Abraxas Lucifer Bradford
Faceclaim: Jonathan Rhys Meyers
Species: Pure Nephilim
Age: 52
Status: Mafia leader. Not in the community
Family: Cornelia Bradford (Daughter with Aurelia Bradford) || Jonathan Bradford (Son with Aurelia Bradford - Presumed dead) || Isaiah Bradford (Son with a One-Night-Stand) || Clarissa Bradford (Daughter with a One-Night-Stand)

TRIGGER WARNING - Torture, Drugs, Guns, Graphic violence

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” - Nietzsche

Prelude:

Christopher Bradford joined the Navy on a dare, his boredom pushing him into signing that commission for the first 4 years. His ambition spurred him into the SEAL’s program while his stubborn attitude gave him the strength to make it through Hell Week, graduating as the top sniper in his class. His career was short lived however, his first and only tour overseas ended with an unsanctioned kill landing him in the brig. His court martial was a quick and brutal affair, the Navy dishonorably discharging him and following it up with a murder charge that would land him inevitably at Fort Leavenworth.

Wiley and resourceful Christopher avoided the authorities and skipped the country, heading south. He traveled for a few months, constantly moving and avoiding the bounty hunters that were never far off his heels. Finally he made it to Colombia, a country big enough and thickly populated enough that he could vanish. Unfortunately within a few weeks Christopher had blown what little money he had left, leaving him destitute and homeless in a foreign country. Still the young man was a survivor, determination encoded into his very DNA refusing to let him give up or quit.

As luck would have it Christopher found work hustling drugs for a small distributor, marking himself as a valuable asset almost instantly. His rough and tumble looks deterred most everyone from trying to pull a fast one however when an individual did  get brave Christopher was quick and vicious in his assaults earning his title as a serious bruiser. In time he learned that his boss was a distributor for the Colombian Mafia, a large gang that controlled the country with an iron fist. Christopher’s skills and reputation put him in the sights of those in power and earned him an opportunity to prove his worth and move up in the ranks.

Thirsty for the money and prestige the ex navy sniper took the job, single handedly infiltrating a government safe house and assassinating a high ranking official and his family. The deaths were gruesome and bloody, leaving the calling card of the mafia so as to send a message to anyone foolish enough to stand against them. In accomplishing the task Christopher proved himself earning him a spot in the upper circles. His life improved with the money and prestige given to him and his reputation as a ruthless assassin grew eventually earning him the title of Sicario. Christopher became the feared boogie man of the cartel, his name cowing even the most hardened of men.

While enjoying the perks of being who he was Christopher met a beautiful young woman who enchanted him from the moment they met. He had come back from a hit with a nasty cut on his arm and immediately went to the hospital to get stitched up. The nurse that stepped around the drawn curtain immediately commanded his attention, her quiet yet firm demeanor breaking through his tough exterior. Isabelle knew all about the famed American Sicario that was the Mafia’s most deadly weapon but she hadn’t expected him to be handsome and charming. From the moment the two met their connection was obvious and undeniable, a love story for the ages.

After a year of dating Christopher finally popped the question and it came as a surprise to no one when she said yes. The marriage was a grand affair befitting the high ranking Sicario, his kill count demanded respect and veneration while his demeanor incited fear and absolute loyalty. Most saw him as stoic and cold and utterly inhuman while his one soft spot was his wife. Isabelle had grown up with the Mafia, had relatives that were members therefore being married to one wasn’t a big deal in fact it afforded her a great amount of deference and safety. It wasn’t until she became pregnant that fear began to take the place of that happiness, for the Mafia was an unforgiving place to raise a child.

The Colombian Mafia had a mandatory conscription clause that had been in effect since it’s inception and none were exempt. Every first child born to a member was offered up and put into the care of the cartel, raised by the Mafia and fostered by non-other than the leader, El Diablo himself. It was a hard and brutal right of passage that not every child survived though those that did ended up being perfect cold-blooded killers whose loyalty and devotion to the crew was absolute. Neither Christopher nor Isabelle had ever met the current Diablo, a man that struck terror in the hearts of all men and was well known for his blood thirst ways.

When she was sure she was carrying a son Isabelle attempted to sway her husband into leaving, saving their son from the tortuous ways of the Mafia and potential death. Christopher wouldn’t hear of it however, as he saw things the gang had given him everything and he wouldn’t turn his back on them. After their short argument Isabelle gave up, demurely cowing to her husband's wishes who insisted they would have other children. While on the outside she seemed to accept her husband’s decision on the inside the young woman was already looking for her way out, determined to protect her innocent son.

She waited for nearly 6 months before her window opened and without hesitation she took it fleeing from Colombia, the Mafia brotherhood, and her husband. Isabelle was a capable woman, strong and stalwart as well as powerful, her Nephilim blood standing her in good stead. It had surprised the couple when they had each discovered that the other was a spawn of the angels, making their connection that much stronger. The vitality that coursed through her was a gift of divinity and stood her in good stead, lending her the energy to make it out of Colombia.

Isabelle drove a stolen vehicle into Panama where she ditched it and joined up with a church group touring the country. From there they ambled into Costa Rica hitting all of the heavily populated areas making it easy for her to disappear. The Brotherhood had followed, no doubt they had sent people in all directions but they had nearly closed in on her once or twice. Only her quick thinking and street smarts kept her safe, avoiding the Mafia as she slipped aboard a ship heading up the coast. The ship stayed close enough in shore that a pregnant woman wouldn’t be uncomfortable, taking her up to a port in El Salvador where she met up with an old friend who was going to help her get back into the States.

