I turn to the demon sitting on the chair in the middle of a trap I had created for him, spinning the dagger on my index finger and staring at him with a smirk plastered on my face. He stares back at me, a look of indifference on his face. He doesn’t seem to care about being in the position he is in, or the fact that he is looking into the face of his torturer, the demon who has control of his life and could end it in an instant.

Does he even care why he is here I wonder. Is he aware that I will make him squeal like a little piggie for the information I need, that I’ll rip the information from him. I need to know who is behind the plan, because the plan could destroy the very existence I’ve fought so hard to keep. A few days back, while minding my own business in a bar, I overheard from a couple of demons that someone was trying to raise an ancient and powerful evil, one I hadn’t seen for a very long time.

I had managed to track down a demon who apparently knew some information which he had acquired from a mid-level demon. Demons are ranked, just like soldiers, a hierarchy that starts from the lowest rung on the ladder to the highest. Low-level demons are at the mercy of upper-level demons who are some the most powerful. I always look upon the hierarchy like chess pieces. Low-level demons are the pawns, considered disposable and just above that of humans. Mid-level demons are like your knights and bishops. They have a bit more power, more pull and are given tasks that are of some importance.

Upper-level demons are like your rooks. They not only perform the jobs that Lucifer hands down to them, they also have the power to do whatever they want that will please and benefit Lucifer in his quest for power. They deal with mid and low-level demons and help to cause hell on Earth by wreaking havoc.

There are only one set of demons that are above the upper-level ones, the top tier demons. This small group sits beside Lucifer. They are to Lucifer as Archangels are to God. They are his most trusted advisors and soldiers, his lieutenants, commanders and sergeants in a way. These demons are called in to create the most amount of destruction in the shortest amount of time, the ones who called upon The Four Horsemen in the very first apocalypse.

Others, thought they helped create The Apocalypse. They were deadly wrong. They didn’t create The Apocalypse.

They are The Apocalypse.

Malphas, one of Lucifer’s most trusted soldiers in the fight against the forces of mankind and all things good, had risen through the ranks quickly, much to my discontent, and proved himself to be a force to be reckoned with.

He had created so much devastation and chaos on Earth that the angels had to step in. In the end it was the Archangel Michael who had defeated him, locking him in a fortress so impenetrable that no one was going to get in. More importantly, no one was going to get out.

Or so it seemed.

Someone, somewhere, has figured out how to release him - and now that

someone is planning on doing just that. They intend to bring him back up here to finish the job he had started all those centuries ago.

What I don’t understand though is why him? There are plenty of other demons that could be chosen to bring on an apocalyptic event and wipe out the human race. So why him? What is so important about Malphas?

“So, tell me, who wants to free Malphas? Is it Leviathan? Azazel? Who?”

“I don’t know.” The demon seethes.

I let out an exasperated sigh.

Demons. Bunch of idiots.

“You know I can do this all day, for the rest of our lives in fact. I have nowhere to go, this is your decision. Tell me, or....” I walk up to him, take the dagger and slice his cheek, working diagonally from his right ear, down to the corner of his lips. He howls in pain as I grin menacingly at him.

He sneers at me and all I can do is let out a laugh at his futile attempts of intimidation.

“Why do you care about these pathetic humans anyway? You’re a demon.”

“I don’t care about these humans. I care about this world. As you can see, I have built a pretty damn good life for myself, and nothing, I mean nothing, is going to ruin this for me. So, we can do this the hard way, or the easy way. And like you said, I’m a demon, so I know how to slowly torture a demon until they beg for death.”

Silence.

I reach out to the wheelie tray next to me and pick up the syringe, dipping the needle into a bowl of holy water and filling it up to the brim. I don’t bother to push out the air from the syringe, it doesn’t matter to me whether it will affect him or not. I saunter over to him, grabbing his wrist and yanking it hard to straighten his arm.

I jab him with the needle and inject him with the holy water. He howls out in pain as the water makes its way through his body. To increase his suffering I stab him in the gut with the dagger just a little. Then, slicing into his flesh I create a deep gash in his body. Slowly, I remove the dagger, inch by painful inch, making sure that I’m causing the maximum amount of torment. I release him from the agony, and for a brief moment I give him some relief, a sense of finality, before I repeat the process over and over again.

When I’ve finished he lifts his head, eyes the colour of onyx boring into me.

“Who is behind the plan to bring Malphas back?” I question again.

“It won’t matter, he will rise again, and when he does, I will take pleasure in torturing you for the rest of your miserable life!”

I let out a raucous laugh.” You? Torture me? You don’t seem the type to be able to torture puppies, let alone a demon of the Underworld a lot more powerful than you.”

“If I don’t, then he will. . . When he’s released.”

He isn’t entirely wrong there. If Malphas is released and finds me, he will revel in the chance to give me my comeuppance. He will literally scour the globe to come find me and give me what he thinks I deserve.

“Don’t you worry about me demonling, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

Facing my tray of torture instruments, I run my fingers over them, contemplating which one to use next, passing over four and stopping at a tool I had yet to use. There aren’t many out there that can be used to torture or kill a demon, apart from the usual holy water, runes and a dagger that literally poisons and kills the demon from inside it’s vessel.

I actually have very little need for tools of torture. I no longer worry myself about the dealings of demons and keep out of their business. They had become somewhat like a security blanket for me though, as I have had run ins with the odd demon here and there. I don’t need them, but I’d hate to not have them.

