SATAN’S WRATH

He openly hated Lucifer for everything. He blamed his brothers for being unable to protect her and the repercussions he had to face. His memories of her were vague and often unreliable, but even then— he knew he still cared about her deeply.

The first time he got the taste of the most wretched feeling was when he came into existence. From the moment he opened his eyes, he was overwhelmed by the emotions that were forced onto him. The pain of betrayal, the anguish of separation, the grief from the loss... He knew they were not his own, yet were made for him to bear.

His eyes glowed a menacing green with hints of a tumultuous blue, and black feathers fluttered around his neck and ran below his torso— a horned chimera hungry for retribution. With a flash, his vision was dyed red and everything around him smelled like death. The rampage went on for centuries and it took all six brothers to successfully stop him from tirelessly exacting unfounded vengeance.

What powerful demon? What ruler of hell?

He hated himself for being so weak. He hated himself for being an easy prey to the rage and the fears that were deeply seeded in his heart. No...

If he pulled away from the very wrath that defined him, what would be left of his existence? Wouldn’t that nullify why he was born into the world?

He realised that he was so naive and knew little about himself and the ways of the world. He needed to know more to understand himself, he needed to know why their eldest brother dared to force him into existence, and he needed to free himself from the shackles of the eldest’s wrath.

When he roamed the lands of devils without a particular purpose, a small creature stopped him in his tracks. The curious thing did not seem afraid of him at all. Did it not smell the danger in the air? Did it not fear the fury that could be unleashed? The furry ball of snow stared at him with the unusual mix of innocence and haughtiness.

He followed its nimble footsteps and found himself surrounded by compendiums of human and demon knowledge alike, very much different from the fragments of knowledge he inherited about the Celestial Realm.

Despite finding peace as he always buried himself in books, he still had to be on his toes all the time. He needed to regularly keep his emotions in check. At any moment, darkness may consume him once more and he might drown in those hateful deep blues, with restless vengeful souls scratching, biting, and tugging at every fibre of his being.

A shrill cry filled his ears.

He forced his eyes open and looked around with a blurred vision. Soon after, he realised that he was covered with a cold sweat. He clutched at his chest and felt the uneasy pounding of his heart. His ragged breathing slowly settled down as it dawned onto him that he was surrounded by the usual crisp smell of books both old and new — he felt relief because the scent that entered his nostrils were far from the stench of the lapus lazuli waters filled with choking snarls of hatred and anger.

There was a light knock on his door and he panicked a little. He quickly dressed up and then wore a refreshing smile on his face, thinking of his trip with you to the human world today.