Daemons, Dragons and Infants
They're beautiful creatures, aren't they? Dragons I mean. They remind me of angels sometimes; there’s just something in the way their wings arc as they swoop up into the air and fly across the sky, soon becoming nothing but distant sparkles, turning into miniscule stars as the moonlight reflects from their scaled skin. Dragons are definitely my passion. My first vision of one was when I was still a young daemon, not even considered a creature of the night yet. My older sisters used to think it was funny to say I was still in training when describing me to people, (“Well, we do have another sister, but she’s not quite ready for summoning yet, still in training”) their wicked laughs still echo in my ears, bringing a blush to my pale cheeks. But don't let my reminiscing deceive you, I hold nothing against my sisters and the tone of my tale is merely the usual bitterness that dwells between most sibling relationships. Besides, I am all grown up now, as they would say, and my skill in what The Father has chosen for me to do in life is just as high, if not higher, as their skill in their own.
Now where was I before I leapt onto that tangent? Ah yes, my first sighting of a dragon. It was a spectacular sight and even now very few dragons compare to its beauty! It was huge, and appeared from the very flames of Hell straight before me as I travelled from world to world. Its scales were charred black from the fire, yet glistening as if wet or, as it struck me later on, were made from sheets of ebony etched with the pattern of scales. Its eyes glared out at me as it rose into the air, two round emeralds that could be seen even through the streams of fire that belched forth from its nostrils sporadically. Its tail lashed out behind it like a strand of Medusas hair, and its wings, that same thin sheet of ebony stretched over a spider’s web of bones, seemed to fill the entire cavern. The sight of this precious beast took my breath away, and I found myself staring at the space where it had appeared many hours after it had left my sight. I could still smell the brimstone of its breath in the air and could still feel the heat washing over me in waves from where it had beat its wings whilst I stood and stared.
Of course I don't see them much any more now that I don’t reside in Hell. My father (or more correctly, The Father) only keeps us there until we are ready to be sent out into the world. The only creatures you’ll find in Hell, that aren’t children, are Satan, Lucifer and The Father himself (although not many who end up there could ever find him; he‘s not a social being and prefers to keep to himself - I suppose that he and I are quite alike in that respect).
I can almost hear you now, questioning in tones of great confusion: “How Satan and Lucifer can be separate entities!?” (although most of you mortals would never consider using such an eloquent form of speech, and would have a response more similar to “But ain’t they the same person?”) I assure you they are indeed separate entities, and in no way are they the rulers of Hell, as some mortals would like you to believe. They are just the two beings you are most likely to meet if you somehow ended up there, and most people seem to make the presumption that either Satan or Lucifer, being the only creatures in sight, must be the rulers of the underworld. I am almost certain the two would never tell these mortals they are the rulers, despite their hunger for power (and their great egos). No daemon would dare imply such a thing when The Father could hear them - and believe me, The Father would hear them! No, their roles are not of dark rulers, but instead somewhere between the caretakers and tour-guides of Hell.
Satan is a bad tempered daemon, but prefers to observe people rather than interact with them, so despite his manner would not often be found in a fight. His pallor is more deathly than my own, looking as if his very skin has been frosted with ice. His hair is as white as a winter’s fog, and is long enough to touch the very base of his spine, cascading around him in a swirling mist as he patrols. He prefers to stay away from the fires found in central Hell, and instead patrols the outskirts of the land, where what could have once been a vast ocean is frozen solid (Hell caters for both lovers of hot and cold weather - The Father is very considerate like that!), watching people with his void, opal eyes from beneath his black hooded cape. The only hint of colour you can see on him is in his lips, which are as red as those of a freshly dined vampires’. His colouring, however, is not that of a vampire’s, as you may now be thinking from my description. Theirs is that of a corpse, whilst his is that of the mist that rises from ice. Whilst on that subject, he moves in a similar fashion to mist, disappearing at will and floating precariously on thin air, scaring the Hell (no pun intended) out of both visitors and dwellers alike, making us all feel very stalked. He carries with him a sword that seems to be forged from an electrically charged glacier, and is often seen in the acquaintance of Death and his tribe, many of whom seem to have a certain attraction to him.
