6 years have passed since the orphanage burned down. 6 years ago I became Tievel. I am strong now, I know who I am. I am no longer a weak 10 year old mortal. I am the son of the Devil. My father has trained me to become a leader- and I will succeed.

 

         “Tievel! Are you ready?” My father forcefully said from the austere throne.

 

         “Yes, father.” I said as I stood in front of him, perfect posture and shoulders back. “I am ready- ready to kill.” I reassured him in a deep voice

 

         “Good. Now go. Oh and Tievel- Do not screw this up.” He instructed firmly. I wasn’t going to be a failure. With those last words I gathered my gear. A dagger my father gave me when I was 11, his 6 shot revolver loaded with silver tipped bullets, and the key to my home.

 

         I made my way into the mortal world, following the path my father and I once walked down together. Father has created the perfect plan to take out The Savior. All the years I spent training, unsure of what I would have to do- what I would have to face. I prepared for the worst. My mind was solid shut after that. Nothing else passed through for it would have been destroyed by the thought of killing The Savior.

 

         I went through the tomb that connected my realm to theirs, casually strolling along throughout the cemetery like my mission was nothing but a figment of my imagination. Not far from the graveyard stood the old stone building that I once called home. Pity it was condemned. Making my way down the hill I was overpowered by the memory of my room. Was it still there? Curiosity was bleaching my mind, and so I entered. The floor was creaky and unstable. Its wallpapering was demolished. I could sense the presence of my childhood.

 

         Up the stairs lied an unfashionably grungy me, awaiting the arrival of my new roommate. I peered through the railings hoping to get a glimpse of that kid. With my shaky legs I stood up. I couldn't grab onto the bars quick enough. I realized that I had fallen down the stairs. I opened my eyes to see a heavy child, whose age was not too far from mine, towering over me. He extended out his chocolate covered hand and helped me up. "My names Chip, as in Chocolate Chip!" I distinctly remembered as he introduced himself in a rusty voice. From that moment on- we were best friends. Oh how I miss him.

 

         I fumbled up stairs and made my way to my room. My safe place. The first thing that drew my attention was the mirror. It was still broken into a hundred pieces on the floor. I stepped through the mess and sat down on my rotting bed. This rock hard feeling wasn't as bad as I remembered. "Fuck." I growled in reminiscence. If only I could return to my innocence- a time where Hell was nothing to me. A time where I didn't have a father.

 

         I stood up to the scorched marks on the wall that charted my height. "My have you grown." I could hear my father's voice in the distance. Only a fabrication of my fears. I noticed my pillow. My wandering mind was captivated by the book that had lied underneath. Opening it up I flipped through the pages. My handwriting has not changed in the least bit. Good thing something is still the same… Gathering up the past, I brought myself to hold on to the book of my childish terrors. This is where I will reside for the time being.