Authors Note: HUGE thanks to Garnet W, Komodo Butterfly, KittyBePraised, Blitzdrake and Alpha Hydra for the reviews! This story's so different to AEBH, I wasn't sure if anyone would even read it, so the comments meant a lot to me and I'm really glad you like it!

Um, I ditched the son-of-a-jackal thing, because according to SP canon it'd make Damien and Streisand related and that's a step too evil for me. Questions about how Asmondeus is able to do what he does will be answered, although not in any detail here. Hope you enjoy this chapter too and review please!

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All by yourself, but you're not alone...

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In Hell, the screaming never stopped, but Damien was used to it, heard it as mere background noise, like a television set unwatched and unheard, noticed only in its absence. There was no sun but it was never dark, thousands of fires spewing from the ground and illuminating the tortures that were routine.

Damien had never met the woman who had given birth to him and knew nothing about her, save that she was a mortal whom his father had deliberately impregnated. He didn't want to know any more details than that – if it was some immaculate conception, as with his opposite number, or if there was some actual contact involved. She would have had to be alive and not in the afterlife, and there were enough disenchanted worshippers who may have initially thought they were willing, but thinking of the summoning and the drama involved irked him, like IVF for demons. He had spent his entire existence under his fathers care and although he had asked about his mother, mostly as a child, he had never got any answers. He no longer cared to have them. He may have had a human incubator, but he had been raised as Prince of Hell and he disavowed all that went with humanity.

His fathers parenting skills had been sporadic in nature, occasionally nurturing, occasionally instructive in the duties he would be expected to perform for the rest of eternity, occasionally dismissive. Satan was not known for his caring side but it was there, although it made both father and son uncomfortable. They were supposed to be beings of evil, and evil beings did not hug.

Satan had demanded an audience and Damien knew better than to keep him waiting. There was a difference between a request for company and an order and this was definitely an order. It was odd; such instructions were rare and in the past had always involved a trip to the mortal world. Damien had been to many places but only briefly, the first time being an underwhelming visit to Colorado, later trips being much more interesting and filled with possibility. Damien considered it his duty to lead souls astray wherever he was able and their little trips to the mortal world frequently gave him the chance to corrupt. On more than one occasion, this activity had led to another soul being condemned to Hell and since all the people he had been in contact with were not yet dead, there would be more.

If there was something truly evil in all of Hell, reflected Damien, it was his fathers couch. Most of the pit had a distinct theme; flames and darkness, red and black, walls and floor baked terracotta. In stark contrast to that, his father, a ten-foot red figure with yellow eyes and horns, was sitting on a pink couch, adorned with tasteful yellow flowers. There were frills. There was loose change and finger bones hidden down the back of the cushions. A side table had a teapot and china cups with saucers, a plate of cookies, the good kind, noted Damien.

There was no office, there was hardly the need. The couch sat in the centre of Hell, and should Satan demand absolute privacy – well, the environment was his to control. Damien strolled up and dropped heavily onto the couch, stretching his legs ahead of him. "Hey Dad."

"Damien." Satan waved a hand and the ground surrounding the couch collapsed into a pit of lava. Several of the damned who had been milling around fell in after the debris, but they'd be fine once they climbed out and their badly charred flesh had a century or so to grow back. "I'm sorry, but this isn't a social visit."

"No duh," said Damien. "Gimme the cookies."

"Whatever happened to please?"

"Dad, I'm the Antichrist! I do not say please!"

Satan handed over the plate and Damien grinned. Double chocolate honeycomb. Awesome.

"We've had an escape," said Satan as Damien started jamming the treats into his mouth, chewing noisily. "One of the lesser demons followed the trail left the last time Kenny went back. There are people starving in the third circle you know."

"I know," replied Damien through a mouth of crumbs. "How did that happen? There's never been a demon follow Kenny through before."

"Sheer chance, a series of coincidences. Right place, right time, escaped attention for the briefest of moments and took a chance. It doesn't matter. I want it back here."

"Why? Come on, it's just a lesser demon and it'll spread plenty of chaos up there. Could be kinda funny."

"It's a lesser demon. These things look bad. Without my express wish, no demon can leave Hell, and yet one has. It gives them – ideas. Creates uprising. And I don't want an uprising. I have plans."