Lucifer is very different from her brother. She is much more playful and less sombre than him, but her mischief is that of a cat with a mouse - pitiless and with an air of temptation and seduction. Her vindictiveness with her playthings quite often ends in her standing amidst the lava and flames, convincing others that it is safe for them to join her, and often succeeding in tempting those ignorant enough not to realise that she is a creature of fire herself, and that the scorching flames are bliss to her, leaving them to burn and melt around her as she laughs. She is a pretty creature to those of you who find familiarity in the more human like daemons, much like her brother, a totally different breed to some of the more grotesque daemons you will find in The Fathers realm. Her figure is like Death’s hourglass, her skin as red as the inferno surrounding her, her talon like nails painted black, as are the edges of her eyes which have intricate patterns similar to the style that the Ancient Egyptians so adored. Her lips are naturally black, as is her hair, which reaches down to her shoulder blades and at the front falls into a natural fringe over her eyes (which like her brothers, are empty, filled only with the reflections of the blaze around her) in strands that she will brush to the side. She only ever forgets to do this in true moments of anger, when all mischief is forgotten and replaced with pure rage. Seeing those eyes smouldering behind the shadows of her locks alone is likely to inspire death in many, and I believe her kill count would be significantly higher if we counted those who had crossed her path and were later found dead before she’d even lay a finger on them. From her head protrudes two sharp horns, and from her shoulders are two leathery wings, not unlike those of a dragon. They’re a similar colour to her skin, and hang in folds from bones of ebony with ruby red veins travelling across them. Perhaps it is these wings that give me my strange fascination with her, or perhaps it is her role as one of the most powerful female daemons. Of course, we all know that The Father created female daemons to be much more dangerous than the male, or those of no sex at all. Lucifer likes to adorn herself in jewellery and ornamentation of all kinds, particularly the Ankh. She is never seen without an Ankh imprinted on gauntlets, or hanging from her ears, or on a pendant round her neck. Her weapon of choice is something of a cross between a scythe not unlike that wielded by Death, or an oversized battleaxe, the blade often found being licked and tasted by flames that have crept along her own body onto the handle and continue to creep further up, somehow attracted to the metals edge.
There are many types of creatures in Hell. Some travel in clans and tribes, some work alone but are many, and of some there are but one creature, left to face this world alone. We’re all immortal, but only on conditions. For example, a succubus must feed upon the soul of a mortal through carnal pleasure in order to live, just as a vampire must drink a mortal’s blood to stay in existence. The Father must have something against the mortals, as many of us are designed purely for their pain. Not all of us though. Some of us just happen to enjoy the pain of others. With some it is pure accident that we even kill another being! Many choose not to attack unless they’re provoked. The dragons fall into this category. Mortals seem to see them as such cruel, vile creatures, when they are actually very quiet by nature and very shy, but can turn disagreeable quite quickly when they feel threatened.
I don’t know what I am any more. I was once a siren, in fact I probably still am, but I have been changed. Sirens are strange creatures. We love to sing, the feeling of singing gives us a sort of euphoria, and the sound of our own voice is what we feed upon. It just so happens, that mortals find it blinds them, gives them the same feeling only multiplied to a point where their mind is filled with no other thought but that of our song. But we are like the dragons, shy creatures that don’t wish to interact. It is only rarely that we choose to live with our own kind, let alone mortals or any other species! We try and stay in obscure areas, surrounded by rocks, which we can hide amongst with ease, and use to sit above the water level when we feed (much safer than living somewhere near a shore). But everything has a downside, and the cloud to this silver lining of a location is that it has bad habit of causing mortals to die. You see, when their ship comes our way, and they hear our singing, they often just loose control of their vehicle, and the next thing you know - it is soon wrecked upon the solid moats of our water built castles! And I don’t know why they always seem to have this in built timer of appearing when we’re singing, but they do! We may breathe underwater, yet we cannot hear our own singing there, and are forced to come up onto the rocks when we need to feed - and you can almost guarantee that whenever feeding time comes around, no matter how far out into the middle of nowhere you place yourself, a mortal will just sail on by and be caught in your snare of melody. But please don’t let my attitude fool you into thinking this is funny - Its the saddest feeling you could ever imagine, knowing that you are risking the lives of so many to stay in this world for just one more day. I doubt most vampires or succubi, or many other of The Fathers creatures feel remorse or guilt for what they have slain, but sirens certainly do! Many sirens just sit and cry whilst they sing, not realising why, through their elation, until they’ve finished their meal and are greeted by more bodies and broken vehicles filling the sea with debris, moving slowly in and out with the waves.
