The Devil's Apprentice

"One slice, two slices, three slices, four..five slices, six slices, seven slices...more."

Emmanuel smiled at each new strike he made, eyes crinkly watching as blood drained with a certain delicacy down bare porcelain skin. He could feel the elation that ran with persistence through his veins, he could feel the excitement that bore like a nail through his brain.

It felt good, to be in control, to hold the life of a person in the very palm of his hand.

The blood, it did nothing but egg him on, the whimpers, they only served as encouragement and the struggles, oh he could literally get off on that one.

His victim, his prey was currently tied to a chair, lips slipped ajar, letting loose heavy breaths of air, eyes casted down, signifying the weary state of her physicality.

She was truly a beauty, as pretty as a gem with all that blood on her, all those slices and scratches, all those bruises that resulted in black and blue.

Oh god did they make her look extravagant, more flamboyant than the gold watch on his wrist, more expensive than the suit covered in her blood that he wore.

He wish he could keep her alive just to punish the innocence that reigned within her out, wish upon the shooting stars in the night sky that instead of whimpering like a puppy she'd screamed out in pain.

That'd awaken the real demon within him, the one that laid asleep in a pool of vengeance waiting for another segment of his revenge.

That same demon that someone so familiar yet so strange had planted like the roots of a tree within him.

He could remember a time when his screams were what brought that person joy, when his tears were what made them smile. He could remember it all, but how could he dare to forget when that cruel person was his very father?

That man was certainly under the influence of hell. Emmanuel couldn't interpret where he got his drive from, he was just plain evil, Satan's very son!

He had been seven at the time and his name wasn't yet Emmanuel, he was Jason, Jason Miller and his father had loathed him with every fibre in his body. Emmanuel could tell, for his father would look at him as if he was a piece of shit and he'd treat him like that too.

He had a reason, but it wasn't a valid reason for a father to hate his child.

It was because Emmanuel couldn't talk. He was dumb and his father engraved in his head that not being to speak was a handicap that ensured weakness.

At first, Emmanuel didn't believe, but in time, he did.

The beatings...

The bloody gashes...

The whip marks...

They made him have a steady conviction in every single word his father uttered.

But even then his father's hate spiralled into a tree that started to bear fruit as soon as Emmanuel turned ten.

The beatings got worst and Emmanuel was coerced to sleep in a dungeon, or rather to him it was a cage.

A cage that only his father could enter and whenever he did, Emmanuel's fear would rise to its pinnacle, for a tool that ensured the loss of blood would always be in his father's right hand.

He'd cry, he'd scream, but that only seemed to encourage his father, so instead he'd scream and cry silently like the dumb kid he was until the beatings became familiar.

The pain too, it became an addiction that he came to desire and the blood that came along with it was like a reward for withstanding that same pain.

He became sick, sick enough to hurt himself when his father wasn't around.

Sick enough to smile as blood glided with persistence down his skin.

He'd sometimes lick it, taste it and of course he'd swallow it. He was wholly in love with it, and because of that he'd do anything to have it and apart of that anything laid the death of his father because on a night as cold as winter and as dark as the sky without the moon, the stars and the sun, he killed him.

That night, a knife as sharp as shards and as pointed as a stone had been in his hand, dripping the remnants of his father's blood.

That night was exhilarating, exciting and somehow it had awakened something evil, something maliciously vile within him.

That night, he had attained the knowledge that it wasn't the pain that he liked, it was the blood, the pretty red substance that tasted like metal.

It didn't have to be his blood, it could be anyone's, thus the beginning of the serial killer that had previously laid asleep within him.

People in the neighbourhood started to die night by night and every time he killed, his crave for blood augmented. He couldn't get tired of it, he never wanted to and that's why on that dark night when he couldn't find himself a victim, he in turn became that victim.

He had sliced his own skin with his own knife and blood had trickled until he found it hard to breathe.

The pain had been prominent too, so tangible that he couldn't even whimper. He knew what was happening, he was going to die and that was okay because he really did deserve to.

At least that was what he thought before his savior had descended from nothing but darkness. It was a man, but honestly he had looked more like a monster.

The look in his eyes had reminded Emmanuel of the evil look his father would give him, but even so, he didn't hesitate to grab his hand when he had offered it.

It was as cold as ice and his grip was torturingly tight, but ignoring that, Emmanuel had instead focused on the words that later left his lips.

