Diabolus Adest VIXI

Chapter VII

August 20th, 2016

"Why are you —" I opened the door, and Samael walked inside. My body mechanically closed the door and followed him. He wore a tropical shirt, ridiculous yellow sunglasses, and brown shorts.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

His face was amused. Samael perused around my apartment, from the kitchen to the living room, and as hard as I tried, not a single word left my lip.

"Sit," he said, pointing towards the brown, leather couch while he opened my fridge.

I sat.

"No rum or wine, Domenic? There isn't even a morsel of food to eat here." The door slammed as he came across to me. "You make a poor host."

My forehead was dripping with perspiration. I was frozen and seated upright, my gaze fixed on Samael as he tapped my television screen before turning to face me.

"I'd like to congratulate you on completing your first trial." He clapped his hands slowly as he sat down opposite me and adjusted the shades on his face. "You're one of the last few lost souls to have made it out alive. I can already see the changes taking place in you. Are you ready for tonight?"

I couldn't speak.

Samael cracked a grin. "Did the cat get your tongue? You have the right to speak."

"What the hell are you!? What are you doing here!? This can't be—"

"But everything was, Domenic. The deaths you saw, the heat gripping your face, and the monster's hunting you, it was all real."

His face changed before my eyes. He morphed. Wings, horns, and claws protruded from his skin and grew in proportion to his body. Here before me was the demon—the one who had ripped the woman's arm off.

I jumped back off the couch, grabbing the nearby lamp in my hand. I pulled at it as the wires violently snapped out of the socket. The lamp shook in my hand as I took a grasp of the creature. The door to the outside was on the other side of the room, blocked by this thing.

"Back!" I shouted.

He spoke with a coarse and abrasive tone. "Didn't I tell you? If you died there, you'd be dead forever." Wings flapped, knocking my TV to the ground.

"Those people?" I asked.

"Same as you, they made a choice and paid for it. No matter the method, they ended there."

I tossed the lamp across the room as he came closer. With a wave of his claw, he caught it, resting it down as I struggled my way into the kitchen.

"What was that supposed to do?" He mockingly laughed.

I snatched the largest knife from its holster and hunkered down near the kitchen cabinet.

"Don't you want to hear about your reward?"

"I'm not interested in anything you have to offer. I have a weapon at my disposal. I'm armed with a gun."

"Oh, then why is your voice so jittery?"

"Stay away," I stuttered. My voice died as the following words were only thoughts on blank lips. Help someone, help me!

"Domenic," a soft, syrupy, sweet feminine voice called. "Don't hurt me. Please come here, I just want to cuddle."

My feet got up on their own, and the knife in my hand fell to the floor. Past the counter, I saw it. I recognized this face: Jessica Grant. On my way to work, I had fantasized about her a hundred times seeing her face on the billboard. A short, curvaceous figure stood in the living room; lips painted cherry red with long, lush, black locks cascading over her chest and back. She broke into a smile. There was no demon around, only ruddy, smooth skin, a dangerous red thong, and matching heels gloating at me. I sat like a fool on the brown couch again. Warm, soft cushions against my back as she strutted over to me. She was playfully teasing, knowingly exposing herself without revealing everything.