Unfortunately their plans were ruined when Isabelle went into labor 3 weeks early, forcing them to stop at a rural hospital in Guatemala. She’d hoped for a quick delivery, an easy labor that was over and done with within an hour so they could be back on the road. 6 hours later she was still in the same room, suffering contraction after contraction and no closer to delivering. Desperate the mother to be paged the doctor, intent on a c-section when the door opened and her heart dropped; Christopher stalked into the room followed closely by a tall man she had never seen before. The strange man was an imposing figure, he moved with the grace and poise of a sophisticated man though he had an aura of danger that clung to him like a second skin. It was his eyes that unnerved her, in there dark depths she saw a malevolence that set her heart to pounding and a blood lust that froze the blood in her veins.

Abraxas himself had come to collect his due along with her husband Christopher who looked both broken and furious. She tried desperately to appeal to him, begging her husband not to allow such an atrocity to happen but to no avail. Christopher spoke in a robotic tone reiterating the creed that the members lived by, consigning their first born child into the Mafia the ultimate tribute to the brotherhood that had given them so much. As another contraction gripped her body the doctor and several nurses came surging into the room, ignoring the two men and converging on Isabelle.

Taking advantage of the chaos, in an act of pure animal desperation, Isabelle fled from the room knocking over nurses and equipment as she staggered from the room and attempted to race down the hall though she didn’t make it far running into a couple more thugs her husband had brought along with him. She turned as Christopher and Abraxas came closer, the leader looking relaxed and a bit amused as she struggled to get away to save her son from being raised by a monster.

In that moment Isabelle felt a strange stirring in her blood, a sudden urge to strike out and kill Abraxas with swift finality. She felt his evil intentions, the black corruption that lurked in his heart and the urge to wipe such a vile creature from the Earth nearly undid her. It was a bone deep instinctual reaction, her Nephilim blood recognizing a mortal enemy. She screamed at her husband, the man she had vowed to love and cherish, pleaded with him to see sense. “Chris? Baby please.” She pleaded with her husband but in his eyes all she could see was fury and regret.  

He moved then, came toward her with the same confidence that had once attracted her and now scared her half to death, his long stride closing the distance between them as he came to her and drove a dagger straight through her heart. Without hesitation Christopher had drawn his blade and cut down the love of his life, pouring out his ire with each vicious stab of the blade. When his limbs finally grew tired and her body was nearly unrecognizable Christopher removed her head, tossing it into the trash can before turning back to his Diablo head bowed in deference.

“And the child.” The dark voice echoed behind Christopher, a smooth command that guided his hands freeing the young child from its mother’s corpse. A tiny scream rent the air as the little boy was freed, blood soaked and born from death itself. Wrapping the squirming child in a blanket Christopher silently offered the baby to the Diablo, not even sparing a glance for the newborn. Abraxas smiled at the child with a feral grin, all pearly white teeth and malice as he reached out and took the tiny baby boy into his arms. Abraxas was grinning from ear to ear, madness swirling in the depths of his eyes as he watched his sicario reaffirm his loyalty to the mob.

Chapter 1: Pain

1701. That was my identifier, my designation. In the Brotherhood you had to earn a name, had to work for it and prove you were worthy. Everything that was done to an initiate was meant to make them strong, whether male or female you had to pass through the crucible of hell itself before earning your humanity, earning your right to stand as one among the brotherhood. I was born from death, bred from hardship, and christened by pain. I don’t remember much before my 5th year, those memories clouded by an infant's eyes buried, I suppose, in the bliss of ignorance. At 5 we undergo our first test, the first trial that weeds out the strong seeds from the dead weight. It was at 5 that I made my first kill.

Up until 5 years of age there are people who take care of the Initiates, giving them the food and nutrients they need to grow strong and healthy. The members were on a rotation providing stability and familiarity, sort of like a group home run by a wide organization and because we knew no different it was normal for us. We were taught to read and write, regular schooling for ones so young if not a little advanced, it would never be said that an Initiate born to the Brotherhood would be stupid or uneducated. Likewise Initiates are taught to handle all manner of weapons, acclimating them early to the life of violence and brutality that awaited them. Combat classes and techniques begin around age 3, the agile young minds molded from the very beginning to accept the essential skills they would need to survive and excel within the Colombian Mafia.

I don’t recall how many were in my division leading up to that first trial, I couldn’t even begin to call up a single face though it was a pivotal moment in my life. We knew it was coming, the attitudes of our caretakers changed drastically and without warning our daily rations were cut in half. The first two days were easy, the third and fourth less so and by the fifth all I can remember is the gnawing hunger little did I know that that hunger would be a constant companion for years to come. On the 7th day those in the division were herded into a wide ring, spot lights flooded everything within the white circle, blinding us to anything that may have lay beyond.

A disembodied voice crackled over a loudspeaker, a voice that even after being passed through wired electronics struck fear into the hearts of all who heard it. The command drawled out with not a hint of compassion or care, laying out the rules of the trail to the gathered children. My eyes had gone wide, adrenaline shooting through my body as my mind registered what was being asked of me, of us. We were being weeded out in a situation that would prove who was worthy to enter the next phase and who was dead weight. No one moved for several moments, eyes skittering suspiciously around at the other children who had up until that point been companions. My own eyes fell on another boy, slightly taller than me but much uglier in countenance and my world narrowed.

