I lean back and wait, preparing myself for the imminent argument.
I wonder idly what year it is. I keep up to date for the most part with the knowledge funnelled to us, but the last time I was truly awake and in charge, the Romans were in power. They were quite amusing, so much anger. I did like the Vikings best though, easily feeding from their battles. So much hate and rage, not to mention blood. I almost shiver at the memory of how much power I syphoned from them.
The angel felt otherwise, and where I tried to start wars, he attempted to stop them. You see, the world can be nothing without balance, just as an angel sits on this throne, so do I.
A demon, one of war and pain. Not just any demon.
The demon.
Most supernaturals are created through their bloodlines and reproducing, but I wasn’t. I was simply here one day when this world was first created. Called by the need for balance. I have walked through the ages, seen it all, always alone. Constantly feared, the very ground burning under my feet, and the stories of my power spread and were repeated, sometimes in different names.
My favourite is that of the ruler of the underworld. Though the pictures of me were eerily close sometimes—my own fault, I find amusement in scaring the humans of this world.
I go by many names.
Lucifer.
El Diablo.
Hell Spawn.
Evil.
The Snake.
What will she call me?
“Papa!” comes my little girl’s scream. I jerk up in bed. Antoinette is awake by my side and staring at me with fear in her dark brown eyes. Her curly brown hair is up in rollers and askew from sleep. Yanking away the covers, I grab my gun and stumble from our farmhouse in just my sleepwear.
“Ella!” I shout, gazing around at the dark night. Our cows are asleep in the field, as are the sheep. The trees are moving with the breeze, and I shiver from the cold mountain air. The darkness seems somehow stronger tonight, the mountains behind us casting shadows along our land. Something is out there, something evil, I can feel it. I felt it once before, in war, but this is so much more, and my little girl is out here somewhere. “Princess, where are you?” I yell, loading my gun as the mud squelches under my bare feet. To the right are the fields and crops, and I search them as far as I can see, but nothing moves out there. To the left is the barn, the candle burning in front of the fogged windows. I narrow my eyes on it, stepping closer.
The barn doors fly open then smash closed with the breeze, and I notice the light in it then. Racing towards the structure, I slip in the mud before scrambling back to my feet, then I freeze when a high-pitched scream comes from inside, so filled with pain that I don’t know what to do for a moment.
The horses whinny in fear as well, a predator is in there...so is Ella, I know it. Moving forward, I raise my gun and check behind the doors. The light is from the very end, so I move as quickly as I can past the stables and horses, which are rearing with screams.
“Ella!” I shout again.
A laugh cuts through the barn, the eerie sound raising the hairs on the back of my neck, and then I see it. A little, pale hand is stretched out on the hay, covered in blood, still clutching the figurine I made for her yesterday from hair and buttons.
“Ella?” I cry, stepping around the wooden partitions to see my little girl.
Dropping the gun, I fall to my knees with a grief filled scream, clutching her broken body to me. Her face is pale, her eyes open and unseeing. I have seen enough death in my time while fighting the war to know what it is. Blood saturates her nightgown, her little legs covered in mud, her once pale blonde hair streaked with her death.
“Ella, princess,” I cry, tears flowing down my cheeks as I hug her to me. She is so cold, she always hated being cold. “No, no, no.”
A laugh comes again, the light flickering overhead, and I still, something…whatever, whoever is still here and watching me. I slide my hand across the hay to reach for my gun just as the barn doors fly open behind me.
“Ella?” Antoinette shouts, and my eyes fly wide open.