In the deepest reaches of darkness, pain engulfed him like a second skin. Searing, relentless pain. Gashes covered his body so much that he was lucky to have lived. There was also the deep hole where the silver bullet had struck him in the stomach, its touch causing an immense burning pain, not like the rest. If he had any strength left, he would have writhed in agony. But his life was flowing out of him like the blood from his many wounds.

“Had enough or shall I enjoy your pain even longer?” asked his assailant. Blood, sweat and hair obscured his vision, but he could easily sense the malicious grin fixed on his face; eyes alight with gleeful malice.

He saved this man the pleasure of hearing him speak, the hoarse splutter that would creep out of his lips, indicating the power he had over him.

“What, your tongue gone, scum?” the man laughed, relishing his victory.

“I’m... not done... yet,” he spluttered hoarsely, blood rises in his throat as he spoke.

“Oh, but you are,” the man says in a matter-of-fact voice. When the words escaped his lips, he instantly regretted ever speaking, "but I could end it quickly. Do you want me to shoot you in the head right now, or slit your throat?"

He actually sounded serious and sympathetic. His offer danced inside his mind, tempting and taunting him. The urge to accept tore at him like the knife that had caused these wounds had done. But to accept would be to surrender, to give in. He had been taught by his mentors never to give in, that there was always a way.

"No..."

He inched his head to the side a little and a strand of hair that had laid over his eye moved away. He saw the shock on the man's face. He bent down over him, eyes fixed together, inches apart.

"Then be prepared for more agony." The knife whipped up and stabbed into his eye. He screamed in pain, arm actually attempting to move up to pull the knife out. But it was too late. His left eye had been cut out, causing a gaping hole. Blood flowed out of it and tears at the other. Never give up, they had taught him, there is always a way. But there was no way out of this.

***

A knocking sounded far off in my head. I realised my eyes were closed and they were slowly opening, sunshine creeping in from the window. I turned over to the source of the knocking and realised it was the Maid knocking on the door.

"Come in," I called, surprised at how hoarse my voice was. The Maid entered a second later. Her gaunt face showed concern and sympathy.

"Master Lucifer? Are you alright?" she asked, looking a little flustered.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" I asked, bemused.

"Well, I heard you screaming and writhing in your bed, but the door was locked so I couldn't enter to wake you. Are you sure you're alright? Everyone in the house was awoken at your screams."

"Yes, thank you, Miss Drewery." She nodded and proceeded in cleaning my room. It was then that I realised the bed sheets underneath me and my pajamas and skin were almost soaked in sweat. I drew the bed covers up to my chin and pretended to be falling asleep again.

When Miss Drewery had left, I threw back the covers and pulled my clothes off hastily. I tossed them into the wash basket as if they were poisonous spiders and hurried into the shower.

The water was perfect, washing off the sweat and impurities, as my mother called them, from my body. I then remembered that in a few days we would be moving from this house and to a place called Black Mansion. I had seldom visited it, even looked at it really. On my rare visits I wasn't too impressed. The house was much larger than this one, but it was old and creaky, like those haunted houses you see in horror films and read about in books.

It was the forest around it that interested me, however. It was vast and the trees towered over you almost like they were watching you. It was also dark and creepy, like the house it almost surrounded, but much more exciting. I often imagined being an adventurer and exploring its deep recesses, the things I may discover and the animals I may see.

It was long after that I realised my skin was all crinkly from the water soaking into me. It was a relief that I had already washed my hair and body. I got out quickly and dried myself with one of the towels lined out on one of the racks that flanked the shower.

After myself the upper half of my body, I wrapped the towel around my waist and proceeded to the sink at the opposite side of the room. It was then that I noticed one of my father's shavers on the floor. I carelessly picked it up, and cut myself on the sharp blades. I hissed in pain and looked at the cut. A bead of blood trickled down from it.

Then, images flashed in my head. A heavily wounded man lying on the floor, another one with a blooded knife and gun standing over him, laughing. The wounded man's eye being cut out, his screams of agony and his pathetic writhes. I clutched my head, trying to stop the flood of images. It felt like my mind was on fire from the wave of images tumbling into it. I screamed, my voice resonating through the house. I commanded it to do so rather than heard it.

After long seconds of screaming, my head finally cleared and I realised what had happened. I fell to my knees, sensing rather than feeling the new coat of sweat covering my body. Footsteps came heavily up the stairs and headed toward my room. Frantic knocking sounded on the door and was followed almost instantly later by the sound of it bursting open.

Miss Drewery and Mister Hart ran into the bathroom, the latter holding a large kitchen knife in his hand. When they saw that I was the only one in the room, they relaxed and Miss Drewery knelt down beside me and put her arm round me, whilst Mister Hart checked around the room to confirm whether there was any threat.