Her scream echoed through the night.
Undulating, thrashing, hoarse and unrestrained. A sound so terrible, it pierced the clouds and parted the gates of heaven. As quickly as the scream began, it ended.
She lay motionless, void of emotion, eyes glassy, a stray tear tracing her skin to her ear, as her body thrashed and jerked at the volition of someone else. A vile and incomprehensible sin, the forceful desecration of a flower yet to bloom.
By some unfortunate happenstance, she blinked her eyes open in the confines of a hospital. Nine months following the night. The night she lost it all, and gained the vermin that grew within her, the culmination of the heinous crime committed against her, and she thrashed once again, this time of her own desire, aiming arms backwards and bringing them down on herself, craving release from the captivity of life, craving the end of the horror within her.
A priest had come in at the time, a Catholic man, who laid hands on her and prayed, telling her those cruel words; he exclaimed at her displeasure that "Conception was a gift from God." From that very utterance, she began to hate the notion of a creator with such might that it consumed her, and as she screamed in pain once more and pushed her child out, her mind was already made up.
"Lucifer."
The nurse holding the baby shuddered, the steady beam of light flickered out and went dim, the onslaught from the wind picked up and distributed its rage against the building's wall, and a torrential rain pierced the night sky, thunder violated the silence, but it was done, and the rage of the Lord was only able to plague the building, not the heart of the mother that had already turned agaisnt the light, and embraced the darkness.
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- 20 Years Later-
2005 - England - St Raphael's Roman Catholic Church- Greenford (London).
"Therefore, Father, through Jesus Christ your Son, give your Holy Spirit to Lucifer; fill him with grace and power, and make him a priest in your Church. The Father anointed our Lord Jesus Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit. May Jesus preserve you to sanctify the Christian people and to offer sacrifice to God. Receive this book as a sign of the authority given to you this day to preach the gospel of Christ and to minister his holy sacraments... and in the case of this young man... my lord grant him the ability to channel through his faith, the omnipotence flowing through you to vanquish from this world, the works of the devil... we pray that in his life, he will strive to be, a warrior of the light."
Lucifer took the Bible from the Bishop's hand, kissed the bishop's ring and stepped back, anointed a priest. The irony was not lost on him.
"Father Lucifer."
His unkempt and uncut black hair flowed past the collar that now symbolised his priesthood. Between the strands of hair, like a cave covered by weeds, a face was visible, unnaturally pale, yet strikingly sculpted in a way that would compel one to think he was of good genetic stock, a jaw that was firmly set, slight stubble creeping up his cheek, and around his mouth and chin. Pupils as dark as night were set amongst an undisturbed pond of milk that was his eyes. He wore a dark cloak that fell to the top of his loafers; the suit of a priest lay ironed and fresh under the drape. His posture was ever rigid and tall, coexisting oddly with his unkempt look, a cross between a wild man and a rich heir. No one knew him as anything but Lucifer. That's all his mother had left with him. A first name no one could love.
He watched fascinated, slightly, by the shows of affection from the other candidate's family and parents as they celebrated their children's priesthood. Lucifer had no such longing, and even if he did, that part of him was buried long ago with his mother's corpse. Still, seeing the elaborate smiles and joyous exultations of his fellow candidates' families brought a pang of something unknown into his heart.
But as he always did, he reminded himself that he was not like them; they would live to an absurd age, preaching and evangelising... but he was the kind that could die the very next day. Lucifer was an exorcist of the church. Trained under the ruins in the Vatican by the greatest exorcists to ever kneel before God. Six years of conquering darkness had led him to this moment... where he would become, despite being born unclean-
The Hound of God.
Without further contemplation, he tucked his new consecrated Bible within his deep coat pockets before leaving the church. In the parking lot was his vehicle, a church-issued Rover 75, black in colour, the windows also completely opaque from the outside. No other newly ordained priest was given such a thing; he entered the vehicle that he had spent hours obsessively cleaning, every inch was spotless, every seat, despite being slightly ripped and old were clean, the leather piercing the air alongside the faint scent of incense. In the cigarette lighting area, there was a replenishable fire-place-like contraption that continuously burned incense. The interior of the car was separated between front and back by bars consecrated with holy water, which served like a police cruiser.
He pulled out onto the street and began what would be a long journey; his stop would be in a forgotten city, full of either morbidly obese people or crackheads, and the ordinary people in between, a place riddled with the devil's influence, where demons corrupted souls in broad daylight.
Stoke on Trent.