All at once the room exploded with a rapport of battle cries that rang in my ears, my vision blurred along the edges as I sprinted toward the boy I had picked out. We crashed together in a flurry of limbs, punching and kicking with ferocious intent both grappling for supremacy in a desperate attempt to come out on top. It was then that I first felt the faint stirrings of what I would later come to know as rage, that hot and sticky fever flooded through my body fueling my movements allowing me to gain the upper hand. I managed to straddle this nameless cretin looming over him as I struck him over and over again with my fists, punching with every ounce of strength I could possibly muster. I continued to strike him until my arms shook from the effort and my hands were numb, and every last vestige of energy I possessed had been spent.

Glancing up I blinked several times taking in the carnage that was around me, blood spattered and bruised amidst a group of fresh killers. The boundaries of the first trial having been met as those who wished to proceed would need to take a life, half the group now lay dead while the other half stood in varying degrees of shock and exhaustion. There is a long standing tradition within the Mafia, one that sets them above the rest in turning out cold blooded ruthless killers, a creed that is taken to heart and whispered as a mantra by the monsters that lurk in the shadows: Blood them young and blood them often.

From that day on our lives changed, shifted into high gear as we were thrown into hell. They shaved our heads and gave us all matching clothes, stripping all vestiges of identity from both males and females alike leaving only our numbers to identify with. There is a certain beauty in the process that one can only appreciate once they are out of the game, for from the inside your entire focus is on survival and domination. The game was an elaborately simple scheme run by none other than the Diablo himself, every aspect of an Initiate's life carefully manipulated to drive the individual beyond endurance and then push even further.

To forge a weapon any good smith knows he needs five things: a good chunk of steel, fire, water, an anvil, and a hammer. It’s a painstakingly slow process as the steel is moved from fire to anvil, beaten repetitively with the hammer and returned to the fire in order to keep the metal malleable. Every once in awhile the smith will thrust the steel in water, sealing in the changes and soothing the ingot to keep it from breaking apart completely. In this way Initiates are shaped into members, harmless children molded into merciless killing machines. The process is long and arduous and only a small portions of each group survives to make it into the Brotherhood.

The physical rigors are typical, the usual tactics one would expect from such a process. We were whipped and beaten daily, the sound of our own screams becoming all too familiar in the long nights and endless days. Diablo forced us into fights for supremacy in which the victor was allowed more food or something equally sought after. Rations were a luxury we could not always afford, starvation an old friend with who we were intimately acquainted. By the age of 8 we had taught ourselves to subsist on bread and water savoring every tiny scrap as if it were the grandest meal on the planet. The physical afflictions were easy to adapt to, the more simple part of the grand scheme, it was the mental and emotional torture that twisted the mind and corrupted the heart.

Diablo would play favorites making each day a competition fostering jealousy, envy, and rage within our minds, pitting us eternally against one another while masterfully setting himself up as a God in our narrow worlds. The manipulation in every maneuver was meticulously orchestrated, from the public shaming and humiliation to the verbal abuse that was hurled at us constantly. We were never shown an ounce of kindness or leniency except by his hand, elegantly programming our consciousness to following his every edict and obeying his every whim. Through it all I resolved to endure, to take the torment as stoically as possible even as it seemed my punishments and probations were far more severe than any other. I came to loathe 1701, those four digits strung together brought only pain and degradation, blood and hunger.

By the age of 12 I was sure Diablo saw something within me that wasn’t in the others, he often singled me out pushing me farther with a greater brutality than he did the other. I both hated and adored him, exalting in my position as I was sure he was testing me bringing out some greatness within me that only he could see. Each trial I took as a challenge, setting myself to the task of baring it all in an attempt to let not a word or so much as a sound pass my lips though I could never tell if that little character trait pleased or enraged the Diablo. My father would often be added into the scenarios, either to test my loyalty to the Diablo or the analyze my will, many of the scars I bear are from my father’s hand and I took great joy in every last one of them, remaining stubbornly silent as I suffered and soaked in my own blood.

After 10 long years our numbers had dropped drastically, over half of those who had begun the initiation process were dead and buried their bodies having given out under the rigors of hell. Some had been killed by the pain, other in fights with their fellow Initiates, and a couple had been killed by the Diablo himself. To a teenager of 15 the accomplishment was great our bodies hardened and shaped by hours of physical diligence, our minds honed to a knife point from a lifetime of conditioning. We had been hewn upon the anvil of the Mafia Brotherhood and scrupulously hammered into shape. Thrown into the fires of hell our weaknesses and vulnerabilities chipped away until at last we were thrust into the cooling waters of victory, standing tall as we entered into the last stages of our Initiation. All that remained was to sharpen each weapon to a fine point, channeling all the focus into the cause.

Chapter 2: Torment

Females were then separated from the males, their training taking a different form to best effect their assets. Our world broadened as well, for the first time since our conscription we were let out into the world at large. We trained and we studied, going out to observe and watch and listen. We were highly trained, educated, and effective killers, now we needed to adjust to being out among people learning to blend in with the populace. It was tough at first, the rules of society meant little to an Initiate however there was prudence in observing them in effect we adapted a mask that allowed us to slip into the ignorant masses, blending in with the chattel.