"Plans? Who is it this time? Wait – I don't want to know." Damien picked up the last cookie and bit into it. "So, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to follow it."

Damien swallowed the cookie too fast and began to choke. "Me? I've never done anything like this on my own before!"

"I know. But you're old enough now to handle this kind of thing. And I need this kept quiet, that means leaving it to someone I can trust."

"I'm the Antichrist! I can't be trusted, that's the whole point!"

"Can we leave the complaining until later? I'm the only one who can trust you, does that sound better?"

Damien nodded reluctantly.

"And you can pass as human too. That's important, since you'll have to be able to mingle with the mortals."

Smirking unpleasantly, Damien considered what fun he could have up there, but Satan caught the look and frowned. "You won't have much time I'm afraid. Just find the demon, contain it and send it back here. Then you come back too."

"But daaaaaaaad!"

"If you do this well, you'll be able to go to the mortal world far more often. I'll even let you go on a little vacation. Rio's nice at this time of year."

"Lame," announced Damien, but he cheered up slightly. More freedom was always a good thing.

Satan rolled his eyes, wondering why it had never occurred to him that the cute, wriggling baby boy would grow up to be an obnoxious, evil teenager. "You've observed lesser demonic possession before. Do you know the rules?"

"Yeah yeah. Demon is bound by host body's limitations. Sensitive to religious crap. Able to jump from one host to another once it's strong enough. I know all that stuff."

"It might not be as easy as you imagine."

"Huh. It's a lesser demon and I'm the Antichrist, how's it gonna beat me?"

"Experience."

"Whatever."

Pouring himself a soothing cup of camomile tea, Satan wondered what he'd done to deserve this torment. Oh yeah, defying God, war in Heaven, all that stuff. Still, having to deal with Damien in one of his moods was a bit of a harsh punishment. "You'll find yourself in South Park, since that's where the trail ends. Find Kenny McCormick and ask him to help you – he knows the mortal world better than you do."

"Hey! I don't need a babysitter!"

"I thought you two hung out when he comes down here."

"We do, but I don't need a mortal to look after me up there! That looks totally lame! I'm the Antichrist!"

"Kenny's not strictly a mortal. And if it makes you feel better, call him a sidekick."

"But daaaaaaaad..."

"That's not negotiable Damien. You need to keep a low profile and we don't want a repeat of that business in Rome again. It ruined my day."

"Humph." Damien slumped back in the chair, folding his arms sulkily.

"Do you want me to send someone else?"

"No! I'll be guh... I'll be goouh... I'll be slightly less evil than usual."

"Excellent." Satan took a sip of his tea. "You'll have transportation of course, in case it runs before you get there. And be as quick as you can. If those snooty angels find out we lost one, they'll gloat."

"I'm gone." Damien rose from the couch and grinned maliciously, red eyes gleaming as hot as the fires that surrounded them. "And I'll send it straight back to Hell."

"Say hello to Kenny for me!" said Satan chirpily, rather spoiling the whole effect.

~:~

The world was an amazing place, the demon reflected.

Although it did not feel the cold, strictly speaking, the host body had a reaction to the temperature and it was a few minutes before it realised the fingers weren't working so well because they weren't protected by gloves and it could see the hosts breath. After an eternity in the fires of Hell, it was a strange experience.

Pip knew the quickest way to the school bus stop and it walked that path, striding confidently, head high. Maybe its behaviour would attract some comment, but mortals were notoriously unobservant and as long as it didn't step too far out of the bounds of normal behaviour, there should be no problem. Of course, at some point it would cross those boundaries, but for now, it was best to blend in.

Asmodeus needed to get as far away from South Park as it could, as fast as it could, attracting as little attention as possible. For that end, it would need to travel and a scan of Pip's thoughts indicated that he would need cash to do so. A further scan showed that the boy had none. There would be none found at the establishment he lived in either. But there were people gathering at the school and many of them were in better financial condition than Pip. A few thefts and it would be almost rich. And there would be other opportunities, once it got on the road.

