Gasping, clawing, and racing through the woods. No matter how fast the man ran, chest heaving for air and his legs pumping for all they were worth, he could not escape. The sound of baying dogs and pounding hooves thundered after him. They smelled his blood, smelled his fear, and followed him as easily as if it were the middle of the day.
But the moon was hidden by clouds and rain fell in sheets to the ground through the canopies of the trees above. It would have been impossible to track anything through those woods, the man knew, and that was why he had chosen it as his path for escape. He had spent the better part of the last hour crashing through the foliage, earning several scrape and bruises in the process, but the horde behind him had never slowed. Never once did they fall behind.
He did not expect him to follow. He had not thought that he would come for him so soon at all. He had been sure that he would have the majority of his life left to live before he would return. But he had been oh so very wrong.
He clambered up a hill, heedless of the mud and water that washed down it, as full on panic set in. He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready. He pulled at tree roots as he climbed, sputtering and choking on the mud that slid down his throat, and reached the top of the hill. Behind him, he could hear the deep throaty growl of the beasts. He dared not stop but he needed a moment, only a second, and paused at the hilltop to try and catch his breath in vain.
A howl pierced the air, so frighteningly close, that he lunged into a run immediately. The howl still echoed in his right ear and he swore he had felt the things hot breath on the back of his neck.
He didn't have time to empty his riding boots of the mud as he ran, struggling against the extra weight, and cursed as he slipped in his haste. He tumbled down the other side of the hill, rolling among water and forest debris, and only came to a stop once he had slammed into a small outcropping of rocks. The air was forced from his lungs and he choked. Blood poured from a wound at his temple and the world spun around him. He was certain he had cracked a rib in the fall, as pain wracked his body with every movement.
With shaking hands, he frantically searched for the cross around his neck, it was his last resort. His mother had given it to him when he was a child and he had kept it with him always, though he rarely had worn it, things had changed. He had been driven to desperation and had found comfort in the cross, now, it was the only witness to what was about to befall him.
Suddenly, the howling stopped. All life fell silent in the woods and not but the sound of the rushing rain could be heard. He stared up at the trees, water splashed across his face as he did so, but he had not the energy to move. The birds and the insects had quieted, their usual music gone, and caused the air to feel unnaturally still despite the weather.
A horse snorted, breath fogging in the air, as it stepped into the clearing, each hoof beat was accompanied by the sound of clanking metal. It came to a stop not a few yards from where the man lay, panting for breath, and terror in his eyes that refused to look at the creature. His eyes did not move from the skies above. He had felt each beat through the ground, felt the terror grow with each step, and knew just how close he was to death.
"The man is dead," a deep and cold voice drawled. Lazy confidence seeped from every word and the casual tone only terrified the man all the more. How could one who had just murdered someone and come back to claim their prize be so calm, collected, and utterly bored?
"I have no doubt," the man whispered and rubbed a thumb across the cross with shaky hands. "I had hoped that I would be permitted to live out the rest of my life before being taken," he continued, voice quavering. A cough threatened to wrack his body but he struggled to suppress it, knowing the pain it would cause his possible cracked rib.
"You would put your hope in the devil?" the voice asked smoothly, a hint of mockery, and chuckled. "You poor misguided fool."
The man closed his eyes, steeling himself for the scene that awaited him, and turned his head to take in the sight of the monster before him.
A man with wild dark hair and a wicked grin sat atop a black mount. A splatter of blood decorated his face. Scarlet horns stretched out from his forehead and curled back to be lost within his tangled locks and his eyes glowed yellow in the dark of night. A black coat protected his body from the rain and fell about the horse's haunches where the tattered ends dripped water down to the wet soil beneath. He posed a truly maniacal image. The man had no doubt that the sight of him could put fear into the hearts of an entire army.
The horse was a monstrosity, ram horns grew from its own head and red eyes lit the clearing, and it was coated in blood from past enemies. Armor adorned its head and chest, black metal, that depicted terrified faces of the mortals that had come to an end at its hooves. It flicked its head and snorted, prancing in place, ready to finish him as it had all their previous victims. It had chased down many a mortal without hesitation and slaughtered them at its master's command. It would not stop until a life had been claimed, and then, it would move on to the next prey. It did not know fear, it did not know love, and it had no intention of learning it. Its only desire was to run, heaving for breath in the night, and to hear the laughter of the man upon its back as blood squelched beneath its hooves and decorated its coat.
At its hoofs were two beasts that could only be hellhounds, their eyes the only discernible feature in the darkness. They moved about like living shadows, but every once in a while, their fangs made themselves known as drool dripped from their open maws. Their putrid breath fogged in the air with every pant and growl.
The only thing that held those beasts back, the man knew, was the devil's will alone. He was watching the man with a sardonic grin that cracked his face and caused the man's stomach to roll with nausea. Fangs riddled his own mouth just like the monsters he commanded.
"I wanted to see my children grow," the man whimpered and lifted a hand to cover his eyes as tears welled up and mingled with the pelting rain.
