Chapter I: The Final Ritual
The books containing many questionable rituals and powerful spells are hidden from mankind. No one dared and wanted to find them. Those who try to find them are messed up and power-hungry. They were slaughtered in their pilgrimage or blown into agonizing bits by the books’ immense power. There was a doubt that these books were written by humans.
I wanted to go and find them. They were not hidden on Earth; they were on another plane of existence. There are portals and weak spots in the world that you can pass through.
But the only way to get to that plane is by standing by a portal and stabbing yourself. How can I tell if there is a portal? Portals give off so much energy that it feels like we’re transcending, but when we move away from it, our energy crashes worse than the first high. I know this because my grandpa wanted to find those books and he stole one. He survived many wars and neglect. He brought it back to the mortal world. He tried to use it, but his fragile body blew into pieces. His ghost told me about it. The books teleport back into the plane if the thief was killed. He knew about my troubles.
My mother always beat the crap out of me. She smells strongly of liquor, which is enough to get someone high themselves. Her flesh is covered in infected holes. She always covers them with long clothes. Her hair is ragged and knotted. She was a much healthier and better-looking mother back then, yet her behavior was still nasty. How did my step-father, Oliver Mason, decide to marry her after my father divorced her? He was a perfect match for her, but much worse. He gave me menacing vibes that my mother ignored. It didn’t take long for him to satisfy his pleasures on me. My mother didn’t care.
“Boys don’t get raped, only girls do,” she once said to me.
“But you came in and saw what was happening!” I argued. “Are you blind?”
“He just shows how much he loves you as his step-father. How will you not appreciate him?” She replied in an offended tone.
“A father’s way of love?” I replied back snarkily, “Bull-shit! My actual father would never do that!”
My mother blew up in my face, “Markus Kileen Joe, your father was a complete fool and never appreciated me as a woman! When will you get that into your head?!”
She slapped me across my face. I tumbled to the floor. I was already weak due to malnourishment. She started to beat me until I could no longer move. She kept repeating me to accept Oliver as my new damn father and be happy with it. Oliver was watching this unfold. His arms folded with a cold look upon his face. I knew his mind had perverted punishments waiting for me. The rest of the night was like hell for me. I’m only thankful that he is out of the house most of the damn time.
My step-brothers, Collin and Scott did not accept me as a family. They didn’t beg their parents to stop hurting me. They didn’t call the police. They just watched like it was their daily shit-show. They’re eleven and emotionless. They do tell my mother what I did just to see what happens next. What did Oliver do to them to make them that way? My half-sister, Alicia, never witnessed anything happening and is always cooped up in her dainty little room.
School was no escape. I was bullied. My grades plummeted; I had to stay back for a year. I’m supposed to be a senior this year, but an eighteen-year-old junior. I am going to pass this time and once I graduate from college, I am going to move out of my damn household. The school didn’t do jack shit and the teachers turned a blind eye. Self-harming didn’t make me feel better either. My mind grew a sadistic part of me. A side that I never thought would emerge.
I wanted to see all of them suffer.
I read one of the books. I didn’t leave the plane with the book. My grandfather learned after his explosive demise that he was less likely to die if he read that book on the same plane. He told me that I still have time to write it down somewhere, so I won’t forget. He warned me to hide the rituals that I wanted to do because if my family finds them, they will probably end me. I put the book back after reading it and wrote the ritual down. Once I left that plane, I found myself standing near the portal without any stab wounds and the crowd carried on like nothing ever happened.
I read a book within the plane and saw a ritual that could be what I desire: The Dark Angel. The Dark Angel ritual consists of seven parts. The first one is binding my blood to the Dark Angel. I can’t tell you the steps and the Dark Angel’s name, otherwise, you will be in imminent danger. The parts are basically the trials to heed the dark angel; all of them require suffering and agony. He wants me to prove that I am worthy. If I fail, I will experience torture worse than the seven circles of hell.
Every ritual that I’ve completed, my thoughts of revenge grew sicker and the less human I’ve become. Initially, I wanted them to feel what they put me through. I now wanted them to writhe in agony eternally while the whole world ignores them. Just like what the bystanders did to me.