Diablo continued to be hardest on me, his words were always harsh and his punishments even more so despite my being the strongest and the most fierce. He seemed to take great joy in watching me suffer and I in turn took great joy in remaining quiet through every ounce of pain, screaming on the inside even as the flesh was ripped from my body. A growing malice toward the Diablo had been growing deep within my soul, an instinctual need to kill that rode me hard and came at odds with my programming. It didn’t make sense and often left me confused and frustrated, seeking solace out among the masses to settle my rampaging soul.

It was during one of my evening strolls that I first beheld true beauty, a woman whose ethereal grace and poise struck me utterly motionless as I stared at her flawless countenance. All the noise from the derelict pub faded away and even across a crowded room I could feel she was different, a goddess moving among prosaic dolls. I watched her for several days, admiring the confidence and strength she exuded even as I studied her, ferreting out her vulnerabilities and motivations. I had been waiting for an appropriate window, ever cautious of revealing my hand or my intentions, my opening finally arriving on the fifth night.

She was always surrounded by men vying for her attention, her natural sexuality making her a prime subject for attention as the pathetic sots stumbled over each other trying to gain her favor. Seemingly tired of the preening and having drank her fill she left, slipping out the back though company was hot on her heels. She’d attracted the attention of a rival crime boss, he had his heart set on possessing her at any costs. Under my watchful gaze he rounded up a large group of his men and followed her out unaware that they were being stalked in turn by a demon of hell.  

They jumped her several blocks over, surrounding her in a ring of slathering testosterone as their boss ventured to seduce her, his efforts earning him her derision and blatant refusal. She was biting and elegant in her insults, her speech beautiful in it’s harsh prose and I swear I felt the first stirs of arousal simply listening to her tear him apart with naught but her tongue. I’d been waiting for the attack, wreathed in shadows a spectre of death waiting to descend, and when it happened I exploded into action.

I had killed four of them before the flames registered in my mind, my adrenaline fueled brain working faster than my perceptions. When every last man lay dead in a smoking heap I finally turned to look at the mysterious woman, awe and greed warring within my young heart. She had willed the flames into life, controlled the devastating heat to obey her every command and will, reducing a group of men to cinders with merely a gesture of her delicate hand. She chuckled, a sultry sound of power and prestige, a sound that sank into my very bones and called to my restless soul.

She was a Phoenix, a being born of fire and heat, able to manifest, manipulate, and control fire and I wanted it. I wanted her yes, but I also wanted that power and I was willing to go to any length to make it happen. The woman introduced herself as Leona d’Fierro, an Italian descendant of a clan of Initia who had somehow become a Fire Lord. She laughed at me when I asked her to make me like her, begged her to teach me how to wield fire. “I cannot make you like me, but why would you want to be when you have the blood of angels coursing through your veins?” She looked utterly puzzled at my fanatical need, though it quickly turned to outright puzzlement as she uttered those words.

For several weeks following that night we met in secret, talking and spending time in one another’s company from sunset to sunrise. It was through Leona that I learned what I truly was and what I was capable of. My heightened strength and speed, the scars on my back, the ability to tell when a person was lying, and the purple sheen to my eyes, it was all because of what I am. Nephilim, spawn of the angels. Under the Phoenix’s influence I finally felt like I was rising to my full potential, spreading my wings for the first time, and soaring up into the clouds.

Under the Diablo’s watchful eye I became stronger, more fierce and bloodthirsty, beating out everyone that I came into contact with. Each victory though earned me an even more brutal punishment for my efforts, the Diablo himself reducing me to a pathetic lump of blood and bruises on more than one occasion. My hatred of him grew even as my love for Leona grew, her presence and company the only bright light within my world of darkness and shadows. It was through her that I learn just what the Diablo was, the reason behind the burning enmity that was spreading across my heart like a cancer. The need to kill eating away at my soul the longer I left him alive, his every breath an affront to my very existence.

Abraxas, the Diablo was a dragonkin, the spawn of a demon and the sworn mortal enemy to all Nephilim. I became incensed, a deep and furious ache blooming in my chest at the realization as well as a floundering desperation. Who was I if I wasn’t in the Mafia? I had been born to it, committed to the cause since inception and I knew no other life. It was Leona who gave me purpose, who gave me direction and purpose, who made me see the bigger picture. I didn’t have to picture myself without the Brotherhood, I was stronger and a far better leader than the Diablo. Leadership and superiority were in my blood, all I had to do was seize control.

The day of my final initiation trial I awoke with wrathful fire coursing through my veins, an icy knot of certainty gripping my heart tight within my chest. Naturally I was saved for last, waiting stoically as the few others in my group were given their tasks to complete. Each one killed cleanly and without mercy, earning themselves a name and a place within the Brotherhood. Finally my time came and I stepped within the white circle I had first entered so many years ago as an unblooded child and called upon the opponent of my choosing, my eyes greedy as I watched my father step into the ring.

My eyes drifted up to the Diablo’s noting with an irascible certainty that he meant for me to fail this final test. He expected me to fall beneath my father’s hand and no longer be around to infuriate him with my silence. Conviction solidified within every fiber of my being as I approached my father, he would understand in the end. He would know that his life had been worth something, something greater than himself. He would die so that I could do what he could not, he’d been the Diablo’s lap dog for years and hadn’t killed him. It was my turn and I would not fail.

