“What do you mean you did it for all of humankind? Who the hell are you?”
“We are the ones who love you no matter what you do. We never condemn any of you because you’re a race which has the freedom of choice, thought, and action by your own design.”
The Mexican stood after the last bite of his deviled chocolate cake and a couple gulps of milk. Yes. Milk. He then adjusted his trousers because his tummy was full. Victoria was quick to notice he was closing his act so she asked a question which would inadvertently give us more answers to at least one of our questions.
“The woman in your tattoo, who is she?”
The Mexican smiled a great infectious smile. Perhaps out of pride for the tattoo, perhaps out of realization Victoria was being a bit clever in asking about the image.
“Her? She was my first mortal mother. I’ve seen entirely too many depictions of her wearing the traditional mantilla so I had this image of her wearing a sombrero instead tattooed to show my love for her. It fits the visage I took this time around, don’t you think?” He was smiling ear to ear with pride for the image while opening his dinner jacket to better show it off. A Mexican with pride and love for his mother wasn't so unusual, it was when Victoria asked the name of his mother that so many things came together in crystal clarity...
“Her name? May I ask her name?”
His smile seemed to almost broaden more as if he knew the reaction we were going to have.
“Now you're asking creative questions. Her name was Maria.”
The name echoed through us over and over, Maria... Maria... Maria... until finally it rang true in our minds, hearts and our very souls …
“Mary ...” Vic whispered ...
With that utterance … calm, and then a knowing smile formed across our host’s face. Could this really be…? Why would He come to us this way, as this person? Was this circumstance of Victoria having possession of the Book of the Damned really such a massive circumstance this is who’s taking notice, and more so, was it that important to them that this dinner had to happen?
The look on Victoria’s face was one of pure shock over the realization of who this Mexican seems to be. None of us within the book were able to speak or even think. It was as if suddenly, for a moment all of time and space stopped to recognize our childish realization.
“You see, Victoria, there are at least a couple of us who have not only taken notice but also comprehend, much better than you do, the new circumstances this has created, or that could be created, by your choices. They’re circumstances mankind has never faced before. They’re circumstances no one could have guessed would become such a real possibility, and they’re circumstances which lie entirely in your hands.”
At first Vic had that deer-in-the-headlights look and was silent, but only for a very brief moment. She quickly collected her mental faculties if only to ask one more question.
“Second coming?”
Our host rolled out a huge belly laugh! He had a difficult time recovering, but when he did …
“No, Amiga. This is my sixty-third life here. It's only been with the advent of immunizations that I've been living longer and longer lives. Previously I contracted one deadly thing or another at a young age like you wouldn't believe!”
“YOU have lived sixty-three lives?! As a mortal?!”
“Well, yeah. Every life is different and I enjoy whatever experiences they bring; painful, pleasurable, and indifferent. You have no idea how many times I've died in the name of me! I've been sacrificed in my name. The Spanish Inquisition killed me TWICE in my own name. During King Arthur’s quest for my water glass I was run through with one of their swords in my name. One of my mortal mothers, rest her soul, was crazy as fuck! She drowned me in the tub in my own name, and then told the cops I told her to do it! Crazy bitch! Rest her soul. I could go on, but the truth is that mortals wouldn't know a second coming if I kicked them in the teeth and told them so while looking like that supermodel white guy in all those paintings that are supposedly of me. So, I just live, love, suffer, enjoy, die, and repeat.”
With that said he walked over to Vic, leaving yet more bloody footprints on the carpet, and collected her dishes, and then he walked to where I was seated and collected my dishes while saying in a low tone, Please let me get these out of your way, and then exited the room while saying he'd be right back with some coffee, and he was. It was good fuckin’ coffee too!
What the fuck am I saying?!
“Please, I have so many questions, so many things I don’t understand ...” Victoria’s voice trembled and broke as she struggled to keep His audience.
“Patience, Victoria. You’ve been granted a direct line to have me as your host and your audience, but you’re not going to have too many times to enjoy this audience; I'm busy living a life here. You have free will, a strong mind being made stronger by the knowledge in that book. You also have a strong heart and a very unique soul. A number of individuals have faith in you to make the hard decisions. Make sure the choices you make will benefit the right individuals by your way of thinking, not their way of thinking.”
“Have you told her everything ...?” This beautiful, masculine voice suddenly permitted the room.
“What of me? Does she know my story? Does she know the true beginning of Hell? Does she even know who I am?”
“Aahhh, fuck!” Our host muttered in frustration while letting himself collapse back into his chair. Our attentions turned with His gaze to the far end on the table closest the exit.
There, in a chair not previously present at the table, sat the most stunningly beautiful man I've ever seen. His motions and mannerisms were fluid and his voice almost melodic in tone. It actually took me a couple of moments to stop gawking at his facial features and realize he was sitting at the table completely nude. There were no clothes on the floor behind him or otherwise placed neatly in a corner or taken by the waiter. There were no jackets or other garments draped over the back of his chair either. All indications led to him having entered this room naked as a newborn. Frankly, I was hoping he'd stand up!