"You contracted Satan himself to kill a man, tell me, does one such as yourself truly deserve to walk this Earth?" the devil asked darkly, and truly, with a hint of curiosity. It amazed him, how selfish and thoughtless humans could be, and he saw them as nothing more than worms. It was obvious in the way he looked down at him from his mount, hungry eyes yearning for his demise.
"That man was nothing but a monster, his sins could never be cleansed, but really, it would have been none of my business had he not raped and murdered my wife!" The man shouted, his throat raw already from the sprint through the woods, and coughed. "He deserved to die!" His body was wracked with pain that he struggled with among the rocks and mud.
The devil frowned, his brows crashing together in annoyance, and pulled back on the reigns to steady the beast beneath him. "It was never your place to make that decision, regardless, you called upon one such as myself to deal with it. It's a pity, if you had had the gall to do it yourself, you may have been pardoned," he muttered sardonically.
The man's eyes widened , staring up at the devil in disbelief, before a sob escaped his throat. If only he had done things differently. If only he had worked with the authorities to set things right as his oldest had recommended. Now, he would pay the ultimate price for it. He had chosen to put his faith in the devil, as he had said, and turned a blind eye to his fellow humans.
"Don't worry," he said as he slid from the saddle and hit the ground with a thud, his boots heavy in the mud, "I'll make sure your children are well looked after."
"No!" the man cried as he shuffled about in the mud to put as much distance between himself and the Devil, "You stay away from them, you monster!"
The devil locked him with a cold gaze and stopped just over top of him, "Disgusting," he muttered and reached down with one gloved hand to grasp the man's throat. With little effort, he lifted him into the air and scowled. "You are not worth my time," he drawled and snapped the man's neck before he could say anything further. The body fell limp within his hand and the cross dropped to the mud where it was swallowed up and never seen again. Now empty of any soul, the corpse was soon to follow.
Lucifer stared down at the frozen face of terror, dirtied with mud, and snorted. "Jasper! Jekyll!" He snapped and the two hellhounds lunged at the body, tearing into the flesh with their rotting fangs, and scuffled over the meatiest parts. Their growls and barks echoed through the raining night while Lucifer watched with a curled finger held to his lips. The horse whinnied behind him and pawed at the ground irritably.
"Hush," Lucifer ordered and brushed a hand across the creatures snout, "you had your turn with the last one."
The horse snorted and turned its head away, red eyes gleaming in the night, as still fresh blood dripped from its flanks.
Blood splattered the muddy forest floor as organs spilled from the cadaver and were quickly torn to shreds by the hounds.
The devil laughed.
Green eyes shot open in the dead of night. They took in the familiar bedroom, the fan spinning lazily overhead, and Natalie let out a quivering sigh as she attempted to reign in the rampaging emotions within her chest. Her stomach was roiling with panic, fear and disgust. It was all so wrong.
Shaking hands pushed the heavy comforter back as she sat up in bed and turned to take in the figure that sat at the window, chin propped on a fist, as he watched the clouds rolling past the moon. He was lost in his own thoughts, but Natalie had an idea of where his mind had gone, as she had just witnessed it herself.
He was different back then. He had been wild and untamed, filled with destructive glee, and ready to take the lives of any that dared call upon him. Anything to cull the herd of humanity and prove to Heaven how much of a mistake humans had been.
Natalie gripped the blanket as her shoulders shook in fear or sadness, she could not tell, but the quiet sob that just barely managed to break the silence of the room drew his yellow eyes to her like magnets. He stared at her in confusion, not understanding what had woken her and left her in such a state, before his recollections resurfaced and he blanched. His gaze dropped to his own hands and he clenched them into fists while a frown marred his face.
She had dreamt of his past again.
He felt like he was infected. Tainted. Dirty. As if he had no right to be anywhere near her. She who was too pure for even the evilest of men to withstand. He lifted a hand to his eyes in an effort to block out the reality of what he was, what he had done, and listened to her quiet sobs without comment. She had a right to cry. She had seen what he had been. What he truly was. It was enough to ruin anyone's day let alone hers, the one who loved him.
He jumped when he felt her hand on his arm and he dropped his hand to stare at her stupidly. How could she possibly want to be anywhere near him? He was nothing more than a beast himself. But the tears that streamed down her face said otherwise. Those tears were shed for him, evident in the sad smile they passed by on their journey, and left him feeling hollow. He wanted to hope but he was afraid he had lost the ability to do so a millennia ago.
"Did you make sure his kids were taken care of?" she asked through her tears.
Lucifer stared at her, wide-eyed, and nodded once.
"Good," she sobbed and wiped at her eyes before throwing her arms around his neck.
Dumbly, hesitantly, his arms came up to wrap around her shoulders as she cried. He could not process her reaction, did not understand her in the slightest, because any sane person would have run. Michael himself had caught a glimpse of hell and coward before him. But all she asked was if he had followed through on his word.