The seventh one happened after my mortal shell was dismembered by demons and angels just to get to the plane where he awaits. These rituals cut off my sense of smell and taste. The dark angel was cruel enough to leave my sight, touch, and hearing intact. I stopped screaming from pain two rituals ago. Still, he will make me confront monsters and pain while still conscious. I didn’t find him evil, but a helper that will satisfy my desires through simple trials.
The plane he abides in is a white void. Nothing heavenly or hectic. White noise screams into my ears. The plane’s appearance contrasts with what I am about to embrace. I look down at myself. My skin is covered in cracks and it’s eroding. I swipe my arm with my hand. It feels like a human arm, but the parts of the skin turn into blackened ashes against the wind. Every step, more skin turns into ashes. I look at my hands. My fingers are gone from being bitten off by a monster or myself.
My hair is cut short into uneven edges. My brown and long hair is now white and wire-like. My teeth mutilated into long and razor-sharp teeth that are designed to painfully amputate any limb out. This is from the evil hogsmen that can do anything a human can’t do while I was onto a table. I was forced to eat my three fingers and consume another fellow human trapped down there. That was the fifth ritual.
I didn’t taste anything; my taste ceased to exist. The fourth ritual had evil fairies chain me up and force me to dip my whole tongue in liquid copper. Then, they cut off any remnants of my tongue with a saw. They injected some substance into my head that caused a damning headache. I was blind, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel anything but the pain, My ears violently rang like my head was about to explode. In what felt like an eternity, my senses returned, but my sense of taste and smell was gone. That was the last round that I hollered from torture.
Five out of seven rituals are similar. The beings will be ordered from a booming voice in a language before they muttered a phase into my ears followed by torture. I look down at my body again. My body has been poorly stitched up in the areas where I have been dismembered. I am unclothed at this point. I don’t care if my genitals are exposed. It doesn’t matter if I am a male or female. I look down onto the ground that is a reflection of myself and my mind. I am not grinning maliciously, but the reflection is. It knows my intent to seek revenge. I want it so much that the reflection is violently twitching.
I gaze up as the shadows corrupt the brightness of the dimension. The white noise changes to the snarls and growls coming from the darkness. The darkness materializes into the being that I long to see through all these days of torture. The figure is about thirteen feet tall. It has five pairs of arms with very sharp claws. Its skin is grey as if it lacked oxygen. It has no eyes while its mouth exposes sharp teeth that refuse to be concealed. The mouth can expand three times the length of a normal human being. Beneath the flesh, I see faces with glowing orange eyes like they are trying to escape its skin. I can hear the howls as the faces appear. Its dark cape vanishes as a dark mist and materializes into wings. The wings are black with some areas charred.
To add more to the beautiful sight, its energy is overwhelming. I feel it can make the angels fall into despair and demons cower in fear for mercy. God and Satan will never dare to bother this angel because even with its enormous power, the angel desires to be left alone. I bow down to honor the dark angel. I wasn’t scared and I don’t have any thoughts of turning back.
I look back at him emotionlessly. The angel opens its arms and his wings flap open. He let out an ungodly roar along with the loud screams from the faces beneath his skin. I feel anger. Explosive anger. So powerful that I am shaking with fury. Hatred and vengeance mixed with the pain. When they mix, they cause seething heat. The heat causes my blood to literally boil. I don’t scream out of excruciating pain; I scream out of anger. My body combusts into flames. My cracked skin turns into obsidian, hardened lava, I laugh wickedly as my weak human form molds into a powerful creature. My senses are restored and enhanced. My eyes turn gruesomely red. Dark horns grow out of my temples and curl around my forehead. I feel like I can take on everything and everyone. I feel a strong tug as I grow wings that are dark as the Dark Angel’s. I can hide among the mortals and torture those who caused my wrath. Then, I let out an inhuman roar. The fire intensifies; fire begins to spew out of my mouth like I am a dragon.
Hatred, anger, and revenge is such a beautiful thing.
The Dark Angel vanishes as well as his plane. I disappear into ashes and I am back into my homeworld. My hometown. My school. I look into the bathroom mirror. I look human and smell like one. My eyes turn red as I grin widely in the mirror.
It’s time for my reign of hell to begin.