The Morning Star - Chapter 1

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The Morning Star

by Jilly

Libraries: Gothic, One Shots, Original Fiction

Published on / 1 Chapter(s) / 2 Review(s)

Updated on

This is a one shot about one of my newer characters named Hart. On a rainy night a burglar breaks in to the house of Hart ( and his older brother. Trusting Hart to protect the house while hunting down the burglar, Francis Hart's brother gives, him a shot gun. Hart does something that is unimaginable and wants to do anything to take it back. Even selling his soul to the devil but at a high price. Oh and before Satan turned evil his nickname was the morning star cause he was the number one angel in heaven. Hence the title.

The Morning Star
* Keep in mind that Hart and Francis are both french. So naturally there are going to be french phrases and words.
Frere: Brother, Petit frere: Little brother, Merci: please, Qui: yes. And all the other's explain themselves in the story.


The Morning Star





It was raining that night, I remember it well. To well. An intruder had cut the power. Francis, my dear brother, he rushed down the stairs and I followed close behind. I was only ten and he twenty. The saint raised me and taught me well. I adored him. A loud clamor in the kitchen rang the intruder's presence in the house.


“Hart, go upstairs and wait for me qui?” He said.


“ Qui, frere.” I replied and obeyed him. There was a violent struggle. Glass shattered and I could hear Francis fighting with the intruder. Lightning lit up our small house and thunder crashed. The crack of the wooden table breaking filled my ears and made me flinch. Some one had been slammed into it. I waited and there was silence. My hands trembled in fear as I gazed from the top of the stairs. Then there I saw a dark silhouette move from the kitchen to the living room closet. I shuffled back fearing it was the intruder.


“Petit frere.” Francis' voice. I rushed downstairs to meet him. The electric light lit up the sky again and a dark figure ran passed the living room window.


“There's someone outside.” I whispered to him.


“ I know. He escaped through the kitchen window. I bet he's probably looking for another way in,” He knelt down to my height and handed me the shotgun from our closet, “Listen to me Hart. I'm going outside to stop him, and whatever you do if he gets in I want you to shoot him. I don't want him hurting you petit frere.” He trusted me with an instrument of death. He counted on me to keep our house safe and I didn't want to let him down.


I sat in the doorway of the closet aiming the shotgun. My whole body shook violently in fear and anticipation. I could hear the faint voices of my brother and the intruder outside struggling. It was very possibly a half an hour before I saw movement. The pitch black distorted my view and once the lighting came it showed a dark shadow moving towards me from the kitchen limping. I scuttled back into the closet raising the shotgun. My stomach tightened as my body convulsed with immense fear. The figure held out its hand almost as if going to grab me.


“S-stay back!” I shouted,


“Hart it's…” My finger pulled before I realized it was his voice. Francis. The sound of thunder…but not the storm no it was the gun. Blood sprayed and spattered over the furniture and walls. The pellets of the shotgun destroyed his chest cavity. He stumbled back and fell against the couch and slid to the floor. My heart pounded rapidly and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of my cheek. My hands trembled still as I crawled cautiously from the closet.


“Francis…” I dropped the gun and went to his side, “Frere.” I saw his bleeding body as the haunting light of the lightning revealed him. My lungs wrenched immediately. I couldn't breathe. Then the tears came. I screamed my pain through out the house. I looked down at my hands and found them crimson with Francis' blood. I clasped on to his hands and begged for his return, begged for his forgiveness. What else could I do? “Just…let me speak to you one more time. I didn't know it was you frere I didn't know.” I whimpered and pressed my forehead to his shoulder.


The smell of sulfur and smoked filled my sinuses. A voice spoke to me. A Low, malignant, malevolent voice.


“ I could have that arranged.” It said I turned quickly and faced the voice. And I saw him. Black wings that smoldered with dull red embers. Flakes of burnt feathers floated off as ash. He was dressed simply and his dark eyes shown only maliciousness. His hair was moderately long ear length and dark.


“ Qui etes-vous!” I shouted and scooted close to my brother's body.


“ Who am I? Oh do forgive my sudden intrusion merci. I apologize. Mon nom est, Lucifer.” Lucifer! The devil in the flesh!


“Monstre mauvais!” I yelled and swallowed in fear.


“Evil monster! You're calling me an evil monster!” His wings flared with fire and the house trembled, “ I AM THE MORNING STAR!!” he roared and I broke down in complete terror. There was so much confusion running through my mind. It was a lot for a ten year old to handle. I had just killed my brother, my very own flesh and blood. And here was the Prince of Darkness in my living room. The Devil for Christ's sake! I was sure that I'd lost my mind.