It sat alone on the bus, taking in the noise and confusion. There were screams and shouts here too, but unlike in Hell, most were excited or panicked rather than tormented. It was left alone, which it discovered from Pip's mind was not rare, although there were times when the boy was targeted for some minor abuse. It would not have borne such an insult and that could have caused it some problems, but today, it was lucky.

The school building itself was unpleasant, intimidating, soulless. Comforting. It sauntered up the steps and into the hallways, idly examining the faces of the other pupils. Some it did not recognise from Pip's memories. Others it dismissed, not a suitable target. Trying to act as if everything was normal, it headed for Pip's locker and opened it, surreptitiously putting names to faces and using Pip's knowledge of them to gauge the possibility of their funding his escape. The set of lockers here had been assigned to South Park pupils of the same age and Pip had far more knowledge of them than those from other grades or areas of the county.

The redhead – Kyle – was unlikely to carry much cash to school, too cautious. The boy he was talking to – Stan – was equally unlikely to be a good target and beside, the pair were practically attached at the hip, meaning it would have to deal with both and that could cause problems. The third kid with them it didn't even bother to consider – the baggy, no-brand jeans with holes in the knees and the tatty orange parka broadcast his poverty loud and clear.

To the other side of it, a blonde was shaking nervously – Tweek – and another boy – Craig – was talking to him, both amused and soothing. No. Tweek was too afraid of losing money to bring any to school and Craig wasn't especially well off, although Pip's knowledge of that was a little cloudy. Craig glanced over, saw it looking and flipped it off. It narrowed Pip's eyes, wondering if it could get away with tearing the boys finger from his hand. Probably not. Then its gaze fell on the twitchy blonde and it smirked. There were other ways of having revenge that were more subtle and infinitely more devastating.

It reluctantly dismissed the thought. It had to leave this town, soon.

A loud voice sounded near Kyle, Stan and the third boy and it turned its head, seeing a tall, fat boy – Cartman – arriving, braying some obnoxious greeting in a way designed to cause maximum attention. Hmmm, this was more of a possibility. Pip's information on Cartman was quite detailed, from his whore mother to his anti-semitic streak. What it was really interested in however were minor things; he was excessively greedy and spoilt, and he was weak. The greed meant he was likely to need money for food, the spoilt meant he would have it and the weak suggested it would be easy to take from him. However, it was chancy. Cartman outweighed Pip and was a couple of inches taller. If Cartman chose to struggle, it would be hard to steal from him.

"Hey guys." A voice from its other shoulder, the words not directed at it. Asmondeus glanced over and saw a tall, handsome boy leaning against the locker beside his, arms folded, addressing Craig and Tweek. His dark skin was a startling contrast to the otherwise exclusively Caucasian student body.

Token supplied Pip's memories.

"H-hey," said Tweek, a quick, nervous smile crossing his face.

It slowly grinned as it checked out the newcomer. Token Black, the richest kid in South Park. He wasn't especially tough, something of a pacifist in fact. He usually carried a wad of cash and he had a brand new car, the keys to which would undoubtedly be in his pocket along with his wallet. All it needed to do was get Token alone and it would have money and transportation. And as an added bonus, he was one of Craig's friends. Maybe it could have revenge for the casual insult after all.

Craig glanced at it again and scowled, flipping it off a second time. "What the fuck you looking at Frenchy?"

It chuckled, hearing Pip's outrage at the words within their shared mind. "You."

Tweek stared at it, shakes becoming more violent. Token looked bemused and Craig seemed slightly thrown. It didn't drop its gaze, or allow the smirk to leave Pip's face.

A bell rang, breaking the moment. Craig put a hand on Tweek's arm as the blonde let out a quiet shriek at the noise. "Let's go. Shit, you're acting weird today Pip."

The students in the hallway began to disappear and it frowned, checking Pip's mind. They were supposed to have classes, but none of those were with Token and that was who Asmondeus needed to keep in sight. Unless there was someone else it could take on. Either way, there was no way it was being forced to sit through an hour of mathematics. Instead, it headed into the nearest men's room and locked itself into a stall, using the time to make a more detailed scan of Pip's mind.