"Son of Satan, you have proven yourself worthy of the blood that taints your hands and worthy of a new start. Just a drop of blood on this paper and a new life, a new name and a new face will be yours. I will give you a voice and you will never grow hungry for blood again."

He withdrew his other hand from behind his back and in his empty palm, a paper appeared. "A drop of blood, just a drop of blood and you my dear son will be my apprentice."

With dry and cracked lips, Emmanuel could've only asked..."who...w-who are you?"

"I...I am the monster that lives within you, I am the devil."

From that night on, Jason Miller wasn't Jason anymore, he was Emmanuel, Emmanuel Monto.

He was given a voice to speak, a new face and a new name and as Emmanuel Monto, he started a new, but similarly bloody path.

His first victim had been a girl called Crystel, her name had appeared as a tattoo on the back of his hand and when he had gruesomely killed her, it had disappeared and a new name appeared.

The people he killed were always suicidal and so was the girl who sat before him, eyes barely open and body visibly shaking.

His knife sliced at her skin for the eleventh time and a subdued whimper descended from her dry throat. This was boring, she wasn't struggling, wasn't screaming, but either way, she was bleeding and that was enough motivation to continue his gruesome torture.

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AN/|\ Yes, I know, he's clearly psycho, but at least he has his reasons, what do you think?

AND WHEN I CALLED HIM 'SON OF SATAN' I DIDN'T MEAN IT LITERALLY!

💜👊💜

I'LL UPDATE SOON:)

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Pitter patter, pitter patter, it rained red, so much so that the whole world was afraid to shuffle out of their beds.

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From the cloudy sky, heavy drops of rain fell upon the earth, soaking and soiling Emmanuel's dark, blue suit. It moistened his skin and damped the land, covering it with a beautiful red hue.

The drops glowed magnificently and around him were people, shocked and lost in bewilderment.

After all, something like this didn't happen everyday, in fact it didn't happen at all.

Blood falling like water from the sky?

It was a dream come through.

So why were they screaming like this was a calamity?

Why were they running around like if the blood touched them it would take their lives?

Why?!

It sure did anger Emmanuel, so much so that he wanted them covered in the same blood they were so afraid of, but this time, it'd be their own.

He wanted them under his clutches, beneath his control, begging persistently for their lives.

He wanted them scared, terrified, trembling, screaming, crying, he wanted them, he wanted them so god damn much.

Pulling the three star knife from his back pocket, he looked down at it, contemplating whether he should take them or not. Their lives meant nothing to him, they were like puppets, dolls, so why not?

His grip around it tightened and with a sick smile, he brought it to his lips, giving the blade a thorough lick.

Who would be his first target?

Someone weak, someone who'd scream, someone who'd...

A woman seeming to be her early 20s ran pass Emmanuel and with a strong hand, he grabbed at her pink blouse, hauling her flush against his chest.

She gasped, eyes gliding up to meet his expressionless ones. "W-what...? Why are yo..."

Seeing the knife in his grasp, her breath caught, words ceasing to escape her lips and Emmanuel knew for a fact that her heart was battering against her chest.

Terror took a stance across her face, lips starting to quiver as Emmanuel ran the knife along her soft, flustered neck, opening a door for the blood to flow rapidly through.

She sang to him, screamed with such a melody that she had him rocking and stomping his feet to prepare proper drumming.

The blaring sound got lower and lower until all that was left of it was a sharp intake of air; her very last breath.

That's it, she was now dead, body limp as he dropped her on the blood stained earth.

Injuri-no, killing her drew attention, had people watching him with terrified eyes, mouth empty of words just like a vacuum.

Emmanuel smiled victoriously at that, for indeed he succeeded at not just making them scared but petrified.

He had peaked his goal, but it was now time for him to breach another.

Twirling his knife, he took off, watching with gleaming eyes as the idiots tried to run but just ended up slipping in the bloody liquid.

They were truly pathetic, so pathetic that he didn't feel the need to make them suffer, not anymore instead he wanted them to die as soon as his blade touched them.

He didn't want to hear their pathetic screams, their whimpers, their cries-he didn't want to hear a thing that escaped their disgusting lips...he just wanted them dead.

So one by one he brought them down, killed them with no remorse at all.

He sliced...

He cut..

He stabbed...

He watched them bleed and breathe their last breaths...

It was so intriguing, so enjoyable that he got lost in the blade, lost in the blood and what was left before him was just one shaking lady.

He ran after her and she stood in her place unable to move or breathe. She was terrified, an easy victim.

