Madness and Temptation: A Chronicle From The Abyss
A guardian angel gone as wrong as inhumanly possible.
Content Warning: Major Mature Themes
God, I am tired; I am so tired. My legs are like stone: fatigued and unmovable. I feel the stress of my life slowly tearing away at what little bit of my sanity is left and calcifying on my skin, hardening more until I turn to stone.
Every little thing that turns into a new issue, every call, every assignment, every expectation is weighing me down.
I’m going to drown, and I am not even underwater.
Of course, there is a way to fix this… but I can’t go there — I won’t go there. I have to stand up and get out of this room. Perhaps some sunlight will help? Something to get me moving, at least.
I’ll work on my project when I get back. That’s a lie, but—ehh. No one is going to do anything. I am already failing the class, and no one seems to give a damn.
All my life, no one has ever once given a single fuck, but I guess that is just my life.
You would think that someone who spends all of their time talking about how tired they are might try taking a nap or something. I’ve tried that — bad idea. For some sick reason, nature decided to leave out a few things from my brain.
Every time I sleep, I dream of the same madness.
A dark-horned nightmare rides forward from the shadows, and I am locked inside my own body. It comes closer and breathes into my face. The stench of corpse rot and coagulated blood enters my lungs. I feel myself heaving as if to retch, but I don’t move.
Before I can recover, the nightmare grabs me by the skull and probes its fingers into my mind.
“Crimson lies on crimson tides; tear you from the black.”
It casts me back, and I fall onto the blackened charcoal-like soil. The words repeat in my head, slowly rising in volume and speed until my head is utterly filled with cacophonous screams. Just as I feel I might die… I don’t.
I opened my eyes and shook my head. “I must’ve just drifted off,” I say to no one in particular.
It is amazing how often you find yourself blacking out when you only sleep a few hours a night — the nightmares see to that. I have been thrown out of more than a few classes because of that.
It turns out that teachers don’t seem to like it when you can’t stay awake in your class.
“I’m sorry, Teach, I just can’t seem to stay awake. I like your topic, I really do.”
“For the last time, I am not Teach, call me by my proper title or get out.”
“Fine, Professor Orson, take your title and stuff it. I hope you choke on it. Maybe gag a little, too!”
“Get out of here, now!”
“Gladly.”
Okay, maybe the reason my teachers don’t like me is more than just the fact I can’t stay awake.
Whatever.
You try to be nice when you’re this exhausted.
I can feel your eyes judging me; stop before I tear them out…
Anyhow, back to what I was talking about: My dreams — well, more like nightmares.
You would think that they were limited to when I was just asleep, but that isn’t the case. The doctor tells me that I’ve got some kind of gear loose in my head and wants me to take a bucket’s worth of pills morning and night.
Crazy right? I’ve got better things to do than to eat chemical candy.
Besides, if I want some chems, I’ve got better people for that! But even I have my limits.
I’ve got a certain aversion to putting chemicals in my body. Francis doesn’t seem to like it; the last time I tried to put a pill in my mouth, he wouldn’t stop screaming until I spit it out…. Why are you looking at me like that?
Oh, that makes sense. I should probably explain who the hell Francis is.
Alright, but cut the language. Usually, teachers and the Shadows are the only ones who curse at me.
Then again, it can be hard to tell which is which at times — oh, insomnia, how I love you!
Anyhow… right. Francis is the only one of my dream people that I actually like. He is with me most of the time. He swears that his name is Lucien, but I disagree.
He seems to like to try to screw with me a lot. Good thing I’m a genius — whether my professors will acknowledge that or not.
He is a nice guy, for the most part. There are times, however, when he can be a bit of a pain. For example, I have never seen a guy get so offended by a church. He never quite explained that, but it makes sense; I don’t like those long extended rants either — my parents made damn sure I got my fill of those.
You know, that brings me back to the first time I met Francis. It was just after my parents had died. I was still wiping the blood off of myself when he appea — .
