by anything you have to tell me that wouldn’t send me into a rage,” I commented understatedly, And to give the Devil his due, he wasn’t wrong when he said I would not like what he had to say. No, if anything, he was downplaying it, and to say I was murderous was too light a word by the time he was finished.
Especially when I ended up discovering that revenge for being born meant I was to pay in blood and for once, it didn’t start with my own.
No, this time, it started with…
The Death of my Daughter.
15
The Root of all Deadly Mistakes
It all started when I was mortal, and back in a time I shuddered to even think about. Back to when the name Lucius had not yet risen from the ashes of a Hellish resurrection.
When I bore the name of Judas Iscariot.
In truth, it was a time I barely even remembered, which wasn't surprising considering it was over 2000 years ago. Back when I was just a man, one made from flesh and blood and bones, and believed in something greater than myself. Back when I had put all my faith and trust and loyalty into the one who I thought would really make a difference in the world.
However, stripped down to its bare bones and left with an honest truth I couldn’t deny, even now, Jesus had been my friend.
He had helped me through hard times. In fact, before Lucifer, he had been the only one who had ever believed I had been destined to do great things. However, I doubted those great things included his vision of me becoming a king of a demonic race of Vampires.
But getting back to mortal times, one where the Romans had been intent on wiping out Christianity, even in its infancy. A time where we both knew that there was only one way to prevent it from happening. Because we knew that the power to make a martyr out of a man was far greater than the power the man possessed himself. A memory could be everlasting and could travel distances of the likes that feet could not take you. Whispered words and legends told would carry along the wind far and wide. But none was more powerful than the tale of injustice and sacrifice. One that spread throughout the world like no other religion before it.
It was in this that I had recognised my calling and believed my sacrifice was worth the reward. Especially after the events that led to that final day. Because I had known the bitter taste of betrayal and found I had little else to live for after what my wife had done. But then, I was soon to discover, she hadn’t exactly acted alone.
However, as for the name of Jesus, he would eternally be known as the Son of God, who gave his life for all of humanity and the very meaning of the word sacrifice. And as for the name Judas, well that would become the very meaning of the word betrayal. But then, if I had been granted what had been promised to me by Jesus, then I knew it would have been worth it.
Nevertheless, it was not to be and because of what I perceived as a bitter betrayal, I turned my back on Heaven and all that I had come to believe in. Instead, I put my faith into the Devil who made me. Yet despite knowing the truth of who Lucifer was, I never lost that sense of my true self, even long after I was turned. I knew the difference between right and wrong. I didn't kill women or children and even in war, I tried to spare as many as possible. I did not relish murdering innocent people or punishing those willing to steal to feed their families, for I too would never forget what it felt like to be hungry. I was neither a tyrant nor a dictator. Not like the bastard I had killed in Germany, who wanted to commit genocide against the Jewish people for some sick and twisted personal reasons of his own.
But more importantly, I was nothing like my brother Matthias, when he had been known as Tullus. This, Lucifer explained, was what had been missing in all his other failures before me. That shred of mortality that wouldn’t leave my soul, and instead strengthened the part of himself Lucifer gifted me when giving me his blood. It was this that was