I've had enough run-ins with demons to become familiar with possession. Becoming full fledged demon mixed with half-demon blood and brands burning through your flesh was enough possession for any eighteen year old mortal , though I wasn't really mortal for long. When I wasn't thinking hatred, the only other emotion I could feel was loneliness… the cold darkness that wells from your core with nowhere else to go but deeper into your soul. Every fragment of light is devoured by it, separating thought from reason. Pulling pieces of memories out from their locked up safety… exposing them into the open, lost, spiraling, searching for a place of comfort that never comes… just an aching black heart. After the numbness subsides comes the burning. The blood pulsing poison nothing else satisfies except lust.
Lust shouldn't be considered an emotion. It's an emptiness that goes hand in hand with a curse. A curse only Dantalion and I shared. But alone here for eighteen months in the Southern Realm, every day will burn hotter than the next, and my powers will begin to poison my purpose- the one I thought of as destiny… God's plan. They will test the will of angels and demons, and quite possibly, the will of my half-demon best friend. I couldn't blame Rowan for not following me to The Tomb in the first place. He was jealous of my love for Dantalion, yet he saved me again and again. The more I thought of them in my memories, the angrier I became.
Flame throwing had become my character trait lately, and with my hybrid demon blood, I planned to do some bargaining of my own. The Four Kings of Hell were preparing for the trials, expecting Dantalion to come for me. Lucifer, the once fallen son of the morning departed from the East, joining his brother guardian Leviathan of the West to meet here, in Satan's Southern Realm. The first time I saw Leviathan at The Tomb, I never again wanted to greet the dawn. His presence crushed the essence of my being. Belial was why I was here in the first place. He was guilty of scarring me with brands on my arms of the new Brotherhood and he was the one who created the oath. He was the angel of light and the angel of darkness, as divided as the realm he guarded.
Dantalion, Rowan and thirty six legions emerged in Belial's Northern Realm, half swallowed up in blackness. A wave of immense heat settled above a blue-green mist, like heat rising up from the sea.
"Which side should we lean toward, the dark or the light?" Rowan muttered to Dantalion.