“You can close your mouth now. It wasn’t their blood, you idiot!”
It was a car wreck. I managed to roll out of the SUV onto the side of the country road that we ran off of. Sixteen-year-old me got out of the car and looked at my parents — dead, definitely dead. I remembered thinking just how pretty they looked.
Most people look their finest right after death, but they don’t keep their color for long; it’s a shame, really.
I looked at them for a moment but ended up turning away.
The watering in my mouth was getting unbearable, and I didn’t want to lose control. Sure, meat is meat, but even I don’t want to destroy that masterpiece.
Only people who are truly mad destroy art.
Francis came to me like an ebon-winged angel whenever I was rolling around in the grass, trying to get the blood off. He introduced himself and mentioned how he thought my arm was broken.
“You look awfully strange for a guardian angel,” I mentioned.
“Name’s Lucien. I’m surprised you caught on that I’m your angel, good eye. I think you’ve got a bit of an issue with your arm there, bud.”
“Ehh, I’m fine. Just got out of a crash with my parents. They’re over there, dead — at least, last time I checked… Come to think of it, I guess my arm is a little floppy, but I am mainly worried about all of this blood. I want to get it off of me, not a big fan of red.”
The angel smiled, “Come here, I’ll fix that arm for you.”
I walked over to him, his dark black wings shining in the sunlight. He was a creature of utter beauty. The wings, the horns, the hooves… complete perfection.
With a pulse of magic, my arm was wrapped in dark-colored energy as my flesh healed itself.
“Good,” I point over to the crashed SUV, “They may be absolutely gorgeous right now, but I don’t particularly feel like being pretty.”
As I finished saying this, a car pulled off the side of the road and came out. A group of people exited the vehicle, and I heard a few people screaming. “Oh God, what is happening?!” and all that crap. You would’ve thought somebody just died…
Well, I guess they did; I digress.
A few minutes later, an ambulance arrived, and I was taken to a medical facility. They were bound and determined to put my arm in a cast, even though I told them it was fine. After a while of arguing about it, I decided to humor them.
At least they let me get the blood off.
That was the first time I ever met Francis, but he has been around quite often ever since. He tells me things about the people around me and helps keep me safe from both the meat enemies and the dream ones as well.
He has claimed me and tells me that he will protect my soul forever. He is the best friend — the only one really — that I have ever had. I’ve tried to share him with others, but no one else can see him.
“Nope, I am yours, all yours.”
Francis is a bit stubborn, and eventually, I agreed to stop trying to introduce him to people. Besides, people were starting to think I was crazy or something. A particularly idiotic fellow attempted to give me a cross and a Bible. “The power of Christ compels you!” and all of that malarkey.
Needless to say, Francis did not like that. I eventually convinced him to leave the fool to his madness, but it wasn’t easy. I really think that Francis just wanted to make him look pretty, but there are times and places for that, and it was not one of those.
We walked away, but the priest continued staring, looking quite cross, if I might add.
Francis was right; I needed to stop trying to share him, and they don’t deserve him anyway. Besides, what is it about Christians and being scared to death of goats?
Normal ones are fine, but by God, if they stand up, it’s horrible.
I really have to shake my head at these people. You would think that people who want to get into heaven so badly would be used to that kind of thing. Francis says that heaven is full of two-legged goat people like him.
They are a type of angel. Francis tells me all about heaven and promises me that I can come with him there and be with him forever.
I don’t have many memories of my parents, but I can tell you this: Absolutely none of them are pleasant. Sending me from one hospital to the next, and the number of exorcisms I have gone through is… ungodly.
No matter how many times I told them there was nothing wrong with me, they just would not listen.
My mother looked into my eyes forlornly; “We’ll get you fixed, honey.”
“There is nothing to be fixed! Please, Mom, don’t let me take me again.”
The priests grabbed me by the arms and began to pull me away, “Mom!”
“Mom!”