With brutal and poetic precision I defeated my father, my hands awash in his blood as his lifeless body lay before me. Near the end I had seen fear in his eyes, whether it was fear of losing his life or of what comes after, it made him weak and weakness needed to be snuffed out. Further incensed by my father’s weakness I charged the Diablo with vicious intent, and if I had been expecting him to fight back I wasn’t disappointed. Our battle was violent and bloody, the dragonkin tore my body up though I gave as good as I got. For a time I thought I might fail, the slightest flicker of unease lighting behind my purple tinged eyes. As I heaved for breath, my body shaking with just the effort to stand as I bled from dozens of wounds the Diablo stood over me gloating.

“I knew you were going to be weak and useless. I should have left you to rot in your mother’s corpse, but it amused me to watch you struggle to win my favor. You, an angel spawn, crawling around on your hands and knees trying so desperately to gain my approval and all you’ve ever brought me was disgust. Now that you have taken care of your father I can kill you and be rid of your offending presence forevermore.”

His voice echoed in my head, fueled the deep rage that boiled in my heart and gave me strength. With lightening speed I broke past his defenses and plunged my hand into his chest, my fingers wrapping around his beating heart as his life’s blood soaked my skin. His eyes bulged within his face as I looked deep into his eyes and with great disgusted I saw the same fear flickering in those dark depths that I saw in my father’s. This man was no Diablo, a true prince of hell wouldn’t hold fear even in the face of death, he would laugh and challenge death till the last breath was torn from his body. He was not fit to lead, and wasn’t in the least fit to live. With absolute conviction I squeezed my fist until his heart disintegrated in my hand, ending his life and shoving his dead carcass away from me.

Turning to those gathered I roared a challenge, ready to face off against anyone who may contest my claim. I braced myself for the rush of opponents meeting them head on as the Diablo’s inner circle rushing in to avenge their fallen leader. I tore them apart, the strength given to me by the angels themselves fueling my bloodlust as I laid waste to any who dared oppose me. By the time it was over I was covered in the blood of my enemies, countless bodies lay scattered at my feet, and I screamed for more.  None came however, and I felt a surge of triumph flow through my body as hundreds of heads bowed and knees bent as they kneeled before me and swore themselves to my service. I’d done it, I’d taken over. No longer would I be 1701, no longer would I be a punching bag for an unworthy pretender.

It was there, standing in the midst of the carnage with hundreds of followers submitting themselves to my will that I realized my true potential, the reason I had been put upon this Earth. I was born from death raised in the fires of hell and tested by blood and bone, to rise as the one true Prince of Hell. I would be stronger than any who had come before me, taking everything that I have ever wanted and I vowed to cut down anyone who dared get in my way. I would raise the Brotherhood to new heights and become the most feared and revered man in history. I would rule absolute and all would tremble at my feet, for I am a being of the high heavens.

I shed the trials of my past, dropping the boy that I had been and all the pretenses of civility. With no parentage I was a lone pillar of strength and resolve, a being forged from adversity and sharpened by the pitfalls that had been unsuccessful at crippling my iron will. Standing triumphant at the pinnacle of my achievement I took up the crown of my predecessor, dusting away the failures and the weaknesses that had pervaded it. Baptized in his heart’s blood I donned the mantle and became forevermore known as Abraxas Lucifer Bradford, the Archangel of Death and Despair.

 

Chapter 3: Wrath

Still basking in the glow of my ascendency I sought out the one person I most wanted to share my victory with, Leona the Goddess of Fire, excitement and pure ecstasy running through my veins. I found her in our usual spot and after a thorough session together I offered her the world, and a place at my side. I relayed the events with a burning pride every fiber of my being absolutely sure that she would feel the same, that she would relish in my victory. I wanted her, wanted her by my side as my wife and Queen, to help me run my empire.

I was so sure of her answer, so sure that her reaction would be complete elation that I didn’t see the revulsion that crossed her face as I relayed the events. She pulled away from me, finally drawing my attention as I gaze into her face and registered her horror. She spit endless obscenities at me as she scrambled from my grasp, shrank back from my hands as I reached for her, blood still caked under my fingernails. Monster. Murderer. Psychopath. Among a myriad of other insults those three struck me the hardest, her condemnation lancing through my dark soul like a knife.

Acrimony sat heavily acidic upon my tongue as I glared at her, her higher than mighty speech about the blood thirsty monster I had become adding fuel to the fires of my rage. It had been her idea for him to take over the Brotherhood, her inspiration had planted the seeds of the whole plan and to have her turn against me because I had followed through left me seething with an untold fury. Sensing my unrest Leona d’Fierro slipped out and disappeared from my life, leaving only unfulfilled hopes and dare I say a broken heart. The depth of her betrayal cut me deeply, though I would be damned before I let myself be ruled by my feelings again. I shut myself off from all emotions, sinking deep into the pool of icy indifference while clutching tightly to my drive.

Returning to the Brotherhood I stewed over what was to be done, all my carefully laid plans now ash in my hands and all I had to show for my efforts was a half-assed band of thugs and criminals, and a small group of hardened assassins. The idea was good but the execution was sloppy. There was definite room for improvement and a vast amount of changes that would make it more streamlined and far more lucrative, it was simply a question of which would be easier: scrap the entire thing and start from scratch, or weed out the weak links and repair the damage. In the end I wanted nothing to do with the old system, it’s flawed foundations a taint upon my mind and if I were going to be King I wanted my castle built upon the bones of my own kills.