“Are you still making them exercise abstract thought to figure out who you are?” His voice was beautiful but a touch snobbish. Still, his confidence was magnetic and I was feeling sensations I haven't felt since I was last mortal. All the others within the book were feeling it as well, and by the look on Vic’s face across the table a drool bib may have been needed. And then our host said the words which broke the spell … somewhat.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Lucifer?!” Our host was more than a little perturbed as His words growled out of His mouth and His face went stern.
“O-Please! Did you honestly believe an event of this magnitude would go unnoticed by all but you two?”
“Be quiet!” Again our host growls.
“Seriously? ‘Be quiet’?!” Lucifer asked calmly and with a slight grin in the corner of his mouth as if he was in complete control of the conversation.
“Wait a minute!” Vic finally snapped from her trance, glared at our host for a moment, and then turned her attention back to Lucifer.
“Why the fuck aren't you ruling Hell?!” As it dawns on her how much of this may not have come about were Lucifer where he belongs.
“Thank you very much for asking. I suspect our gracious host was going to let this evening end without you having any real answers, the cryptic fuck!”
“LUCIFER!!!” Our host roared out and hammered his clenched fist on the table.
“Shush, old boy. If you don't want me to spill all of your beans tonight you'll let me indulge myself and this stunning young woman. Now sit back …” And with that Lucifer stood from his chair. He was absolutely glorious in appearance with smooth skin and musculature just right without being too thin or overly built. He easily stood six-foot-six and moved about the table refilling all three wine glasses with a sublime grace. A grace, mind you, NOT a flamboyance. I would be lying if I said I didn't gaze upon every inch of him. The fact is that I s
tared without shame or hesitation at his death stroke and sperm-purse pressing freely side to side against his thighs. By his manner, speech, physicality, and very pleasant endowment, it's no wonder one of his many reputations is that of a seducer of women and men.
It seemed he knew he was being watched by the continuing grin giving the slightest upper inflection in the corner of his mouth. As he filled our hosts wine glass our host sat all the way back into His chair and crossed His arms and one leg over the other with a scowl on His face glaring at Lucifer as he moved about.
“ENOUGH WITH THE COCK-ON-THE-WALK ROUTINE! GET ON WITH IT, LUCI!!!” Our host roared as this time there was a bellowing echo to His voice. Vic and I looked to one another and mouthed Luci to one another questioning the abbreviation. It was cute, but coming from our host it seemed an insult of sorts. Lucifer took it as such as he shot back at our host a very quick glare of disapproval before sitting back down.
Upon retaking his seat Lucifer sat back with one leg draped over an arm of the chair, with his other leg draped out over the front of the chair, leaving his demon and its two minion resting comfortably on the seat cushion, and I believe he knew full well that thought crossed our minds. He rested his elbows and laced his fingers as he locked eyes with Vic and grinned.
“Though it doesn't seem to mean as much as it used to, the word Devil is a title, not unlike King, Queen, Emperor, Tsar, etcetera, but obviously indigenous to a very specific kingdom. Myself and a number of associates were very indignantly forced from Paradise and charged with the torment of all those who cast unto themselves those circumstances which soiled their own consciences and in turn filled the coffers of their very souls with those things which caused self-hate. So the story goes.
At that time, there in God’s shadow and within Satan’s essence, there was nothing. We were sent into that void before the first soul took the first mortal infant strong enough to contain it. Still after that great historical event it would be several generations before one of those hirsute bipeds would do something heinous enough to first feel the conscience ping back at them. Thus, from an act of murder, of a parent no less, guilt was wrought up from deep within, and would plague Humankind from that moment on.
When the first of the damned came to us — via suicide committed by hurdling himself off of a cliff in anguish over the life he ended — Satan suspended him for us as we encircled him and contemplated how Hell should be inflicted upon his soul. We saw the cold of Satan’s essence biting his fleshen form and he reacted to it as if he were still corporal, so we imbued his flesh with regeneration and reassembly so as to create ongoing physical suffering. We made this healing endowment something which would pass on like a disease or plague to all the fleshen souls to follow, but we didn't want to have to keep coming up with new tortures for each new soul, and frankly, we didn't care to permanently accept the charge bestowed upon us, so our motivation to make something of Hell was limited at best.
With some discussion we concluded that a self-perpetuating Hell would be best since none of us were going to be daft enough to loiter there forever. So we decided the cold would be a catalyst causing an action of self-preservation, and that self-preservation would be the catalyst for self-destruction while also being catalyst for regeneration and reassembly. It was a beautiful trinity of pain and suffering, and all we had to do was turn up the temperature of the first soul. So, we gave him a fever one could say. By changing the polarity of his soul his essence turned from blue to red and its heat rose just enough to seem like refuge from the cold.
The First was relieved as his fleshen body was no longer so cold, but over time more souls fell. They gravitated towards The First because of his warmth, and then more, and then more still. The cold of Satan began to permeate the outer layers of bodies and their instincts to keep warm settled in. They began to dig into the sphere of fleshen souls. This caused fights and violence which quickly grew in intensity. Soon The First was finding himself fighting to remain within the core where it was warm. Eventually he was torn asunder and his bits and pieces were pushed to the exterior of the mass by the violence of those kicking and fighting to get in deeper.