Pip had been to a couple of places away from South Park, but it dismissed the other countries out of hand, since it wasn't willing to risk plane travel for a while yet. Apart from that, the only place that offered real memories were Denver, the nearest city. That seemed like a fine idea. Once he was in the city, he could abandon this host and find another, vanish into the anonymity of the crowd and keep going from there.

Worriedly, it wondered how long it would be before Hell sent something after it and what that something might be. But panic would be fruitless. It merely had to bide its time and be gone by the time they followed it. Perhaps the bathroom was the best place to wait. After all, it was the closest one to Token's locker and presumably, he'd have to pee sometime, hopefully alone. Then it could strike.

A bell went off, signalling a lesson change. It waited, remaining where it was. After a few moments, the door to the room opened and someone walked in, using the urinal. Shortly after, someone else entered. It risked a look out of the stall and frowned. Not Token. The redhead again, washing his hands, a blonde kid – Butters – lifting his shirt out of the way of the stream of urine. Mortals. It would never understand them.

It retired back to the stall, listening to them talk a little.

"Uh, Kyle? I'm k-kinda worried."

"Yeah?" Kyle sounded disinterested, putting his hands beneath the dryer and drowning anything else he might have said, although it could still hear the rise and fall of their voices.

"...Really twitchy and bad t-tempered about it," finished Butters as the dryer died. "You don't think he'll – y'know, do it again, do you?"

"No," replied Kyle, but he sounded uneasy. "Whatever Craig said, it scared the crap out of him. He wouldn't."

It rolled Pip's eyes. Damn, who cared about the pathetic worries of a couple of mortals? Couldn't they just leave already?

Eventually they did and once more it was left alone with its thoughts. It couldn't afford to wait much longer. It needed to get away, before time ran out. It would have to lure Token into coming to it somehow, without his friends tagging along. But how?

And then the answer came to it and it chuckled. There was a tannoy system in the school over which the office would call students if they were needed. It could have them call Token to it. However, the staff in the office would need some – persuading. It was unlikely it'd be able to talk them into it using Pip's words, it wasn't as if they'd believe the summons was an emergency. It would need something a little more forceful.

Fortunately, Pip knew exactly where to find what it needed.

It left the bathroom and headed for the art department, loitering until the end of the lesson, when it would be easier to find what he needed unnoticed. It mused that this plan was going to leave a trail a mile wide, leading straight back to Pip, but that was unimportant. By the time they caught up to the boy, it would have jumped and they could do what they wanted with his former host, assuming it let him live.

The bell rang again and suddenly the halls were filled with students, streaming out of the room it had its attention focused on. As soon as the teacher bustled out, in as much of a hurry to leave as the students it seemed, it slipped into the room and headed over to the arts supplies cupboard, finding what it wanted right away.

Perfect.

You can't! Pip's voice in their mind was panicked. I won't allow it!

So stop me, it replied dismissively, knowing perfectly well that he couldn't. These games with the host were amusing. It had forgotten. It slipped its prize into Pip's pocket, smirking at the boys pathetic attempts to regain control as it walked back down the hall. It would wait until the other students were in classes before it acted, less chance of someone intervening.

As it passed another men's bathroom, it sensed the hostile presence a split-second before the hand grabbed its shoulder, throwing it against the wall. For a moment it was horribly afraid that it had waited too long and the minions of Hell had caught it after all. Then it took in the face looming threateningly close to Pip's; a tall, broad teenager with stylishly cut dark hair, slight stubble and grey eyes that were currently filled with anger.

Mitchell Curtis supplied Pip's memories, dismay tingeing the thoughts. Mitchell was one of the students from North Park, a mean spirited bully who was hoping to cruise through life on the strength of his athletic skills. He was widely disliked among the student body, aside from those who comprised his little clique and to girls who prized looks and status over popularity.

And Mitchell Curtis, although not nearly as rich as Token, was flashy enough to carry around large amounts of money and from a family able to give him that.

It grinned.

"What the fuck are you smiling about?" Mitchell leant on the wall, hands to either side of Pip's head, advertising that this was not a conversation it should escape from.

"I was just thinking that from the way you're standing right now, it looks like you're about to kiss me."

There were a few students still lingering in the hall and they gaped at the amused words coming from the boy. It was an interested gape though. Mitchell was going to rip Pip's head off for that comment and none of them had ever seen someone ask for that treatment before.

