Author's Notes: When I write about Hell in this story, I listen to the dark ambient music of Atrium Carceri. I'm convinced they somehow have gone to Hell, made a recording of the atmosphere, and brought it back to Earth.
Because their music is instrumental and ambient, it's not distracting. While you read, have a listen to their latest album, "Codex," on Spotify or YouTube. Don't say you weren't forewarned about the creepiness, though.
06. MUSCLE MEMORY
In the cave, Cain loses all sense of time and place and self. He is no longer Cain, Earth's first, accursed murderer. He is Sinner, Balor's most-prized toy. His world is small, and he says little, speaking only "yes," "thank you," and "Master."
A favorite among Balor's demonic horde, he is rarely without visitors. Some who come to play with him look like men, and some look like women, but they could never be mistaken for human. They have claws for hands, exposed muscle and tendon, organs that sit outside the body. He has kissed fork-tongued mouths and stared into the slit pupils of feline eyes.
And, oh, how he loves what they've made him into—because what else can he do, but embrace his fate? How they cut into his flesh and use his body, then soothe his pain so they can do it again. "Thank you," he says, as Balor has instructed. "Thank you."
Years pass, and Balor releases Sinner from his chains. The sensation is so foreign that he gasps and falls to his hands and knees. He trembles under this new, terrifying freedom.
"How lovely you are," Balor coos, running bony fingers through Sinner's hair, which is long and stringy. "You'll stay here for all eternity, won't you?"
"Yes, Master. Thank you."
For the first time in a very long time, Balor leaves him alone and no one visits. Whether it is a test or not, Sinner doesn't know and doesn't care. He simply sits, watching the ash fall beyond the mouth of the cave. The world outside is endless. The cave is familiar and safe.
Many days later, a demon he's never seen before climbs through the entrance, her white-blond hair cascading over her shoulders. When she stands and faces him, the braided cords of a cat o' nine tails rustle by her side. She holds it with a skeletal hand.
"Your master has left you unattended," she observes.
"Yes."
"And unchained."
"Yes."
"I don't serve your master," she tells him, and leans in to caress his face with the whip's handle. "You would look better in my collection. How do you feel about a change of scenery?"
Sinner doesn't have the words to respond to such a question. What does he want? He has no wants other than to please Master.
When she drags him from the cave, he weeps. Oh, how angry Master will be, how disappointed. Sinner cannot disappoint Master. He won't.
At the foot of the mountainside, he finds enough strength in his agony to tug himself free from the demon's grasp. She stumbles back with a hiss. She is smaller than he is and didn't come prepared for resistance.
"Stop!" she commands.
But she is not Master. Dropping low, he seizes a large stone from the ground and raises it above his head with a roar. Her whip strikes out, but he ignores the stinging pain and smashes the rock into her face with the momentum his larger body affords him. Her head snaps to the right with the impact, but she is strong and stays on her feet. She rounds on him with a snarl.
The weight of the stone wakes something in Sinner, an old, old memory. He has been here before, in another time and place, with another person. With many other people. This...this is his calling.
The demon lunges at him, but he uses his size against her, bringing down the stone again and again and again. It is nearly impossible to kill a demon, but it can be done—temporarily—with enough force and repetition, enough will. When his arms grow tired, he pants and gazes upon the pulpy mess that remains of her face. She won't be getting up any time soon—days from now, maybe.
"Sinner!" Balor barks.
Sinner's head jerks up, a shiver of anticipatory pleasure and pain rippling through his body. Balor's gangly arms swing wildly as he marches forward, bare feet kicking up ash. His eyes are narrowed in suspicion.
When Sinner, and later Cain, looks back on these moments, he will never know what compelled him to raise the stone against his master. Muscle memory developed over thousands of years, perhaps, or that boundless human drive to stay alive, even on a plane made for the dead.
Maybe it's just how God made him.
After years of captivity, he is weak, but acutely motivated. Adrenaline floods his veins, giving him strength he will pay for later.
It takes hours, but he incapacitates Balor, using rocks and fists and teeth and nails. Panting, he stands, triumphant, over the two battered bodies, one petite and blond, the other long and misshapen, wearing only corduroy pants. Blood and sweat cut through the ash that is caked on his body.
With Balor incapacitated and caught in some deep sleep for bodily repairs, a spell is broken. It is in this moment that Sinner—Cain—is hauled away by some invisible rope. He stumbles along, helpless and unable to ignore the pull.
Although Balor had frequent visitors, they came from far away. As Cain is driven forward, he sees no souls or demons roaming the barren landscape. Only ash heap after ash heap, one dark mountain after another, until he finds himself in a rocky passageway filled with doors.
He hisses. Even after all this time of losing himself in pain, the large wooden door ahead is unmistakable.
"No!" he cries for the first time in many years, the word strange on his tongue. But still he staggers forward.
The door flies open, and a vortex draws him in, to Griffith Park and Amenadiel and Charlotte Richards and Chloe Decker. A gun appears in his hand. Cain aims and squeezes the trigger.
Closing Note: I know you all love Deckerstar, but Cain's chapters serve a purpose. HAVE FAITH, heathens.