Each day I look in the mirror of God and still see my own scrambled image.
"Are you scared of death, Ashmedai?" GOD asked, glancing down at the pup by his side. It was slender and tall, at first glance fragile and delicate, as if any stronger gust of wind could break it like a twig. It was an illusion, though. The puppy was strong and agile, and at the same time unbearably intelligent. It stole through the deadwoods like a wraith, and moved with a grace that told it was born a predator. There was not an iota of childlike innocence in it, it seemed to know more about the nature of this world than the elders, as it had seen all its curses and darkness.
Its eyes were by far the worst part of the whelp. Despite young age, they were bleached with time – a dead thing’s eyes, drained of all light and life. There was a strange flame in its scarlet, bloody optics, which immediately caused discomfort, as if all you could see in them was sin and suffering.
At first, as soon as he looked into its eyes, he wanted to grab the little body in his teeth and smash it against the cobbled wall. But he gave it a chance, realizing the puppy's boundless potential.
The cub's parents were unable to care for him, so GOD took him under his wing. However, the whole village was aware of the puppy's nature and no one was able to treat him as an equal. Both him and Ashmedai's parents were aware of their failure, but others were unable to see it.
Thus, the pup still was portrayed as a savior, sent from the Gods. If his plan to raise a pup as his right hand failed, he would present it as an offering to the Gods and dispose of it in a holy sacrament.
GOD was worshiped by the villagers. He was present everywhere in the village, heard every conversation, saw every step. He forged the entire village as an illusion, it was like a ship built to sink. Poison flowed through the veins of the city, they were all equally delusional and blind. Too busy running from their past to notice the whole structure's unsound. He took advantage of this by presenting himself as a prophet preaching divine words, and they believed him.
However, he himself became so dispersed in his lie that he began to believe that he was one of the Gods. His pride, as well as his own, blind belief that the Gods were indeed whispering in his ears, commanded him to create Ashmedai.
The pup was begot on bedsheets stained with sacrificial blood, rose from pain and rage.
The GOD's name was Flauros. He was tall and mighty, nothing like any other wolf in the Kingdom. Completely covered with dark, long fur, illuminated by greenish runes that were constantly glowing. Long spines, like those of a porcupine, sprouted along his back. The fur on his tail was long enough to drag itself along the ground like the most beautiful shawl. His nape was covered with beautiful plume-like feathers that bristled when he wanted to appear more dignified, and braids framing his muzzle. His whole body was covered with pendants and beads engraved with spells, which, jingling with his every move, informed of his presence. Flauros was beautiful.
And in the beginning, Ashmedai was also beautiful.
"I am not scared. Are you?" the pup inquired, raising his head and looking straight into Flauros' eyes.
That was the most terrifying thing. Ashmedai was fearless. He feared neither death nor the Gods. While other puppies were still afraid of the dark and hid in the paws of their parents at night, Ashmedai stood in front of it, staring blankly into its depths.
"No. Death is a gift, little one" he spoke.
The wolves bowed to them, then left the church to return to their homes. Life in the village was rather quiet, orderly. Each day began and ended with a gathering where they worshiped the Gods and performed rituals. Everyone had their assigned role, which they performed for the rest of the day, the most important rule was to never leave the village without consulting GOD. Not as if anyone wanted to escape. They were all outlaws, cursed and exiled. And even if they did, they could never escape Flauros' gaze. Once a month, deliveries from the Center arrived containing medicines or supplements, the rest of the time they had to be self-sufficient. This system, however, worked, despite many objections and opinions that it should not.
Ashmedai's parents had no function. There were stories that after his birth they both lost their minds. Tehe official version claimed that his birth was a moment of enlightenment for them, and madness was their price for conceiving a divine creation. Out of respect, other residents avoided their home, and only GOD had the authority to visit them. He came there twice a day, first thing in the morning to pick up Ashmedai before morning prayer and just after dark to wean the pup. However, even when he haunted their house, he never crossed the vestibule, afraid to see what was going on inside the inconspicuous hut.
He did the same that night, disappearing into the darkness as soon as he confirmed that the pup had crossed the threshold of its home.
Ashmedai crept through the shadows, trying not to alert his parents that he had already returned. His house was dark most of the time. Mother didn't like the daylight, sometimes even a candle flame was a problem for her. Their windows were permanently boarded up from the inside, planks nailed to the walls with rusty nails. If it wasn't for his excellent night vision, he probably wouldn't have known what their house looked like until now. He still had no idea what the colors of the walls or furniture were, but their tones weren't that important anyway.
However, inadvertently, he stepped in shattered pieces of glass mirror that had not been there a few hours earlier. Glass crunched under his paw, and in the darkness he saw two pairs of glowing eyes that suddenly stared at him. Angry growls made the house tremble, and the little pup curled up against the wall, as if he thought the less space he took up, the less likely he would be noticed.
- Are you back already?- his father's melodious and colorful voice echoed in the darkness, but the whelp wasn't naive enough to answer.
Instead, he started backing up slowly towards the door, his black fur blending perfectly into the shadows, allowing him a potential escape.
- Your father asked you a question, bastard. - His Mother's dead voice reached his ears, causing him to stop mid-step.
His mother rarely spoke.
- Forgive me, Mother - he whined.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he heard the groan of one of the old, thin boards that lined the entire floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of teeth baring in the darkness.
- Who fucking let you speak. - Father spat with contempt.
Two bodies collided as his parents lunged at each other, with a bang that made the pup jump. Without thinking, he turned and ran out of the house, fleeing into the night, driven away by the sounds of broken dishes, growls, and roars as his parents once again indulged in their anger. Fights were not uncommon in their home. His parents were constantly ready to throw themselves at each other's throats, every louder murmur or whisper provoked them, made them furious, burned them from the inside out. The same flame that bound their souls and hearts, consumed them and made them shed each other's blood.
But that's what love looked like. The purest form of it.
Love wasn't beautiful.
Love was pain, love was a curse. Love was suffering and darkness, fangs bared in the shadows, dirty rags in the sink and mouths filled with the taste of iron.
He ran, his heart pounding in his chest, his veins buzzing with fear. He knew exactly where to go, he spent more nights in caves than in his own home. Maybe they were damp and empty, smelling of rotting flesh and lost hopes. Full of strange machines trapped under the stones.
But even the coldest nights, spent inside the caves, were warmer and more welcoming than his own home.
His home was truly a nightmare, with two furious, unstoppable forces that constantly puffed and huffed above his head.
Waiting for the right moment to finally consume him.
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