hh_mirror

((Backdated to Christmas Eve.))

Damien stood in front of a tree erected in the Great Hall, lost in thought. Christmas had come once again. He took in the festive bows and decorations adorning the tree. Each one felt like a knife in his stomach, a visible reminder of how much he had to do, and how little he had done. Unable to keep his rage and disgust to himself, Damien began to speak.

"Nazarene," he said. "Over two thousand years ago you spewed forth from the gaping wound of your mother. For two millennia you've brainwashed these pitiful, weak-minded mortals. They've swallowed your drivel of salvation and eternal life, lapping up your pity like dogs. You even convinced them to turn away from their old religions, teaching them to claim their pagan traditions in your name.

And for what? To spend their days slowly choking to death under the restrictions of your laws, only to find themselves in the prison of unending monotony in your eternal kingdom? To never know the true glory of pain, the purity of sin, and the ecstacy of evil?

Now, after all this time, you've dared to show your face again. I swear to you, Nazarene. I swear to you, that I will end your reign over their immortal souls. In the end, Hell will be the victor, Nazarene. It is only a matter of time."