But here my story takes a twist that chills me to the very depth of my soul, for I fear that I am no longer one of them. I’m different. Perhaps I never was one, but until today I would have sworn that I was - after all, I’d only ever attracted mortals, which was what we sirens did. I can still remember every single person that I have watched die upon the edge of my home. My first kill was the worst; I remember weeping and weeping over my unintentional destruction, my tears tasting like the sea, and stinging my cold cheeks. I felt like swapping lives with him as the same thought kept plaguing my mind over and over: “If I hadn’t been singing, he would still be alive and yet I was only singing to keep myself alive.” The irony was too much for me! I was still a young daemon then, so perhaps I just hadn‘t experienced death at my own hands and it had been a shock to me. The man I killed was barely a man, if I recall correctly, just out of boyhood in fact. He had been by himself, in a small boat that easily fragmented upon impact. I’ve never figured out why he was out there, in the middle of nowhere, alone with no company but me and my voice. When his body drifted by me, I stroked his skin, relishing the unfamiliar sensation. It had felt so warm and different to my own, even though I knew it to be cold from the water. However I didn’t have long to savour the feeling, for his body soon floated away with the tide, leaving me once again, alone and racked with guilt. I swam underwater, cowering at the ocean floor as I watched the shadow of his carcass move above me, afraid it would suddenly awake and turn on me. It never did. I was so young then, I didn’t realise his soul was already gone and my tears meant nothing to his corpse. I’ve grown since then and I’ve learnt to see their souls leaving. They watch me as I continue singing, even as Death himself takes them by the hand and leads them away to the land of souls. They don’t feel the pain until they’re out of sight, as long as I keep singing. And I always do - its a knowledge I find eases my guilt, and a responsibility I feel I owe them. I no longer cry either. I just watch and sing.
Yes, perhaps I was habitual of my race. Until now. And now I don’t know what I am! For not too long ago, a dragon crashed before me, attracted by my song. And that’s not the worst of it, for it did not die upon its impact, as most mortals would have, but instead lay impaled on the rocks, slowly dying before me. Immediately I stopped singing, forgetting the pain that would now return to the creature, lost in my moment of shock and horror. I didn’t know what to do! I wasn’t supposed to attract immortals, not through my singing at least! Sirens and mortals are the only being who get affected by our voices - to other immortals it just sounds like somebody singing (albeit quite good singers) and nothing more! Shivering, but not from cold, I swam through the water to where its carcass was heaving against the waves. I put my hand to its skin, immediately noticing how its scales felt like that of my own sleek tail, the familiarity making my already cold blood run like ice. It was heartbreaking! I could hardly bear to watch it dying as it was and yet what could I do? Foam lined its contorted mouth, which opened and shut, allowing it to emit low moans of pain and anguish. Its eyes flicked each and every way in panic, and soon met my own. Immediately they narrowed into slits of pure hatred. There was no denying it - It knew who I was: the creature who‘d brought it to its demise. Surely it knew the pain I was causing it wasn’t intentional? Surely it could see that it wasn’t my fault, that I wasn’t to blame? I could hardly even convince myself with those arguments. Oh, if only it knew how I loved its kind, and since I first saw one as a child, my only ever wish was to be near one again; could it not sense the irony in finding myself slowly killing what I loved? Obviously not. I looked desperately for some way to help it, searching my brain frantically for anything - I was too shaken to even attempt to sing, to help ease its pain! I wiped tears from my eyes as it dawned on me that it was too large for me to move on my own and that I was as helpless as it was!
A flash of a precious shade caught my eyes, and blinking away more tears, I noticed its silver blood turning gold in the water as it ran down the spear like rock. I moved back as quickly as I could to prevent its blood from touching me, but it was unavoidable and the blood was soon covering me as a particularly violent wave, that I am now sure could not have been coincidental, crashed over me, making sure I was covered head to fin. I could feel it dripping in my thick blonde hair, much heavier on the soul than water. I watched the dragon as it twitched, trying to ignore my own panic - telling me to run away! Before I had wanted to try and help, but upon realising the impossibility of this, all I wanted to escape, yet I was paralysed with fear. Its blood was colder than the water and stung my eyes as it ran down my face. I blinked hard as more tears cascaded downwards. I wiped some away, only to find myself staring at the metallic gleam that was on my hands. Was that already on my face, or was that coming from my eyes. Was I crying dragons blood? Yes, that was it - I was crying dragon’s blood! Blind panic took over; The blood was everywhere! It seemed to be filling my lungs; it blinded me and filled my nostrils with its stench of pain and regret. I spun round, away from the dragons watchful glare, and ducked under the water, trying to cleanse my soul - but the blood did not wash off! It clung to me like a warning to all that I had been tainted! I had killed an immortal, one of my own! Turning back round, I found I couldn’t see the dragon anymore; my eyes felt like they were burning with acid! I rubbed them to no avail, unable to see anything but silver and gold darkness. My lungs felt like they were collapsing! My panic turned to frenzy as I tried to inhale, but nothing was filling my lungs but a fiery liquid - it must be the blood!! All I could taste was the bittersweet blood, coating my tongue and the edges of my throat. There was so much of it!! It couldn’t all be coming from the dragon surely? I was hectic now, spinning around the water in circles that I was sure would make me dizzy if I was left with any concept of my surroundings, with any sensation other than fear and the dragons blood inside me. Or was that outside me? I can‘t remember!! Its filling my mind!! I felt my arm scrape against the rock, my own blood came cascading out of my wound. I didn’t care. I wondered momentarily if it was even my own blood anymore. I was sure I was bleeding dragon’s blood, just as I was breathing, sweating, crying, feeding up on, being kept alive and being driven insane by dragons blood! It really did seem to be inside me, filling my every inch, as if I was purely composed of it. I just wanted to escape myself, to get away from it all, to get away from what I was turning into; is it possible to become claustrophobic due to being locked inside oneself? I could hear the dragon’s wings beating in my ears, or was it my heart beating the blood around my body - I could no longer tell. I was in darkness, could no longer see a thing! The panic swelled up inside me to bursting point, and suddenly I found a voice!
