"'I'll always regret my last words to my mum and dad, "I'm going out to get some crisps!" Can you fucking believe it? My last words to them were about fucking crisps... If I could go back to them, before all of this shit happened, I would hug them as tight as I could and never let go"
-?
Epilogue:
Every room inside of the 'Lucifer residence' was decorated glamorously with gold numbers and letters for doors, golden accents marking each piece of simple furniture, from the chairs to the beds, silver coated gargoyle statues gaurding each door entrance and the finest paintings collected across hundreds of years by loyal servants, ranging from simple landscapes to portraits of the original Lucifer. The only exception towards these glamorous luxuries were the prison rooms and the concubine rooms. In one such concubine room, the walls, floor door seemed to be bleached of as much colour as possible, until every reflective surface looked a dull white.
Sitting In front of a wall was an infant, a young boy even. He was seemingly no older than 5 and had been aiming a dull stare towards the blank white wall he was facing. The only seemingly interesting detail about the wall being the somewhat faint small shadow of the boy looking at it. The bleeding gash on his forehead and the red raw imprint of a hand on his cheek were seemingly ignored as he twirled a silver lock of hair around his finger and spat out a wad of clotted blood. Shivers and pain wracked his body as he hissed in pain from the bruises under his ragged clothes but his eyes never seemed to regain their focus.
However, if one was to take a peek inside of his mind, his vacant stare wouldn't be able to hide the building hysteria and rage inside of him; 'I don't know what the fuck is happening anymore!!' He internally screamed. 'I get fucking smacked around by some cunts who thought bringing bats to a shop was funny and then apparently get killed by one of the fat pricks. On my fucking birthday as well! Are you havin' a laugh?!'
His normally Hazel eyes brightened into a sparkling electric blue as his breaths started to come out in erratic pants, 'Then I spent fuckin' ages floating in that black void shithole for a bit' His eyes once again lost focus as he felt the dark whispers of the void in the back of his head, before snapping back again 'Then I'm pretty sure the world turned into rainbows and I saw some big red lizard doing... skateboard tricks?!! What the fuck?!' his rant was cut off as his memories jolted back to recent events. The image of waking up face to face with a man staring at him as he laid battered on the floor rattled him. The mans face was defined with similar hazel eyes to his own, silver hair and a royal demeanour. A snarl escaped his throat as he remembered those supernaturally beautiful features twist into a sneer before he was struck by a backhand, for whatever reason, he couldn't remember.
The minor spike of fear he felt at the imposing face paled in comparison to the rage he felt when he remembered a certain sound, he remembered a loud protest from a distinctly feminine voice, he remembered seeing the small back of a shuddering woman In front of him and her cries as she begged for the fucker to stop. It didn't help. And the slap delivered to her sounded even harder than his own.
The sound of the slap travelled through the hallway as the battered and bruised child stumbled and fell down along with the woman. The man turned to a nearby servant with a regal yet dismissive air. The servant had adopted a stoic expression seemed to gulp in anticipation when faced. "Take the wench and the little bastard away! He looked back at the shivering woman and addressed her, "I told you to get rid of the little half breed leech but you insisted on his supposed potential!" He mocked with a condescending tone to his voice, he took a few breaths before his scowl turned into a neutral frown "You had the honour to bear a child of Razevan Lucifer but all you give me is a disgusting taint on the Lucifer bloodline, who spends more time sucking his mother's teat instead of developing his gift! You useless sow! If that boy doesn't show a speck of talent in the next year, I will personally cut both of your fucking hearts out and then I will raze your the rest of your pathetic family to the ground! Even your value as a piece of fuckable meat wouldn't stop me from erasing you!" his last threat was delivered with a cold but steely voice as he turned towards the shivering boy, "Do you understand me boy?! If you do not prove yourself worthy of the blood running through your veins" He leaned down and whispered " I will force you to watch as your mothers heart is cut out" the last threat seemed to break the boy as his shocked look of horror turned into a blank stare. The man observed his reaction before he scoffed, standing to his imposing full height, he addressed the boy one more time. "Do not bother asking me for training again, you failure"
His white knuckled fist impacted the wall as he remembered the utter humiliation and scalding rage he felt, his knuckles and teeth grinded together painfully as he remembered the disgusting smirk that formed on the fuckers face as the woman whimpered in pain.
His rage had risen to the point where he could feel his insides twist and his heart pound when he saw the cowardly guard simply dump them back into a room. He despised his own weakness and inability to stop the man.
He could feel a light pressure in his shoulder blades increase and his vision whiten around the edges, his eyes became deep, dark blue chips of ice and the air itself seemed to shake in anticipation as a burning sensation began to tingle in his right arm.
The continuous pressure and hate for the man pushed him to the brink as his vision wobbled. But the tension left his small frame as he heard shuffling from under the bedsheets behind him, he took a deep breath and relaxed his fists into open palms as he stood up and walked over to king sized bed he had been sitting In front of.
His scowl became a frown as he stared at the unconscious woman lying in bed, a plain, but not unbeautiful face stared back, small brown freckles dotted her face, her skin was a pale but creamy colour and was visibly smooth despite the obvious stress lines, luscious locks of brown hair spilled around her pillow as her chest rose in small, quiet repetitions. Most of these features went unnoticed by the silver haired boy as his face twisted in displeasure.
Two sets of memories waged war for dominance in his head, an older set confirmed his father was an Irish immigrant and his mother a Nigerian Immigrant, both loving and caring in their own small ways but the smaller set of memories, bleak as they were, pleaded that his mother was the woman lying down in front of him and that his father... Was the fucking bleach haired bastard?!!! The fucker who backhanded him?! He would've outright told the small voice to fuck off if not for two details, the first was that he could feel... Something with the woman in front of him, a connection of some sort that felt so familiar but alien at the same time.
The second detail quite literally stared back at him when he looked into the bedside mirror, a youthful, chubby face with a crown if spiky silver hair sitting on top of the head instead of black hair, an infant's jaw structure instead of a teens and hazel eyes (with some light blue?) instead of black eyes. Tiny and stubby arms and legs instead of lanky and developed limbs... That wasn't his face and that wasn't his body.
The clashing of the memories turned into a sudden painful merging after his unspoken acceptance, a headache started to build and tears began to flow as wet, grief stricken hiccups tore themselves out of his chest. Salty tears stung his cheeks his body began to tremble, the outside world turned into white static as Sean Bradley mourned his lost family. And wept for his lost life, the combined stress of his death, the limbo and first few moments of his few life pushed him over the edge as his vision turned black around the edges.
And as he gave one last cry if grief and despair, the memories of Sean were absorbed by Vali with no resistance and the last sensation he felt before blacking out was the feeling of his right arm pulsing and a pair of arms engulfing him in a warm hug, "Sleep, my little prince".