The History books would dub that night as the Cartel massacre, detailing a false account of bad leadership leading to an insurrection the ultimately killed the previous regime. The reports were right in that last respect, the previous system was completely torn apart though by my own two hands. I tore through the country on a furious rampage, destroying all but those who had been born and transcripted into the ranks. With the slate clean I named the handful that were left my demons, high ranking officials within my new world order. It is with these foundations that I began to build my empire.

Avoiding the whole overused one clock many parts analogy, I knew that to be lucrative and successful I’d need more than just thugs and criminals. Every man had his specialty and price, it was just finding out what motivations sparked the fire in the darkest depths of the soul and feeding it. Methodically I recruited more to my cause, spinning out my web of influence one spidery tendril at time. I didn’t just focus on the bottom feeders, there is a poetic and understated justice in recruiting everyday citizens that most would least suspect. Lawyers, doctors, private business owners, police officers, accountants, restaurant owners; no one was above my notice and everyone had a price. My reputation alone drew them in, the money and prestige and security locked them in and made them a part of my kingdom. As with all things this new Mafia needed a name, something befitting the Prince of Hell, a name that might strike fear into the hearts of all and make those involved proud and loyal. So with blood and sweat I single handedly created The Damnation, cultivating my vast army of demons that made up the intricate network of my kingdom.

Systematically the Damnation took over Colombia and under my expert hands branched out further. Venezuela, Peru, Brazil, Bolivia, Chile, and so many more fell under my purview, until I had a foothold within all of South America. With my sights set on America I moved North into Texas. The Lone Star state gave me my first casino and rocketed Damnation into an International Crime Organization like no other. The United States proved even more prosperous than I could have imagined and within the first year I’d tripled both my bottom line and my outfit. The demons of Damnation had reached legion levels and didn’t show any signs of letting up.

Eventually I moved farther North and around 21 I ended up in New York, a place that teemed with corruption and greed. I expanded my business ventures: strip clubs, restaurants, casinos, hotels, even a few factories, there were few pies I didn’t have a finger or two in and more than my fair share of cuts in on local markets. The Big Easy proved to be a stroke of genius, the town a perfect hub of money and philandering to keep even a man of my appetites sated and satisfied.

 

Chapter 4: Ruin

Fate is a cruel mistress who takes particular pleasure in fucking me over, throwing me for a loop just as I get comfortable. This particular loop came with a petite body sculpted by Aphrodite herself, long darkly rich locks that hugged an elfin face, and two deep espresso eyes that captured a man’s very soul with one glittering glance. She both ensnared and enraged me, her coquettish yet demure gaze stirring something within me I had thought crushed and broken. Aurelia was a breath of fresh air, a showgirl with not a penny to her name who despite her situation oozed class and sophistication.

Against my better judgement I gave her a job in my casino, at a place where her proximity would be a constant thorn in my side. Despite my best efforts to resist her I was powerless in the presence of her quiet fortitude and unassuming sass. She was a startling contrast my previous affair, where the Fire Bitch had been an exotic spice Aurelia was pure American honey. She was an angel with a seductive side that was impressive in it’s subtly. In the end I fell hard, this immense need to possess her mind, body, heart, and soul overrode everything and within a year I made her my wife. I had to admire her tenacity as she took to being the Queen of Damnation like she had been born to the role, with great finesse Aurelia became accustomed to her new lot in life as I showered her with all the finer things that life and money could offer.

We had been married two years when my beloved wife announced she was pregnant and for the first time in my existence I prayed. I didn’t pray to God or even to any gods that might be listening I simply prayed for the sake of praying that Aurelia would give me a boy. I wanted a son with a burning desire that cannot be described, to raise him within Damnation and give him a place at my side was a dream I hadn’t known I was harboring until my beautiful Aurelia held that ugly purple stick up showing me the positive results. I’d never seen my wife so happy, she seemed to float wherever she went and cast out a soft glow upon everyone she came into contact with.

Even as her belly swelled Aurelia became even more beautiful by the day, a vision of angelic charm. As the pregnancy progressed I became increasingly restless, a tight band constricting deep within my chest that ached to a greater degree with each passing day. I would find temporary release in physical exertion, easing the jitters by pounding away on a body until I was covered in blood. I found deep satisfaction in reducing men to a grisly pulp, the restlessness dispelling with each satisfying snap of bone and tear of sinew was just the balm I needed. The more time that passed the more savage the need became, though I can’t say I complained. My ferocious outbursts added fuel to the fires of fear that both my enemies and my demons held for me, growing exponentially in the wake of my ruthlessness and adding to my prestige. It would never be said that Lucifer shouldn’t be feared.

Close to her final trimester Aurelia and I began to argue, for the first time in our marriage she became obstinate and intolerable. She pushed for me to exclude my son from the conscription clause, to allow her to keep their son by her side instead of raising him within the boundaries of the organization as I had been. My growing ire at her nagging reached a boiling point and much to everyone’s surprise we drifted apart. I would have my son raised within Damnation, he would become an unflinching and stalwart killing machine like his father and once he passed Initiation he would take his place at my side. I was immoveable in that respect and I grew tired of her constant nagging, closing the conversation for good with one powerful edict. For the remainder of her pregnancy I was cold and distant, her lack of understanding and blatant disregard for my orders called for some sort of punishment.