“NO!! No!!! Get off me!! Get off me!!!” I screamed, scraping my hands and nails along my skin in an attempt to remove it from myself. They felt soaked! It was under my nails, covering my hands, it was everywhere!! I thought I could hear the dragon roar back at me, in response to my earlier cries; it might have been waves though, beating against me. Was I still in the water, or was this an ocean of blood? I didn’t know, but I was sinking in whatever it was! I was still panicking, stuck within myself. I couldn’t escape; it wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried to remember what I was escaping? Was it myself, the dragon, the blood or some completely different monster I didn’t even know about? I couldn’t even hyperventilate; I was too busy suffocating on dragon’s blood. It had swallowed me; I was now swimming in dragon’s blood, I was sure of it. This wasn’t water against my hands anymore, my own scales were turning into dragons skin, they must be. I could hear voices muttering, it could of been my own - I wouldn‘t know - I can‘t remember what I sound like. What had happened? What was I?
I am still spinning now, I am sure. Struggling to get a hold of myself. The water is getting warmer. I try to speak, I try to say I am sorry, but flames come out instead, burning my mouth. I am pretty sure I am delirious. I know these cannot be flames. It must be blood, I don’t know if it’s my own or the dragons, but it is hot in my mouth. The blood is still all around me, I am sure I have more dragons blood left in me than my own. Oh father, please help me, I don’t know what’s what anymore? Has my mind left me and been replaced by more blood? Oh this blood - why won’t it leave me alone, why do we obsess with each other, this blood and I?
I soon find myself motionless, like a foetus floating in the womb, although still struggling in my head against bonds I wrapped around myself. Hands guide me and I force my eyes open, away from the sun and the moon in this night sky of blood filling my mind. Amazement strikes me at the familiar sight. Lucifer and Satan are holding me. The hot and cold of their skin ripples through me; I can see myself reflected in their eyes. There’s an ankh round Lucifer’s wrist that presses into my back as they carry me together, as brother and sister. I am outstretched in their arms, draped over them. They’re both so beautiful, it strikes a strange chord of longing and hurt in my heart. I want to reach out and touch them; I don’t want them to let go of me, I want to stay with them forever. A long forgotten aura washes over me like a reminder. They’re both so sad. I wonder why? Have they always been this sad and have I just never noticed? They are laying me down now; somehow my eyes have closed again. I shake my hair. It feels heavy, I am guessing still with blood. Everything is composed of blood. I wonder if touching me has now tainted Lucifer and Satan? I wonder if that’s why they’re so sad? I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can string together two words. Nothing is working right now. I can’t even tell if I’m shivering or having a fit; all of my movements have been slowed down, my mind unable to keep up with reality. Maybe I’m not moving at all. I can’t feel the presence of either Lucifer or Satan anymore. I want to cry; I feel so lonely. I think I’ve forgotten how to cry.
Without warning, I feel myself being pushed against something, thrust forward by an invisible force. It is hard, but brittle, and breaking into pieces as I put more pressure against it. Claustrophobia hits me, and I head butt it sharply since my hands are not responding to the orders I give them. This must be my coffin they placed me in! I have to escape! I have to let them know I’m not dead! Using as much force as I can summon, I am finally free as the last piece cracks above me. Air is now filling my lungs, coming in in ragged breaths. I force my eyes open and am immediately blinded by light. I think I can see The Fathers eyes; they’re so sad, just like everyone else’s. I part my lips to call his name, struggling to form a word, my tongue feeling strangely unfamiliar in my mouth. I trail off before I begin, as I realise I am staring into the face of a dragon. Egg shells are laying on the floor before me.
As I stare at the porcelain jigsaw pieces, it suddenly hits me, a sharp blow to the back of my head that sends me reeling. The realisation alone is abysmal. I understand those sad eyes that stare at me now. She still remembers her life, she still remembers who she killed. She’s like a living mirror. I understand now why mortals fear dragons instinctively - we’re all murderers. Now I know. I know what I am, and I know why I am. It sickens me. Why me? Why us? I know now; We truly are The Fathers saddest creations. I try to speak again, my tongue just about responding now, and the word comes out, thick and heavy like the tears that would be falling down my cheeks.
“Mother..”
End