“ Dear boy,” I felt a hand on my shoulder as his voice calmed, “ I understand your pain. I can help you.”


“You…you can help me?”


“Yes, I can let you talk to your brother for the rest of your life. But of course it will cost you.”


“Anything! I want to talk to Francis again! Merci merci! Please!” I begged. How stupid and ignorant I was then. His face distorted with a smirk as he stuck out his hand.


“Come in to my office.” I took his hand and the moment my mortal hands touched his immortal hands the house disassembled. I saw every wooden plank spiraling around me. Every shingle and every piece of tile. The ground left me though I was standing perfectly stable as if there was a ground. The air turned hot and burnt my throat as I watched my surroundings swirl in to a red crackling burning place. I felt the cries of pain and aguish deep down in to my stomach as it tightened in to knots. He walked across a forming path as each stone quickly floated in front of his feet. I followed Lucifer across the narrow stone path. And below was a river of fire. Lava. I saw people writhing in pain reaching upwards for my help. The very sound of their wailing sent shivers up and down my spine. I would come to know Hell very well after this. I visit it often.


“Don't mind them. They've been belly aching for millenniums.” He said to me. We stopped on a large stony platform. “Have a seat boy.” He waved his hand and a rocky chair rose itself from the steaming ground. I sat cautiously as four walls and a ceiling formed around us drowning out the cries of the damned. Lucifer too took a seat in a sort of stony throne. “Now, Hart we can both agree what you've done is a sin in the eyes of…well you know who,” He pointed up with an agitated look on his face, “ They say any sin is forgivable but you and I know that is not true. Murder can never be forgiven.” I looked down and shame and wanted to cry again. “Now, now don't get to down hearted. There's a simple solution.”


“What's that?” I asked quietly


“Sell me your soul.”


“My soul?”



“Yes, my boy that's all. Just give me your soul. And you can talk to your brother all you want.”


“But…doesn't that mean that I'll die?”


“No, no you're thinking of your life. Your heartbeat. I don't want that. I want your soul. The place of conscience, the thing that makes you YOU, The thing that makes you essentially human, the thing that fills that shell of a body with character, the thing that arouses the train of free will. That's what I want.”


“But that means...that means that I'd have to work for you.” I said. I was smart enough to figure that out but not smart enough to reject it? Lucifer shrugged and made a steeple of his fingers in front of his face. He turned backwards in his throne and stared out the massive window behind him into his burning kingdom.


“Small price to pay if you want to talk to your brother again I think.” He replied with a matter-of-fact voice.


“But you don't have the power to do that. Francis isn't in Hell he can't be.” I countered.


“On the contrary boy. Remember that intruder that broke into your house? Well your brother killed him. Murdered him.”


“To protect me!”


“Murder is murder boy. For good intentions or bad. You kill another person you are condemned.” He stuck out his hand and drew a circle in the air with his index finger. A ring of smoke followed his finger and in the middle I saw Francis. He was in that river of lava. Hurting, burning, and crying aloud for help. His skin was rittled with burns. Bleeding from his ears, eyes blood red with busted vessels. My throat tightened at the image and my hands started to shake again. I covered my face and breathed in deep gulps of the hot air trying not to break down again. His voice got louder. I could hear his horrible cries. It tore me up.


“Pas plus…” I said with a quivering voice. The sound grew louder and louder as I clutched on to my head and gripped my hair. The sound of him in pain tortured me.


“ No more? Need I remind you Hart that you were the one who sent him here. And you don't want to face the responsibility of your actions? If you hadn't had shot him brutally he would not be suffering like this now. He wouldn't be stuck down there with all those pitiful others, he would not be bleeding or burning or hurting or wailing or…”


“Fine!” I yelled guilt racked. He waved his hand and the image floated away in a wispy smoke trail.


“I'm glad you agree. Now all I need is your signature.” He said spinning back around to face me. I looked down at the black marble desk in front of me and picked up a black ivory quill pen. He just chuckled at me and shook his head. “No, no boy. I need your blood to seal the deal.” He said with a malicious smile. I looked down at my finger and stuck my finger with the quill and held out my bleeding index finger as a red bead accumulated on the tip. “I'm going to need much more than that.” He pointed at me and drew a vertical line in the air. For a moment there was silence as an evil smile grew on his face. I didn't know what he was doing.


