Emissary of the Devil: Testimony of the Damned

This  is the UNEDITED except of my upcoming book, Emissary of the Devil, Testimony of the Damned. Let me know what you think!

 

 

 

Prologue

I am not a good man.

In fact, I am no man at all if we’re being honest. I haven’t been for a very long time. My last human memory is of me sliding my blade into the heart of another and then plunging the dagger deep into my own. I can still remember the bitter taste of crimson mortality on my tongue, the way I choked on it as I struggled to rake in my last frothy breath, the terrible realization of what I’d done hitting me like a well-aimed punch to the stomach.

My evil deeds did not leave with my last breath. They were not erased, freeing me from the monsters in my head, the monsters I birthed from my own jealousy and rage. Oh, no. They followed me right on into the afterlife, and I found myself quivering on my knees at the blackened gates of Hell, begging to do anything, anything, to avoid the fire that would burn my soul for eternity.

I never believed the Devil to be a compassionate being. As I knelt before him in all my quaking fear, I found that we were a lot alike, the Devil and I. We were both creatures with a plan, a purpose, and we used those we wanted in order to further ourselves. We were both great deceivers, both able to stare our enemy in the eyes as we plunge our daggers deep, and we had no problem taking what we deemed ours. Perhaps that is why when I stared at the charred grounds the Devil stood upon, his shiny black shoes in my line of sight, that I accepted his offer. I saw to further myself, to right the wrongs of my mortal life in the hopes of rest. Of peace. Of release.

I agreed to be his servant, his emissary. To corrupt mortal souls and bring them to his gates so that he could build a vast army, an army worthy of the crown he wore. He promised me a legion, an army of my own, to be a Crowned Prince of Hell, if I collected enough souls.

I tainted the minds of the weak, of the broken, of the scared. I broke them down, prying apart the tender cracks already lining their delicate psyche. I was their disease, the devil on their shoulder, a demon hell-bent on gluttony, of having what I thought I deserved, what I needed, what I wanted. Me, righting my wrongs from my mortal life, only brought forth more demons, more monsters, to plague me, to eventually plague the earth should the Devil stand before them with the same offer as he had presented to me. I brought those souls kicking and screaming into Hell, the Lower Kingdom, a wicked smile painting my lips.

I did not feel guilt, remorse, or regret as I collected thousands of souls for my king. I convinced them to sin, to kill, to steal, to maim, to rape, to be what He wanted them to be. It wasn’t until nearly four hundred years into my servitude that I met my match, my other half. The one thing that could make me or break me, that could cause me to fall from the precarious lip of Hell that I had been balancing on for so long.

An angel so beautiful that all angels before her would fall to their knees in recognition of a queen, a savior. I immediately recognized the same pain in her that painted my insides, the same pain she tried to push down, to ignore, was the one I had been running from for hundreds of years. It was the same pain that had created me. That would create her. And that was my way in. I knew that she could save the world of man. It wasn’t until too late in the game that I realized she was more than the savior to man. She was my savior. My salvation.

I am not a good man. I must repeat that.

I am no man at all. I am the demon Abraxas Shepherd, and I have a story to tell.

This is my Testimony of the Damned.