My screams went on deaf ears as they pulled me back into the chamber once again. We were going through this once again. The priest pulled the crucifix from around his neck and put it on the coals.
With his Bible, he began his demonic chanting, sounding like a twisted bird singing with half a beak. After a few minutes, the chanting was over, and the cross on the coals was red hot.
This is where (their) fun begins…
The priest took the cross with a pair of tongs as the other one held me down and burned it into my flesh. By the “Power of God,” they were going to burn the evil out of me.
There has to be something ironic about two pieces of shit trying to disinfect something, but the joke was lost on me here…
All I felt was pain… was there no one to trust in this world?
As I said earlier, I first met Francis when my parents finally died. Thankfully, this wasn’t long after the exorcism — thankfully, my last one.
I spent the last few years of my development in state-funded homes, and thankfully, they didn’t care as much about the “health of my immortal soul” as my parents did.
No, they just wanted me to shut up and stay in my room — works for me.
By that point, I realized the only one that I could trust was Francis… My guardian, my angel, my salvation.
“I can promise you a place in heaven, forever by my side, but there is something I need you to do for me first.”
“Sure, anything for you, Francis.”
“My name is Lucien. You know this, Adam.”
“Fine… whatever boats your float.”
“Good. Now I need you to just do a simple task for me…
Francis showed me some pretty pictures, pointy pictures, but pretty nonetheless. He said that they are the pictures of heaven and that all of the children must know them. He has many children, but I am his favorite.
The Children of Francis. I just had to draw these pictures, and I would be granted eternal “Poena Ignis”¹ by his side. I am not sure what that means, but it sounds pretty…
Francis is always using these funny words, but he’s a funny guy, so what can I say?
I took the knife to my wrist and cut. Everybody thinks that cutting your wrist will kill you, but it really won’t. You have to go pretty damn deep to do that.
I’ve been “cutting,” as they call it, for years.
People assume you must have a problem if you do something like that, but it really is quite a normal activity.
Besides, they say, “Cut horizontally for fun, vertically for results.”
This is, of course, referring to if you are trying to kill yourself, which is not my goal — I don’t want to be pretty yet.
Anyways, I took the knife and cut — horizontally — and let the blood flow out of my arm. I looked at my arm for a minute.
They are right; beauty really is on the inside. I let the blood flow down onto my finger and use it like a quill with crimson ink. I began to draw the symbols that Francis taught me and laughed.
They are very pretty pictures, indeed.
“I have never felt so good before!” I told Francis.
“Yes, and once you do this, you will feel good forever.”
“No time to waste then!”
I continued to work on the complex circle of symbols that Francis instructed me to draw. I never took Francis to be such an artist; damn, these were complicated.
However, I eventually finished them. I actually had to cut myself a couple different times to have enough ink to finish. Francis suggested that I could use someone else’s blood as well, but I didn’t want to have to ask for help.
Francis seemed a little disappointed at this, but he let me continue.
Once I had finished the runes on the floor, I asked Francis what I should do next. This is when he revealed his true form to me.
He had done so a few other times, but this time just seemed extra special.
The horns seemed extra sharp, his fur had extra shine, and he was taller than before. However, it was when he spoke that I got a real indication of what was different.
“Are you ready to begin?” Francis said with a deep, guttural voice and a goatish grin.
His voice was absolutely wonderful. Such power he commanded! Never before had I felt such a draw towards him. I was ready to serve, to give him my soul and my allegiance to him, forever and ever.
Francis was my savior, and it was time for me to prove it.
“Of course, I have never been better.”
“Good, very good.”
The ritual did not take long, or at least what I assume was a ritual. I couldn’t really be sure. We stood there and recited some lines from that big black leather book that Francis carries around, and then he had me sign in it with some more of my red ink.
Some of the words we said — they were indescribable. Some of them sent shivers down my spine, while others brought feelings of elation.
He said that this was normal, that my soul was now being elevated from that of a base man to that of a God, a god in his name and HIS image.