My world fractured yet again when she finally went into labor and instead of getting to hold my son in my arms I was greeted with a somber faced doctor with grave tidings. At the height of my emotional ruin I cut down the doctor right there in the middle of the hospital, my rage so complete that I cared little for discretion. Aurelia sank into a depressive state further drifting from me, though I cared little as she had failed me. The heartbreak kept me from her bed, the anger sent me seeking release in the arms of another woman. Under any other circumstance I wouldn’t have even considered such a thing, but her failing as a woman pushed me past the brink of caring.

After several months I allowed the ice to thaw a bit between us, returning to her bed and showing her some affection. Things eventually returned back to normal though with a shard of iciness still present between us, I wouldn’t let her soon forget how she had failed me. Two years later she strove to fix her mistake and ended up pregnant once again, this time with a little girl. Since my first child had technically been born and hadn’t survived this second child would be free to stay with Aurelia. I watched the joy she held with great affection, her glowing angelic state returning as the little girl grew within her body. In early September she gave birth to Cornelia and while I looked upon the little girl with something akin to affection I couldn’t stir up the same excitement as I had had for my son. My Jonathan would have been 2 at that time, and no doubt a strong fighter like his father.

The years passed much as they had, Damnation grew as did the financial bottom line with expansion going as planned. I watched Cornelia grow day by day, observing the doting attention Aurelia bestowed upon her with mixed emotions. Since the girl had come along I’d been all but swept aside, forgotten in the face of the tiny brunette sprite. The more I watched her, tried to see bits of myself in her, the more aggravated I became. As my darling Aurelia paid her so much attention I was beginning to feel the first ever stirrings of some emotion I had no name for, though rumors and whispers floating around me were making things all the worse.

By the time Cornelia reached 7 many tidings had reached my ears from many different sources that spread through my soul like a cancer, slowly poisoning my already rocky opinion of the small child. At first I denied them, even killing the first few men who dared speak an ill word against my wife, the very idea that she would let another man into her bed ludicrous. The longer the idea sat within my brain however, the deeper the poison burned through my veins fanning the rage that was always bubbling just below the surface. Gradually our marriage became increasingly unstable as my temper warred with hers, arguments became a staple between the two of us.

In order to prevent more discord I distanced myself from both Aurelia and the girl, focusing my efforts on bolstering my kingdom’s reaches and increasing my income. Things were falling into place, going as scheduled as my influence was stretching further west bringing state after state under my control. Even as I tried to divert my attention the girl was never far from my mind, the certainty that she couldn’t possibly be my child, with the constant smiling and aura of purity she exuded, began to solidify deep within my black heart. My anger and the feelings of betrayal made me ever more violent, as it was nearly impossible not to show such intense rage.

That rage coalesced the morning after the girl’s 12th birthday when I came home to find both Aurelia and the girl gone. Furious I sent my demons out immediately to bring them both back, Damnation spreading out in all its capacities to bring back what was mine. Much to my chagrin the two had disappeared without a trace and each passing day with no results was another blow to my deteriorating calm. I held back my ire for nearly 6 months when that calm finally shattered, my wrath blowing the top off the stoicism I had been using to bottle up the madness at having been forsaken so completely. Yet another woman had had the audacity of walking out of my life and betraying me so completely, that I became incensed in the deepest sense of the word. I became a scourge on the female race, for any woman that even remotely resembled my wife fell by my hand and in my acrimony I left their bodies for all to see in delighted hopes that Aurelia might see and tremble at my wrath.

If she thought I would give up in my search for her the longer she was gone, she was wrong for she had ruined completely what trust I had given to her. The embarrassment at losing my wife, at her leaving me only confirmed in my mind what the rumors and whisperings had been saying all along. The girl was not mine and Aurelia had betrayed me in the worst possible way therefore I would find her and ruin her in return. I’d rip apart her very soul, making her unfit for any afterlife and then I would track down the bastard she had slept with and obliterate him from existence for the insult of trying to take what was mine.

 

Chapter 5: Betrayal

It would be a full 6 years before my minions finally caught wind of my errant wife, following up the viscous leads no matter how insignificant they seemed. At last there was solid evidence pointing toward Britain, a place I hadn’t even considered they might flee to. Much as I hated to leave my burgeoning Empire my need to right the wrong that had been done to me overrode everything else. I burned with the need to see her, to hear her accounting of why she had abandoned me and to take retribution for her actions. I would have the names of the men she had bedded and by the time I left Europe I would be satisfied, one way or another.

Britain being such a large place it took some time to pinpoint her exactly but at long last I found her, 6 years having passed she looked just as lovely as ever and the girl had grown into a woman. So many emotions swirling within my gut when I finally laid eyes on her that it took a few moments before I could speak, lest my affection for her override my better senses. Instead I latched onto the burning, seething mass of anger at her betrayal that was centered in my dark heart and demanded a reckoning of her actions. I threw the accusations of her infidelity at her feet, the stark truth that the girl was not my daughter, and I waited for the confirmation. Much to my chagrin Aurelia denied it all, claiming I was weak minded and a fool to be so easily swayed by rumors and hearsay.