Mitchell turned a violent shade of red, leaning up quickly and grabbing Pip's shoulder, fingers digging in tightly enough to make the arm go numb. Dragging Pip to the bathroom door, he shoved the smaller boy through the door, turning to look at the watchers. "Fuck off out of here before I get you all."

As interesting as the massacre was going to be, none of the watchers were quite brave enough to wait around, just in case Mitchell made good on his threat. As soon as Mitchell was sure they were leaving, he entered the bathroom.

It had let Mitchell manhandle Pip into the bathroom, thinking how ideal it was. He had the boy alone and he had barely had to do anything. Mortals were so predictable, especially this type, one insult and they were trying to prove something.

One look at Mitchell's face told it all it needed to know. He expected Pip to behave in a certain way, not attempt to defend himself. There was a script that both boys had been following and deviating from it would confuse Mitchell completely.

It raised Pip's eyebrow, radiating contempt. "Are we embroiled in a lovers tiff?"

'Embroiled' seemed to throw Mitchell, but he rallied, sticking to the way things were supposed to go. Taking a step forward, he held up a piece of homework. "What the fuck's this?"

It gave the work a disinterested glance. "I'd say it was a piece of paper with some form of communication on it."

"It's my chem paper," said Mitchell threateningly.

"And?"

"I got a C."

"And?"

"I needed at least a B! I warned you what'd happen if I didn't get one!"

"Ah." It searched Pip's memories and found the conversation, where Mitchell had given an order for Pip to write the paper and do a good job – or else. No doubt something unpleasant would have happened to the British boy as a result of this grade. Ah well, it was his lucky day.

Mitchell dropped the paper, reaching for Pip again and gripping his upper arm, shoving the boy into the wall opposite the furthest stall, narrowly missing throwing it into the sinks. "You're going to pay for this, you fucking French faggot."

It leaned casually against the wall, unintimidated, and Mitchell hesitated. It could read the confusion in his eyes and realised the best course of action would be to goad him into an attack. It suspected that creative insults were wasted on the boy though, the best form of offense would be the old standbys.

"Yes, I do apologise for the shoddy work I did on your homework," it said in Pip's cheerful tones. "However, I had a prior appointment that night. I was fucking your mother."

Mitchell's jaw dropped and rage began to dawn on his face. "What did you say?"

"Do you need a hearing test? I was fucking your mother. Up the arse obviously, she's got a face like a bag of spanners and I might have vomited if I had to look at her too."

With a growl of blind fury, Mitchell dived forward, hands curled into fists, prepared to do some serious damage. Asmondeus waited until the boy was nearly upon it, then kicked up one of Pip's long legs so that its foot caught Mitchell full-force in the balls. All the air whooshed out of him and he staggered back, whimpering and gasping. Moving with deceptive speed, it brought back Pip's fist and slammed it into his jaw.

Mitchell took several staggering steps backward, falling into the far stall and landing heavily on the toilet, almost falling through the raised seat and into the water. His eyes flickered as he slumped, barely aware of his surroundings.

That just wouldn't do.

Asmondeus reached into Pip's pocket and removed the item it had liberated from the art supplies earlier; a Stanley knife more typically used to cut through tough substances. Well, if that was the objects purpose, then he would be using it properly.

"Mitchell. Look at me."

Mitchell looked up, trying to focus, his expression overtaken by fear. As usual, all it took to bring a person like that to their knees was the right method of handling them. It raised the knife in front of its face, flicking up the blade as it did so, relishing the sheer terror that the sight invoked in its victim.

"Oh God Pip, don't, please, don't cut me with that thing man, I'm sorry, I'm real sorry, please don't..."

No.

Asmondeus tried to step forward and was confused to find itself unable to. Then rage came over it. Pip was fighting it again – and this time, he seemed to have found some desperate strength, holding it away with sheer willpower.

Cute. But it wouldn't work.

Pip wasn't in control of his own body either, the host frozen in place. Asmondeus took a moment to focus on Pip, noticing that Mitchell's babbling was getting louder. Soon, he would be wailing and possibly audible to those outside the men's room. It was during classes, but it knew it couldn't take the chance.