He danced lively through the drops of thick blood, stepped heavily with his flooded boots and his blood drenched clothes. He'd kill her, take her life and drink her damn blood.

Reaching close enough, he grabbed her placing the knife at her throat and while smirking, he slowly starting to slic-

'Beeeeeeeep.........beeeeeep........beeeeeeep'

Emmanuel heaved up out of bed, eyes assessing his house as if it was unfamiliar. His dream, where has it gone?

He wanted it back, he was in dire need of watching that woman gape and gasp as she died.

He reached out at the nothingness before him as if it was his dream, but as he expected, he drew back with an empty hand.

His dream couldn't be attained in such a manner, in fact it couldn't be attained at all and it was all because of the damn watch on his wrist that wouldn't stop ringing.

Someone was calling and whoever it was, he'd kill them.

But even that thought was unattainable, for on the caller ID was the name Lucifer and the ruler of hell was immortal.

F*cking bastard!

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Evil comes in all shapes and sizes, it could be right next to you and it's cunningness would coax you to obliviously embrace it.

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"What?" Emmanuel asked, looking directly at the projector. "Did you call just to see my face and hear my voice?"

Lucifer shook his head of blond hair, adjusting the test glass that sat upon the bridge of his nose. "If you were good looking then yes, but you're as ugly as a bat and your voice is somewhat the same."

"Then why did you disturb my slumber?"

Lucifer shrugged his shoulders. "This meeting was discussed two weeks ago, it had been put off long enough, today is the day."

On Emmanuel's projector came a count of nine more projected ongoing calls. Apart from the mighty devil, he could now see...

Jonathan...

Marcus...

Fidelle...

Latan...

Mathew...

James...

Charlie...

Jada...

And lastly Xyler...

All were Apprentices just like him, they too signed a contract with the devil and they too found joy in ruthlessly killing people.

They were all sick when it came to the brain, they knew no remorse, knew nothing called compassion and though Emmanuel was Immensely sick in his head, he wasn't the sickest amongst the ten, it was Jonathan and Jonathan was Emmanuel's rival.

There was nobody Emmanuel hated like Jonathan... He had dreamt many times of brutally killing him...and why...?

Well there was no particular reason, according to Emmanuel, he talked too much and Emmanuel liked the silence especially since when he was a kid he use to live in it.

He had a voice now, but he didn't speak much, he didn't have much to say anyway.

Sighing, his eyes glided over to Lucifer. "Why is a meeting being held? Is there a problem?"

Lucifer shook his head. "There isn't a problem, I just want your jobs done faster, this competition between me and that fool god has been going on for far too long, it's time that I win, its time for it to end."

"Is rivalry why you woke me from my dream? Is that really why?"

Lucifer shook his head. "Not at all, I just called to tell you guys to..." He cleared his throat then smiled goofily. "To have a nice day taking people's lives."

If Emmanuel wasn't annoyed before, he was certainly annoyed now. He truly thought something was up, but he should've known better, this man was the devil and yet he acted like a three year old child.

He didn't have horns, didn't have blood red eyes and magnificently sharp teeth, instead, he had a brain as small as a pea.

He was truly stupid, but he had times when he'd gain austerity, times when his anger was tangible enough to touch Emmanuel's skin in a gruesome way.

And his eyes, they were as dark as a moonless night and as empty as a vacuum, even when he laughed they remained emotionless.

Emmanuel could never understand how he did that, but either way, Emmanuel wanted to dig out each of those expressionless orbs and slice his f*cking neck in the most torturing way.

But he couldn't, he might be sick in the head, but he wasn't sick enough to mess with the devil, so with nonchalant eyes and an even more nonchalant voice... "I'm hanging up." Emmanuel sighed.

His fingers reach for the end button, but the following words stopped him.

"Always the impatient one, can't you just wait?"

Without even seeking the owner of the voice, Emmanuel knew who it was. It was Jonathan and that only irritated him more. Why did that sly bastard have to talk to him?

He was already mad and just hearing that voice had his anger multiplying. Groaning irritatedly, he turned to face Jonathan. "Wait for what exactly?"

Jonathan licked his lips, swatting his jet, black hair out of his face. "Wait on my announcement, I was about to say something."

"F*ck off Jonathan."

And then he ended the call.

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AN/| Alright so we got to see Emmanuel's personality, considering the fact that he kills people, he's an idiot, isn't he?

Tell me your thoughts on him in the comments.