The Children of Satan

The Children of Satan are the followers of Satan, the infamous fallen angel and favored son of God. One of the first acts of the Undergod was to usurp Satan's position as lord of Hell, consuming the souls of every being trapped there. In this unholy act, Satan was left all but powerless and ousted from his rightful realm. At present, Satan seeks to regain his throne and exact vengeance on the Undergod at all costs, and with the suicide of God, there is little left to oppose him. As there are no longer any demons loyal to him left alive, the dark lord infrequently recruits mortal servants. These Children of Satan pledge their entire existence to restoring the true lord of the Underworld to his seat of power.

The Dark Prince
It is an easy thing to be swallowed by the darkness, to simply let go and let the void consume you. So it was when the Undergod slipped into the world of Man and devoured all that he held for granted. The greatest civilization fell so pathetically to his hatred. Or was it hatred? Perhaps the Undergod was a being of purity, and the filth that Man took as Gaia was in need of cleansing. Indeed it was Lucifer, the misunderstood child that held the monopoly on such tender feelings like hatred. When the Undergod turned its gaze upon Him, the demon children screamed with such horror as he was ravaged by the purifying one for what felt like thousands of years. By the time the Undergod grew bored, the human-things had already gathered the shattered remains of their fallen empire and built a new one, expecting His return. Yet it was Satan himself who kept the Undergod from finishing the task, Lucifer was the one to save humanity from its inevitable destruction with all the power that remained in his violated, used being.

Before the time of the Undergod, turning the little curious child away from his faith was a simplistic endeavor. Murder the mother. Torture the child, yes the child must be tortured. He will hate the world and the fools who inhabit it. Now they must pay, they must have their eyes cut out and their bodies buried in a grave, but they will still live in this grave, for a little while, until they succumb to maggots. Such death did not satisfy the boy, such a wasted potential for vengeance. He will hate himself for years, yes, he will pity himself, perhaps, until a thought occurs.

Perhaps it was only to spite the unwanted child, or he had greater plans in mind. For the first time in ages a new Legion had to be born. The only powers in the mortal lands that remained was that of mankind, and so it would be. All it would take to start an empire of willing slaves would be a single lost boy. It took twenty earthly years to guide this little one to an endarkened state, but for the servicing demon, it had been merely a passing moment. This Glaze, that had previously been like a breeding ground, a pasture of sin that would never cease to supply dark thoughts and power hungry urges, had now become a threatening little problem for the dark forces. They are wicked men, yes, but that satisfaction meant nothing when their minds were so feverishly loyal to another cause..

When climbing the political ladder, one must make friends and enemies. So the friends became close, and the enemies became closer to the end of a dagger. It did not take long for the child to reach into the upper echelons of Glazic society, a member of the High Court for Lord Maximus himself, holding the secrets of the disgusting filth that ruled an Empire. To be present before and after the First Inquisition, to watch a Royal Senate be crushed down into the Small Council only fueled the anger of the Glazic child and others like him even more. When the Undergod came to cleanse, he did not take long to start a following, a brotherhood of forbidden thought. When there was one, now there was a Legion. A schism of sorts occurred in the Glazic ranks, their pathetic imitation of Gaia fell once again as expected. The damage had already been dealt and the Brotherhood of Forbidden Thought ventured far into the Begotten landscape to seek out a home. As if guided by Satan himself, a mighty manor stood tall and glorious, untouched by the tide of the Undergod as if some sadistic force had protected it. It was as if a thousand men had suffered a million deaths in this household, and their screams of tortured agony materialized into exotic fashionable décor. From the Brotherhood formed the Children, a fitting title as the men who followed the order were fully aware that their mortal minds were immature and undeveloped in the Dark ways. When the human eye sees darkness, it only sees the lack of light, and not the true unending abyss that lies beneath it. To reach demonhood one must understand the essence of Fun. A forbidden topic by the Glazic church no doubt, they will never understand what it feels like to strip another man's flesh until they are begging for the release of death. So the Children would have their fun, and they would have their fun indeed, at the expense of their victims. Perhaps a grand masquerade would be announced, the pathetic lonely wanderers below would love for any reason to forget their hardships. Visitors from far and wide would come and none would leave. Thousands upon thousands of tiny little bones were buried around this glorious mansion. Such a display attracted an audience, and from the depths of hell came forth demons. These visitors were weak in the mortal lands, like fish scooped from a salty lake. With enough showers of blood to satisfy their feeble bodies, they grew back their unholy strength over a short time.

A lifetime of spreading dread amongst the scorched lands had earned him the attention of the abyss. Those flesh puppets in the West refused to speak his name, in fear of his cold grip. His very existence was a threat to the men-things that still held arms, that still had power. He did not fear their retaliation, for the Children of Satan were ready to begin the dance of war until none were left to speak against him. He awoke one morning among thousands to don his robe and admire the nearby view of a couple hundred impaled peoples, resting most uncomfortably on their spikes. Growing bored, he turned away from the window to suddenly witness a disembodied head floating before him. This head was pale, with eyes white and mouth agape, whispering words for him to hear. For the first time in a long time, he had felt fear, a fear so crippling, so horrifying. As soon as the angry voices came near, he suddenly awoke to a loud bang coming from outside of the manor. He was back in his own skin, the pale floating face gone, yet the crippling fear remained. A lowly fledgling had informed him that his enemies were upon him, in such a great number they had come for their vengeance. Still they fought, cutting these crusading fools apart one by one, but there were too many. He had his legs cut off with the slashes of Claymores and javelins. With no leader and no nearby demons to save them, the Children of Satan had been defeated. He felt himself dragging from his glorious manor into the muddy battlefield. Putrid men all around him, reeking of shit and blood, screaming their lungs out for his execution. Taking their time they stripped him of flesh, tore off his remaining limbs, emptied his belly and set him alight. They had their moment, they had their victory, but he had already left his body long ago. He was in a darker place now, surrounded by all the tortured souls that he had amassed through his years in the mortal lands. Every single person he had wronged. Was this his fate, his punishment perhaps? Had he strayed too far from the Light, and now he would face eternal judgement? Before he could ponder much further, he heard from them a roaring round of applause. Every tortured face, every murdered victim, all smiling, clapping, cheering his name! Could it be, they delighted in his name for he had been the one to show them the glory of the darkness? His fear was all gone, once again he had felt power in his fingertips, as his duty had been fulfilled. Yet they did not stop cheering, and when he raised his arm to silence them, they only grew louder. Louder and louder still, until this massive audience was now screaming. He begged and begged, but they did not cease. This would be his eternity.

“Doth thou call to the darkness?” spoke the abyss. He answered, pulling his flaming sword from the river of magma. He was a lowly dreadlord, but now he was to be the Dark Prince. The vessel he had used before, his previous identity long forgotten, had failed. There is much to do, as the mortal realm is ever so full of people to murder. He cannot slaughter all of those people alone. It is time for the Dark Prince to form a new legion.