“I feel hot, very hot.”
“That’s normal; it’s just the ritual burning away your sin.”
Images flashed into my mind of the many “rituals” I had gone through as a child. The pain, the sizzling of flesh… it was all too similar to those devils in the white robes.
I pushed the thought out of my mind; Francis wouldn’t do that to me… I began to squirm under the pain; the heat was becoming hotter and hotter. I felt like I was on fire.
“It hurts Francis!”
“I am LUCIEN! Remember, Adam, this is what YOU wanted. Just another minute, and the pain will be gone, I promise.”
That minute felt like hours. Hours of needles poking in and out of my body, like I was being boiled alive and my flesh being pickled, but he did not lie. The pain was gone, and I was ready for the final step of Francis’ ritual.
He had grown even more now. He towered at least four or five feet over me. Francis looked at me and grinned. With a stomp of his hoof, we were transported outside and into a realm of fire.
I fell to my knees, and it was beautiful. The fire was there, but it was not hot. It had the warmth of a dead mother’s embrace and all the comfort that entails. People were wailing in elation all around us at the sight of this beauty. I turned to Francis and spoke.
“What is this magnificent place?”
“This is my kingdom, Adam, the place where you will be by my side forever. All around you are people like you who have decided to join paradise, but there is one important difference. They were selected by my subjects, but you were selected by me. I am the LORD of this realm, and I chose YOU because YOU are special.”
After Francis said this, we were transported back into the room where I had painted the circle. He told me of the one last thing that I had to do to join him.
With a slight burst of crimson magic, Francis manifested an object in his hands. It was a dagger, long and sharp, covered in a great number of the same runes that I had painted onto the floor. With a smile, he pushed it into my hands.
“For you to join me in my great kingdom, you must shed your mortal form and ascend into your best self.”
I stepped back, “Is this really the only way?”
“If you wish to join me, you WILL do as I commanded.”
“I don’t know if I can…”
“You must.”
After saying this, Francis disappeared from sight. I was left on my own, dagger in hand, in the blood-covered room. I took a few minutes to consider what I was about to do.
My mind felt cloudy, as if something was trying to penetrate through the thick determination I had toward Francis. But, over time, that weakened, and I was finally brought back to the proper determination for my cause towards my LORD.
I raised the dagger, contemplating how I was going to commit the deed. Something quick; there is no need to do something that’s going to take five minutes for me to fully die.
The neck? No, with that, I’ll suffocate. That’s not a pleasant way to go. I finally decided on my method.
I was going to lodge the knife through my nasal cavity, straight into my brain.
A gun would have been really nice, but I guess this will have to work.
Another few moments of hesitation gripped me. Something was trying to break my resolution and delude me from the proper path that I was on.
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Images of crosses and feathered beings flashed through my head. Disgusting images of wheels in wheels and the sunlight… way too much sunlight.
I finally broke through the miasma and plunged the dagger into my brain… peace at last.
Right before my vision faded to black, I heard a strange noise, like a lamentation of sorts. It was in the same, odd-sounding words that Francis used, but far less certain.
“O me miserum! O fatum? Alius animam perdidit ignes aeternumque adytis effert ad inferos.”²
Hell, if I knew what they were saying, but my mind was too clouded to guess. I finally faded away, out of the world of the living.
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I woke up what seemed to be a few hours later into the same blackened, fire-scorched realm that Francis had brought me to earlier. Except this time, something was different.
My brain was different as if some grand illusion was lifted…
Oh God, what have I done…?
The black nightmare stood there — smiling.
“Hello, Adam…” Lucifer said.
Footnotes:
Punishment by Fire
“O wretched me! O fate? Another has lost his soul, and the fires bring him eternally to hell.”
Disclaimer: In case it wasn’t obvious, I do not condone any actions in this story. This is a work of fiction and should very much stay that way. This story is not a reflection of any of my beliefs & practices, spiritual or otherwise.