“Why do you have to torture all the time Dee? You can easily just get the information from him by seeing into his mind.” My vessel, Vee asks. I can actually picture her pouting.

“This is much more fun though Vee. If you don’t like it, go back to your little corner like you always do.”

I feel her sulking. She hesitates, but leaves me in peace anyway. My vessel, Esmerelda, is a gypsy. Actually, she’s Gitano, who are basically Romani, but Spanish. I’ve been advised by Esmerelda that gypsy is incredibly derogatory and should never be used. When I first came across her, she was living in an abusive relationship with her dick of a husband. He was all kinds of asshole, beating her, cheating on her, controlling their financials and degrading her. I can’t stand women being treated in such a way. So, when she was praying to the all mighty, the biggest of all douches and the Le King Twatbag, I intercepted her call and came to her rescue instead.

I had grown tired of my vessel and it was about time that I upgraded to a new model. It’s a practice I keep to stop Lucifer from hunting me. There is no way I wanted to show up on his radar, so when my vessel had served their time I traded them in for a new model and moved on. Just like buying a car. It’s a lonely life, sure, but I have little room for friends, cause that’s when shit sneaks up on you and backhands you in the face. The more people that know you, the easier you are to track.

I had taken it upon myself to perform my civic duty and get rid of her husband. She was eternally grateful and asked what I wanted in return. I was ecstatic, here was this woman, asking me what I wanted! So I told her that I could use a new body and surprisingly she agreed to house me. Stupid? Probably, but for the most part we have a very good working relationship with each other. On the odd occasion I would slip into demon mode, like right now, I could feel her shouting at me to stop doing what I’m doing. I usually tell her to go away and leave me alone. Sometimes she puts up a fight but other times, like now, she would just sulk and go away into the background.

She has actually built a little home in my… her… mind. She is literally a passenger of her own body. I am the driver, taking lead and making her body do as I wish. When she first spoke to me after I possessed her she called me demon. She refused to call me Esmerelda because she knew the difference, unlike the people around us. In return, I called her vessel. She hated the name, so obviously I continued. Now we just call each other Dee and Vee.

I picked up the tool, which I call Maggie. It was aptly named after a girl I knew who liked to fuck people. A lot. This weird looking instrument has two forks that branch off from the handle. Attached to the forks are circular iron meshes with a pentagram surrounded by runes engraved on both sides. On the frame holding the mesh are hooklike teeth which when plunged into skin embed themselves into the flesh.

I acquired this magnificent tool when I came across a hunter who had been killed by a demon. The demon, being of a one-track mind, missed the most valuable item. I’m not complaining, it was a win for me.

What makes it so insanely perfect is its ability to inflict a constant stream of pain. This comes from the pentagram and runes and, if you are so inclined, you can twist it and allow the little hooks to do their job. It is truly a magnificent instrument of torture.

Without giving him the chance to figure out what I’m doing, I rip open his shirt and jam Maggie into his chest. A sound emanates from him like the possessed girl from the Exorcist.

I pick up the pistol I had attained over a decade ago. It is loaded with bullets that are not only coated with holy water, but filled with it. Once the bullets make themselves at home in the body they dissolve, releasing a slow stream of holy water.

The hunter who had made it was a genius.

I fire a couple of rounds into his stomach. His screaming becomes even louder. I can’t help the wide devilish smile from forming on my face, satisfied with the pain I’m inflicting on him.

“Now, before I proceed, will you tell me who is behind all this?” I ask in a sickly sweet manner.

He’s going to break soon, I can tell by the way beads of sweat that are forming on his forehead, slithering down his face like a snake.

All it’s going to take is a little extra convincing for him to squeal like a little piggie. I inject holy water all over his face, one shot straight after the other. In the end, his face looks like he’s received six degree burns. Quite a horrendous sight. If I wasn’t a demon, I would have upchucked from the look of him.

“I told you, I don’t know who is behind it!”

“Bullshit! As if you don’t know!” I’m getting tired of this. I had been torturing him for hours and still nothing. “One more time you asswipe! Tell me who the fuck is behind this!”

I grab the hilt of Maggie and twist it whilst pushing it in further.

“Okay, okay!” His breath comes out wheezy like a smoker who has been going at it for 10 years. “I don’t know who is behind it, but I do know that they are looking for the Book of the Dead which is located at the Church of Notre Dame in Washington DC, America.”

“You mean Paris?” Not trying to stop the condescension flowing out with my words.

“No, you need to go to the one in America.”

“Right.” I say, extending the word.

I eye him, squinting, taking it in all in and deciding whether or not he is telling me the truth.

He is.

“I believe you.”

A relieved sigh escapes his lips. “Good, can you let me go?”

“Hmmmm. . . . Okay!” I flick my hand out at him as if I’m flicking water off my hand and his whole body explodes before me.

I pick up the hand towel from the railing on the tray and wipe away the blood and guts. I usually don’t dispose of demons this way, it’s too messy and smells really bad. I don’t know whether it’s because I have lived amongst the humans for most of my life or whether it’s always smelt like this bad, but the gut wrenching, vomit inducing odour of burning flesh is not something I found appetising.

It’s a smell that stinks up the room for days, seeping into all the little crevices. It clings to your clothes, and your skin if you are exposed to it for too long. And the bones! Don’t get me started on the bones. I once found bones of a demon I had killed a year after I had done it when I was living in the Underworld.