It seized back control, wrestling with Pip's psyche briefly. Pip was desperate not to let it hurt the other boy, although it couldn't quite figure out why he would care, but it was stronger and more experienced. It was a futile rebellion, dealt with in a matter of moments.

Stepping forward, once more in control, it swung the knife in a wide arc, cutting through Mitchell's cheeks and mouth and severing his words at the same time. A spray of blood hit the wall, almost obscuring the legend, 'C.D + B.S 4 EVA'. The wound was messy but far from fatal.

In their mind, it could hear Pip's horror, sense him trying to pull away from the truth of the situation. That was fine, let him hide.

Mitchell made a loud moaning, choking sound that wanted to be a scream as his mouth was suddenly extended several inches, gore and saliva running thickly from the wounds, making it look disturbingly like a clowns smile. He tried to stand, but it put a hand over his face and shoved him backwards. This time he did fall through the seat, creating a muted splash as his ass hit the water, getting stuck in the ring.

It giggled in Pip's gentle tones – the sight was pretty funny – and spent a few moments watching Mitchell's futile struggle to escape again, listening to him try to scream through a throatful of blood. Then, realising time was against it, it grabbed Mitchell by the hair and forced his head as far back as it could manage with the cistern in the way. Something in his neck cracked and Mitchell made a gargled wail, eyes wide and hellishly aware. Asmondeus looked into them, feeling almost sentimental for his first kill in who knew how long, leaning toward the boys face and sampling the blood and spittle oozing from the wound with the tip of his tongue, killer and victim resembling lovers. No, there was no time for this.

It drew the edge of the knife across Mitchell's throat, bolting out of the stall hurriedly before the new wound could start to spurt, not wanting to get more mess on itself than it had to – that would raise too many questions when it left. It pulled the door closed and checked Pip's clothes out. There were some splats and smears, but nothing too obvious. There was no reason it couldn't get away with that, although it would have to roll up the sleeves and wash its hands.

After a few moments, it realised there was a trail of blood coming from beneath the door of the stall and decided it was safe to enter again. Pushing open the door, it regarded its handiwork, ignoring Pip's moan of revulsion deep in their mind. Arterial blood tended to spray and the walls were coated in blood, dripping down to the floor in splashes. Looking up, Asmondeus realised it had even got on the ceiling. Good thing it didn't have to bother cleaning up after this one.

It grabbed the corpse by the shirt, yanking it out of the toilet bowl with no niceties. Mitchell's throat had stopped spraying, but it was still oozing copiously. It dropped the heavy body to the floor, letting him crumple to the floor at an unnatural angle, scowling as it fell into the mess on the floor and splashed several fine droplets of blood onto Pip's shoes.

Reaching into Mitchell's soaked back pocket, it located what it had wanted; a wallet. It checked the contents and grinned. Enough to fund a trip to Denver easily. It had struck lucky once again.

"Ta very much," it said to the body with exaggerated Englishness, going through the rest of Mitchell's pockets and frowning when he came up with no car keys. Scanning Pip's memories, it couldn't figure out why not. Mitchell had a car, not as nice as Token's but better than most of the other kids owned. Yet the keys were not here.

Damn. That made things more difficult for it. Still, there were cars everywhere and it could surely find one somewhere along the line. For now, it was time to leave, before it was discovered. There was still fifteen minutes before the next bell rang, but it didn't want to take any chances.

It closed the stall and fiddled with the lock from the outside, until it managed to engage the lock enough so the door wouldn't spring open. Then it crossed to the sinks and turned on the tap, washing the worst of the blood from its hands and arms. A look in the mirror showed more of the red marks on Pip's face and it cleaned up quickly, anxious to be gone.

Just as it thought it was going to get out undetected, the bathroom door swung open. It turned, ready to deal with the new threat – it still had the Stanley knife in Pip's pocket – and confronted a teenage boy, hood of his orange parka pulled tightly around his head so that only the blue of his eyes showed. The same kid it had dismissed as too poor to target in the hall earlier and, it thought, the same one it had passed over as a possible first host.

Third time unlucky kid, it thought. You won't stop me.