I was struck dumb by her continued disloyalty, even to my face she was stubborn and obstinate, not even allowing herself to be absolved of her sins by divulging the names of her lovers. With each blatant refusal my anger grew until I could take it no longer, in a fit of pure rage a slammed my fist through her chest and ripped out her heart. I held the beating organ, crushed in my fist, before her watching with great satisfaction as the light died from her traitorous eyes and the coronary muscle between my fingers went still. I stared at her dead carcass for a while, warring within myself as to what to do with her body and in the end I left it lying there on the floor of her apartment. Stalking into the kitchen, her still heart still clutched in my hand, I rummaged in the cabinets till I found a jar and stuck the bloody trophy within. I decided to keep that small part of her, to remind myself of the subversive ways of women.

The girl had been nowhere in sight during the entire incident, no doubt out doing some silly thing that teenagers her age did. A small smile of satisfaction crossed my face as I left the apartment, the grisly body of his wife splayed out in the living room amidst walls covered with happy memories. Without a backward glance I left Britain behind and returned to my Empire, with my trophy to soothe my shattered nerves and wounded pride. The girl was of no consequence to me, I was convinced she wasn’t mine and therefore she wasn’t my problem.

2 years following I struggled with myself, warring with whether or not to kill the illegitimate girl or let her live out her life. The more I tried to push her from my mind the more she would pop up in my thoughts until I could take it no longer.  Killing her outright would bring on more suspicion and while the urge to kill her was strong a burning curiosity set itself up within my soul that I was helpless to resist. With the uncertainty eating at me I sent a few demons out to collect some of her DNA and they managed to bring back a hairbrush full of her hair. A few strands of hair, some blood of my own, and a scientist on my payroll later and I finally had the truth.

I stared at the scrap of paper with a mixture of horror and despair, for there was no denying that Cornelia was indeed my child. Rage suffused my entire body until I thought my heart might explode in my chest from the force of it. In a red haze of utter madness I went into a killing frenzy, laying waste to several blocks of downtown New York in a massacre of nearly 120 souls. Even as I sent the last pathetic mortal to whatever afterlife awaited him I seethed with a barely contained savagery and all the murderous energy was centered upon my darling daughter. It was Cornelia’s fault I had ever doubted my wife, her birth split the two of us apart and took her away from me. If it weren’t for Cornelia, Aurelia would still be alive and well and still mine. I swore then I would make her pay for what she had done to my beloved, never would she love a single being without knowing the loss that she had put me through. I would strike down anyone she got close to and make her life a living hell, after all, what better father figure could Lucifer himself be if he couldn’t bring pain and torment upon his offspring?  

 

Chapter 6: Vengence

From that moment on I sent out demons to keep track of Cornelia, watching her every move as I continued my reign as the leading crime boss of the millenia. Much to my amusement she entered the Police Academy, becoming apart of the very system I live to subvert in a diverting twist of irony. Her move to Evermore came at an opportune time as I once again expanded my span of influence and followed though I kept my distance. The Colorado metropolis held many secrets and circulated with even more rumors I found fascinating, as it boasted a wide range of supernatural species including a coven of my own kin.

Things shifted into the interesting when Cornelia was assigned a partner and much to my surprise the two came into contact with none other than the Fire Bitch herself. After doing some digging I found my daughter’s new partner had a long family history of being a thorn in my side. Harrison’s father had dug too deeply and too persistently into the affairs of Damnation and I had happily removed him from this plane of existence. Like some soap opera junkie I observed with barely contained glee as my dear daughter bonded with Harrison Jr. and outright laughed my ass off when I discovered Jr.’s lover was none other than Leona d’Fierro.

I couldn’t believe my good luck, the universe having sent me a karma bomb that would hit both lovely females at the same time. Jubilant beyond words I orchestrated a great kidnapping, taking Jr into my hospitality for some quality time. As expected Cornelia and Leona swooped in to save him and I let them savor their victory for a few days before ripping the carpet out from under their smug little feet. During a cozy little lunch I set myself upon a rooftop and waited for the perfect moment to lodge a bullet in Jr’s chest cavity. I smiled for days following his death, celebrating my victory from afar as the two women mourned the untimely death of Mr. Stars and Stripes. The icing on the cake was the look on Cornelia’s face when she returned home from the funeral to find her apartment filled with dozens upon dozens of black roses.

She knew then what monster haunted in her shadow, the Prince of Hell watching her every move in our game of chess. I relish our dance of wills, always watching for the next opportunity to take from her what she has taken from me.

Shortly following I moved the headquarters of Damnation to Evermore, successfully stretching my reign of terror from coast to coast. The move put me closer to Cornelia, able to keep a more solid eye on her while also terrorizing her to better effect. The mountain city offered up many pleasant surprises however it also brought along some discontent. It was in Evermore I discovered I had fathered a pair of twins by a one night stand, giving me two more children to loath and terrorize. I have little use for the girl however the boy may prove useful, more of his father lies present within his dark heart than he perhaps realizes.  

So long as Cornelia reside within Evermore so too will I, my quest for vengeance as never ending as my new comet-given immortality. I will not rest a single moment for as long as my daughter seeks happiness in the company of others, with the restless spirit of the greatly wronged and the righteous strength of a Nephilim I will endure to make her pay. My retribution, my wrath, and my bloodlust are as boundless as the heavens and burn with the very fires of hell, for I am the Archangel Lucifer.

 

Personality Traits

Intelligent - Adventurous - Confident - Skilled - Short-tempered - Emotionally Detached
Ruthless - Manipulative - Sharp Tongued - Sarcastic - Egotistical - Sadistic - Unsentimental