Then I felt it. Intense pain in my stomach. Blood seeped through my shirt as I stood panicking. I lifted it and saw a massive vertical cut running down my stomach. Lucifer twirled his finger in the air and the cut started to peel open. I covered it with my hands and cried in pain. He twirled his finger again and my skin peeled back even more like an orange. It curled off my stomach and ran around my back taking my muscle with it exposing my organs. The pain was unimaginable it spread through out my whole body. From the tips of my hair to my toes. Blood splashed on the floor as my skin and muscle was ripped off of my stomach. It rolled itself up like a rug and was stuffed into a jar that disappeared into the rocky floor. Three leather belts floated from behind his throne and flew towards me wrapping tightly around my exposed intestines and clicked together forever substituting for my skin. I fell to my knees clutching my ravaged stomach. I cried, as the pain was never ending. It was like millions of red-hot pokers inside my body.


“I think that should be a sufficient amount of blood don't you think?” Lucifer said with an amused voice. I only whimpered horrible in response. “Oh what the hell. Take his hand too.”


“No…” I said weakly and looked up. It was to late. A rusted ax spiraled in from outside and crashed through the window. I shuffled backwards against the wall leaving a trail of blood. I slammed on the wall hoping that it would retreat back into the hot ground but no…solid as stone. The metal had cleaved through my wrist. Broke through the bone severed through my veins, and burned through my carpel tunnels. My young hand fell to the floor in a bloody mess and twitched slightly. It took a minute for me to realize the fact that my hand had been chopped off. I stared at the bloody stump with my mouth agape before finally letting out a pain filled cry.


“Oh please do tone down the dramatics. It's only your hand. Look this is just as good.” Lucifer handed me a single black leather glove.


“Y-you…have a sick sense of humor.” My voice quivered as tears poured from my eyes. He only rolled his eyes at me and took my arm aggressively causing pain to shoot through it. He slipped the glove over my bloody wrist and instantly I could move the fingers and make a fist. It was as if my hand had never been chopped off. . “But why do this? It doesn't make any sense.” I said with confusion in my voice. I watched him pick up the ax and my severed hand. He turned his back to me and fiddled with them.


“ A weapon. Hell forged. You'll need it to do my bidding now that you belong to me,” He turned and showed me the ax. My hand was placed on one of the flat sides as if it had been welded there. Blood trickled down the wooden handle as he wrapped it up with bandage, “ I took your hand to make sure you remember just who it is that you're tied to. And don't forget it.” He threw the rusted ax down in front of me and I picked it up reluctantly. My whole body was racked in pain and it was at that moment that I knew that my life was no longer my own. And I immediately regretted my decision.


I trembled in agony as I watched Lucifer take his seat again and stare out at his kingdom. His smoldering wings spread out obstructing my view from the window.


“I'm done with you for now. Leave.” He flapped his massive wings. Ash, smoke, and embers filled the room and my eyes burned and closed.


Cool again. There was no heat. No more painful wailing from the lava river, but there was still pain. All over there was pain. I opened my eyes and found myself in my bed. The leather belts had stopped most of the bleeding but did not stop the immense sting. My phantom glove was still fastened on my stump of a wrist. And on my nightstand was the ax that held my hand hostage. I sat on the edge of my bed, as it was a gray gloomy morning. Blood soaked my sheets and I set my feet to the floor. If I had all these new “adjustments” to my body than that meant Lucifer had held his end of the bargain. Francis would be alive! I ran downstairs excitement filling every inch of me drowning out my pains. The sight of my brother would make my trip to Hell and my torn up body worth the while. Though I only saw his dead body and the shotgun that I killed him with lying there with him.


“What is this?” I whispered in disbelief. “You lied to me! You LIED!” I screamed into the air. I sat hopelessly on the last step and sobbed


“Frere? Petit frere is that you? Why can't I see you?” I heard his voice but his lips didn't move.


“Francis? But you're…you're dead how can you…”


“Dead?” He said in shock.


“I…I shot you.” I said ashamed and went to his dead body.


“I don't remember anything…” Just then I realized where his voice was coming from. I picked up the shotgun and stared at it.


“Frere?” I whispered.


“Hart I-I don't remember anything. And I can't see…I can't feel my body.” The gun replied to me. Indeed Lucifer had held up his end of the bargain. He had let me talk to him again…just talk. His voice was very much alive but Francis wasn't. That wasn't what I wanted. I was cheated.


“Francis, I need to tell you something.” Sixteen years have passed since that day. The day I sold my soul. I'm tired… killing will do that to a person. I've murdered so many. Torn people to pieces, ripped families apart, brought judgment to those who didn't need to be judged. I am the face of evil on this planet. I am the one who speaks with the devil and I am the one who delivers his messages. But I don't want to be evil. I never wanted this. With my Hell blade in one hand and the voice of my brother in the other I wreak havoc on this place. All in the name of Lucifer: The Morning Star.





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