Year: 1956 — Berlin
The evening newspapers all carried the same headline.
"Teufel Kruger, age ten — sentenced to life imprisonment two years ago — has been reported dead."
The words spread through Berlin faster than winter wind.
Radios repeated it. Television stations replayed it. Café conversations revolved around it. Families discussed it at dinner tables. Strangers argued about it in trams.
Reactions differed.
Some people felt pity.
"A child… no matter what he did, he was still a child."
Others laughed.
"That devil finally got what he deserved."
Many didn't even know who he was, yet the noise reached them anyway.
But one thing was common in everyone's mind:
How did he die?
For two days, there was no answer.
Rumors bloomed like disease.
Prison riots. Execution. Secret punishment. Government conspiracy.
Then, on the third day, the official statement arrived.
"The infamous parent murderer Teufel Kruger, also known as The Devil, was killed by a fellow prisoner. The attacker murdered a warden before killing Kruger, and then took his own life."
The case closed.
At least publicly.
Ironically, his death made him more famous than his crimes ever had.
Newspapers printed his childhood photos. Writers began documenting his short, horrifying life. People debated whether he was born evil or created by the world.
For the world, the Devil was dead.
But the truth walked freely under the night sky.
⸻
Berlin — Night
Cold air moved through the empty streets as a fragile silhouette staggered forward.
Teufel Kruger.
Alive.
But barely.
His body trembled at every step. His legs threatened to collapse beneath him. His breathing was shallow, uneven.
Eight days.
Eight days since he escaped prison.
Eight days without food.
Only water had kept him alive.
His vision shook whenever he moved his head. The streetlights stretched and blurred, as if reality itself was melting.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
He looked less like a survivor…
…and more like a ghost wandering before death finally claimed him.
After wandering aimlessly, he noticed a small public park.
The metal gates stood open.
He entered without thinking.
The park was empty. Silent. Even the wind felt cautious here.
Streetlights flickered overhead, casting broken shadows across wet grass and stone paths.
A wooden bench waited beneath one of them.
Teufel dragged himself toward it.
The bench was wet with dew, soaking through his thin clothes as he collapsed onto it, but he didn't care.
For the first time in days, he could rest.
His chest rose and fell weakly.
He whispered to himself, voice barely audible.
"Eight days… and still not dead."
A weak laugh escaped him.
"Punishment… or blessing?"
His thoughts drifted.
"I wonder what she's doing now…"
His childhood friend. The promise they made. The future he would never see.
"She must be sleeping peacefully… in her new home in the U.K."
His lips curved faintly.
"Sorry… I couldn't keep my promise."
His eyelids grew heavier.
A strange calm filled him.
"I thought death would be loud… that I'd scream… beg to live…"
His voice faded.
"But it's… quiet."
A pause.
"Death is peaceful."
His vision blurred completely.
The world dissolved into shadows.
And beside him, the streetlight flickered faster and faster, buzzing as if it might explode at any second.
Darkness began swallowing his consciousness.
Then—
Something changed.
A sudden warmth brushed against his frozen skin.
Soft.
Unnatural.
And then—
Footsteps.
Slow.
Elegant.
Too controlled.
Too calm.
Not human.
The footsteps stopped directly in front of him.
Using what little strength remained, Teufel forced his eyes open.
A silhouette stood before him.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
His vision struggled to focus.
The world swam, then slowly sharpened.
A young man stood there. Perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old.
He wore a long black coat that moved slightly with the wind, making his figure look unnatural against the pale light.
His face…
Beautiful.
And terrifying.
His eyes were black.
Yet within them existed two impossible things at once—
Infinite kindness.
And bottomless cruelty.
He extended his hand toward Teufel.
An offer.
Help.
Or something else.
At that exact moment, the flickering streetlight stabilized, casting steady light over them.
The scene became strangely serene.
And deeply unsettling.
Teufel stared at the man, his fading consciousness trying to understand what stood before him.
Only one word surfaced in his mind.
A name that explained everything.
Or nothing.
Lucifer.
Before he could think further, darkness swallowed him.
His body collapsed forward.
And the stranger caught him.
The scene was very Beautiful and Terrifying At the very same time.
Chapter ends
To be continued