Page 4 of Hades

“Zara … rest…in…pieces … sweet love,” he tried at a smile again when she blanched. And he strained to ignore the shot of her rejection one last time.

He would at no time again express the Raging Rebels club motto again. What a pity. He rather enjoyed it as he brought death to someone, standing over them, lording it like a fucking king, their life in his hands, to take or to spare. He rarely spared, what fun was that?

When once he was weak, he was risen as a titan.

And would die a fucking nobody.

In. Out. In. Out. In … Out …

Demons came from somewhere, he knew his origin very well, oh yes, every demon knew the gutter he was spit out of. His mother pushed him out in a filthy, rat ridden crack den whorehouse full of dirty sluts who opened their legs for money and lived a life in a drugged fog.

Not a surprise at all. But then the twist being who was the father.

Demons. Monsters. Demons. Monsters.

The father beget the son and God did say;“Truly, truly, I say to you, the Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing. For whatever the Father does, that the Son does likewise." And he had, tenfold. Shouldn't God be happy?

The pain had to come from somewhere, you sowed the seed and watched it sprout, crawling up the wall until weeds ran rampant, the maps had a start point, even the devil was good for a moment until he stepped out of the shadows and took his rightful place.

'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.' “Yes,” says the Spirit, “they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them."The book of Revelation 14:13. Some lessons, even on the doorstep to his own death stayed in the dank corners of his mind, not ever to be forgotten, would he dare forget? It was ingrained in his fucking skin whether he liked it or not.

His deeds were plenty and fucking endless in volume.

Forgive me my sins, oh Lord.

He knew he should say it, it was therightthing to do on deaths door, repent his sins before meeting his maker for judgement, and even though his mind, with its last flicker screamed the words over and over, he didn't truly feel sincerity in his cold, dead heart.

Fuck it all. He'd expire as he lived his life; fighting for every piece of malicious square inch of land to call his own.

Regrets were for heroes.

Hades blinked.

It had been a good battle for what it was, but inevitability was a dirty whore just like his mother, and death came in first ultimately to collect its medal.

To go forward you first had to go back.

To where a monster had his beginning.

CHAPTER TWO

“Birth…”

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…

Kyle first recalled hearing that the night he turned five years old. Of course, it would have been said many more times before then, after all his father was the local priest who raped his mom, but he didn’t know that for a long time to come.

He’d grown up in a whorehouse, again, he didn’t know that at the time, not until he was eleven and a customer smacked him in the face when Kyle had tried to stop his mom from being attacked as a fat man rained blows down on her, small Kyle had run at him and got a thick meaty fist in his face for his care, blood spurting everywhere. “You’re in a whorehouse, kid, it’s what they fucking deserve.” He’d laughed.

“What’s a whorehouse, Kimmi?” He’d asked one of his aunts later. Standing holding a sequin bra while the half-naked lady had dressed, he never saw anything wrong in it, it was how he’d grown up with all his aunts, he’d run through the house playing messenger, doing errands, bringing clothes and food in between work, he never knew what they did, but it always looked important since they wore their best clothes and painted their faces for hours, and Kyle always liked the smell of the perfumes they sprayed.

The slap came out of nowhere knocking him to the ground and reopening his already busted lip. He looked up, blinking back tears, his cheek on fire. The dark-haired woman glared hateful before she snatched the bra he still held and began to fasten it around her tits. “Don’t you say that word again, you little shit. I done told your mama she needs to get you out of here before you turn out like all the rest of ‘em with their disgusting, mauling hands.”

“I’m sorry.” He cried, staggering to his feet. He hadn’t meant to say the wrong thing, he didn’t know what it was. Kimmi never hit him before. They didn’t really take much notice of Kyle besides issuing demands for him to run their errands for them, he wasn’t the only kid here, but he was the oldest, he played babysitter most nights while his mom and aunts worked, sometimes he had to run down the block and take some money to a man who gave him a package he was not allowed to look inside, he’d learned the hard way when his mom had caught him peeking at a corner, he only wanted to see what was inside, she’d knocked him off his feet, pain radiating along the side of his temple.

“What did I tell you, boy? You never fucking listen! You don’t look at my things! It’s not for you!” She’d screamed at him until her eyes bulged out of her thin skeleton. The mistake was not repeated, not until he was old enough to defend himself.

She was always nicer after she’d taken that package into her room and come out an hour later smiling and hugging him telling him what a good boy he was and how much she loved him despite who his father was. Whatever her private things were, he liked her that way best, so he always ran extra fast every week to collect the envelope.

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