1It began at the beginning, the beginning of time, rather. For God had cast his finest angels into the darkness, and assimilated the rest into the same repetition of eons, continuing as normal, whilst Lucifer, now acquiring the alias of Satan, harbored in the confinement of Tartarus, what modernists refer to as Hell. Here lived the undying dead; here resided the birthing of spirits of evil, and here, and would always, hold the tortured souls of the condemned.
Satan awaited entertainment from the mortal world. He sat, imploring the never-ending scene of his accomplishments. Charring pits of unearthly substances held screaming souls, clawing the nonexistent banks for escape. Despite human imagination, there was no measurement of temperature here. It was neither hot nor cold. Skin steamed and muscles twitched with shuddering all the same in a constant mist of searing discomfort. Souls hung, bound in magical chains, suspended for eternity. There were prowling beasts normal humans would never be able to describe, for their shapes were always shifting to match a mortal's deepest fear.
Screams deafened, if any such estimation such as "deaf" could ever be made here. In this void, there were no exact locations. Satan could oversee it all simultaneously, like a constantly changing mirage, yet he never moved. His own throne had been carved with the finest gems and riches. A harem of succubi, barely covered in their thin fabrics, loomed around his feet, and he accepted their presence with a coy smile, glittering with lust.
He should have been miserable. People and archangels alike considered him trapped. But he could see light, if he wanted. He still had control, in his "positivity". He could snap his fingers, no, not even having to make a gesture, and if he desired, the scene would change from eternal agony to the welcoming warmth of the Overworld.
Here was where fun would truly begin.
Mortals to Satan were the most intricate and amusing creations ever established by Him, the one who cast him down. Unlike the angels, they were not fixated. Of course, Satan himself had once been one, eventually finding his own mind, yes, but this was different. Creating a rebellion of Father's men had been quite the effort compared to how easily the scales tipped on the sinful lands of Earth. They were simply waiting to be influenced. He watched them over the millennia, massacring one another, destroying economies and households and becoming paranoid animals of rage, then the next decade or so, throwing all caution out their minds and churning society into a carefree world of partying and livelihood.
No, they were not like the angels. Not at all.
It was such a curiosity. How could something be so dynamic? He did not comprehend Father's reasoning in forming such an oddity. Then again, what had been left for him to comprehend? He tried to remember. He had no brain, no, his body was not tangible or fleshy like a mortal's, but his being existed in a constant mist-like energy which flowed and shifted. He faintly remembered once feeling full and complete. Concrete. He was aware that once he had understood infinity. He had memories of The Lighted Way and the Heavens... once before. Now, his mist shuddered and flickered painfully every time he attempted to recall these memories, which were literally fragments of himself. His mist was unable to function without the solidity of his other self... he had lost his solidity and become flimsy, without Him.
Apart from perfection, apart from his family, and now apart from true happiness. He would forever wander in the human world, hoping to find a mortal that could refill that feeling he had lost. Such as he did now.
There were billions of mortals in this dimension, and everyday the population inched higher. Satan wondered what He was thinking, letting these people slowly suffer from their own fault.
He observed them all, and they were all amazing to him.
His wandering often brought him to the playing grounds of children. He would sit beside them, effortlessly changing their minute decisions.
Take that while she's distracted.
Just slip it in your bag and no one will even know.
Push him, pull her hair, lie about peeking during hide and seek.
Most would listen.
There was a young mortal who sat among the rest that wouldn't. She was a small, petite thing. Her arms seemed so frail and her torso skinny. Her hair was thin and extremely light in color, almost like a ghostly flame consuming her scalp.
Hey, why are you all alone? They won't let you play? Because-
He could sense her thoughts easily.
Because I don't have hair. My arms and legs are too tiny and weak to play like the rest of them.
Makes you sad, doesn't it?
Hm.
Well?
A little, I suppose.
Do something about it, then. You can.
I know, I can...
It will be fun. To show them how... how you play.
I...
She would give in. She was so easy.
I..
Hm.
No.
Suddenly his essence shuddered again, not focusing, not able to retain awarness. He couldn't exist around here.
It is very painful. But... I have power. Not in my body though. My body is small and weak and I can't play with the other kids.
Then he did something he had never done before. He revealed himself.
What makes you so sure you incompetent mortal? That you can live like this, happy?
She could see him. He saw fear in her eyes.
But all she did was clutch her necklace awkwardly.
How? How?
She got up and walked away. He followed, now infuriated.
She was smiling and laughing. She was around the other children, but they simply ignored her, paying her no mind.
How can you be happy? He screamed so violently he immediately felt drained. He couldn't stay here much longer.
She SMILED and LAUGHED. He felt so angry, so angry.
HOW.
I don't need to tell you. She smiled mockingly at him. She held up her necklace, the sun catching its smooth surface and shining. It took the shape of a cross. Silver.
He retreated. His mist couldn't withstand it. Angry, but... so very amused.
Mortals were so amusing.