"Call me when you're ready." Ulysses said and vanished.

An unwelcomed thought crossed his demonic mind. What if this dashing, sacrificial lamb wasn't sent by Heaven after all? What if he'd been sent by his Master? Distracted, Bella Donna would be left vulnerable to his Master's influence. Would she agree to be his ward? Generations of loyalty could not out-weigh the Master's great charm…

He left his host and rushed to Belle's home, where she suffered in the beginning stages of labor. Her husband was there, too, and in a hidden corner of his mind, where he thought no one would venture, interred his own demon – Death.

"Is it time?" Death asked.

"No, not yet. Do you know my face? Would you know it from another's?"

"Why?"

"If I vanish, look to Razorfist for answers."

Remy had his arms wrapped around her, supporting her through another contraction. She was still on her feet, but could no longer walk through them. When the next one struck, she groaned softly.

The demon leaned in and softly said, "The more she suffers, the more she will love you."

To Be Continued…