The First was the first yet again as his body parts found their way back to one another and he reassembled. The cold of Satan bit at his flesh again and with the trauma of the previous violence he endured wiping his fleshen memory of his circumstances there The First was overtaken with self-preservation and dove back into the writhing flesh to find warmth once again.
We gave this orb some thousands of years to confirm its perpetuation when we started seeing something new in the minds of the damned who were falling into the abyss. We saw their memories of worshipping. We knew immediately we were missing out on something by remaining in the shadow, so we left.”
“They've heard more than enough, Lucifer. End your tale there and excuse yourself. Your ramblings have ruined desert!”
“Now-now, good host. I said I'd keep your secrets, but rudeness will be the undoing of that agreement.”
Our host growled something under his breath and re-cinched his crossed arms.
“Wait a minute,” Vic finally chimed in, “Why don't you cut to the chase and just tell these fucking secrets?! Why do you have to be so fucking enigmatic?!” Our host put His hand up as Lucifer was about to say something.
“As has been explained previously, there's no precedence for the situation at hand. In the history of all things there are those things which simply happen, there are those things which must happen, and one almost never gets to know which is which. Because of certain Imbued Ones some things which must happen were foretold; prophesied, but without the accuracy of when they'd come to pass, but prophesied either way. Everything is chained to a linear order either way. Everything except what's happening with you.
There are still so many foretold events which haven't yet happened, but the accuracy of the foretold which have passed tells us that your happenstance is a possible anomaly. As such, and as much as possible without interference,” Our host growled out yet again while staring daggers at Lucifer, “We need to let this run its full course before reacting.”
“And with that I'll finish my abbreviated tale.” Vic was visibly aggravated with their withholdings of information, but I believe she was being wiser to not confront them further on that point. No matter what she knows they’re holding better cards than she is, so getting any info she can by biting her tongue was the better path to take.
“Upon returning to the mortal world we found that though mortals were still fairly covered in hair, their minds were evolving and beginning to look for answers to questions about the world they were living in. This coupled with the reason why I can't bestow upon you certain points of interest, brought about the worshipping of carved idols and symbols illustrated on cave walls using the pigments from berries and whatever else would make a discernible mark.
Humankind continued its evolution into hocus-pocus sciences with greater iterations of their deities carved from all manner of available materials in a massive spectrum of sizes and detailing. Eventually sacrifices of both animals and other mortals came about, which also brings me to another point of interest of which I'm forbidden from elaborating.
However, to Humankind’s credit, it was the artistic types who propelled man into the sciences. It's these individuals whose works were able to influence entire cultures. It’s these individuals whose minds couldn't rest with what had been done as they always sought out what could be done next. Every single advancement Humankind has made in any subject has been because of the successes and failures of creative minds. From humble jewelry designs to paintings by master artists; machines of war to the microscopic elements of life-saving vaccines, and all other things a creative mind was and will be needed to conceive.
Compared to the artistic mind only one other stands equal: Womankind. Woman takes in man and births the future. Perhaps that's why you're here, Ms. Nyles? Not to take in a man, per se, but literally because you are a wom
an and an artistic mind.”
Vic was silent at first. No doubt a thousand questions were running through her mind, but Lucifer’s pride in himself was an easy mark, so she took aim and fired right at it.
“So, Lucifer, what have you and your companions been doing with yourselves all these years?” Our host leaned forward, rested His elbows on the table, and buried His face in the palms of His hands.
“Thank you for asking,” Lucifer responded with a very pleasant smile, “We have been living and loving as mortals. And, admittedly, we have been influencing as well.”
“For Hell, even though you escaped?”
“O-No, dear. We didn't escape. We left on our own accord.”
“Then why do the writings and stories …”
“… Say we were cast into Hell to rule over the damned for all eternity? Because none of those stories and writs is a first-hand account.”
Vic was taken aback. It was such a simple truth from a time before humankind ruled. But Vic wasn't rendered mentally impotent by this epiphany for long. Her mind was working, stretching, straining to comprehend the next thing to say, or the next question to ask.
“My apologies for the ruined dessert. As your host this is not how I intended the evening to transpire. Unfortunately I have somewhere to be very soon.”
“Yeshua, if I may …” Lucifer chimed in only to be cut off as our host again raised His hand cuing Lucifer’s silence.
“You've said far more than enough this evening. WE have said far more than we should have.”
“Yes, perhaps we have.” Our eyes had been following the volley of their conversation, but before we could turn back to Lucifer he was gone though his words were barely finished hanging in the air. Even his chair was gone as I asked myself if he really brought that with him.
Our host stood from his chair and leaned against the table with His fingertips bearing His weight. His large, obviously well-labored hands extended and tensed. They were muscular, powerful. Not at all the hands of a healer as one would expect. His head is bowed with all that long, dark hair draping down and shadowing His face as His demeanor is had become solemn.
Legacy of Judas - Book One Page 28