A Bond Made in Blood

"But the truth is that if you've made a deal with the devil, it's probably because no one else has offered you more favorable terms."

― M.E. Thomas, Confessions of a Sociopath: A Life Spent Hiding in Plain Sight

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"Such a fascinating thing, don't you agree?"

Silence answered me but I paid it no mind.

"The beauty is hidden within each of us. A wonderful self gifted by the heavens. It would be a shame not to bear witness to it."

This time an answer.

"Quiet."

I paid it no mind.

"Truly, I wish I could see myself. I hope I'm no different. I hope I'm… normal. Yes, normal."

I savor the word. Normal. I secretly hope God created me as someone equal to the rest of mankind. But I knew differently. I knew that I was never destined to be a normal person, at least I knew ever since they came.

"Stay still."

More words are directed towards me. This time I respond.

"Oh alright, I will. I want to see it after all. I want to see what I look like, without all the others. Can you give me this at least? I hope you can give me peace. Can you at least promise me that, friend?"

"I'm not your friend." said the man. His answer was as curt and melancholy as the first, tinged with a feeling of deep personal sorrow that he couldn't quite reveal.

-Snap-

-Snap-

-Snap-

-Click-

Two restraints are latched around my arms and one around my legs. At the same time the specialized handcuffs are removed, not that they mattered anymore.

"Gua~rd."

The other man doesn't look at me.

"Do you think people really continue to function after being beheaded?"

The guard's hand stops moving for a brief time. I guess my question came quite suddenly for his face turned contemplative and pained. Slowly he formulated an answer.

"Well yeah. If blood hasn't left the brain I suppose it is possible to think for a few seconds. But you won't be getting beheaded."

"Ah yes, my bad. Pleading guilty and begging for execution really did me a whole lot. Why couldn't it have been the firing line? I want to feel pain and be myself for once. I want to see who God made me out to be, you know? However, they want to see God's palette of colors, human colors. A fucking masterpiece of red is what they say and he..." Uncharacteristically, I pause, afraid of what may come to be. only a second passed before I dismissed my thoughts as unnecessary.

"Instead, I get the options of lethal dose or the electric chair. How restricting."

"Well, it would-"

"I know, it would be messy. They all say the same. But still, you're all boring."

After my statement, silence permeated the room as the guard mechanically works on the chair I am strapped to. Soon his business is finished.

"Well, any last words?"

"Yes, please. Will you be writing them down?"

"We will be documenting them yes."

"I see. Then I better think carefully."

A tangible silence creeps in like a fog, lending a tangible weight to the already morose atmosphere. Minutes pass before I speak again.

"Do you believe in the Devil's Deal, Mr. Guard? Ludicrous, I know, but it gave me a chance for a new life. A chance to escape from them. I will be eternally grateful."

I nod to the guard as his pen stops. Leaving the room, the guard walks to a computer that is stationed on the other side of a large glass pane. His arm moves down and pain invades my body, a mark begins to glow. The voltage was too high and my blood vessels begin to rupture, causing a crimson liquid to stream from my mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. I saw the sight as my soul was dragged from my mortal body. One word describes what I saw, bliss.

'After this, I wonder if I will need human life to satisfy them again?'

'Will it end? Will they end?'

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1 MONTH PRIOR

'Beautiful, simply beautiful.' One says.

'Do it more.' Another, drowning in immorality speaks trying to leverage additional pleasures from me.

I stay my hands for a second and observe. Of course, I already know this person's cause of death, but I continue to conduct the autopsy for additional peace of mind. The man had died hours before of seemingly unknown causes; however, the causes were jealous ones. Simply put, the man had succumbed to an unnatural case of food poisoning.

I continue to inspect the almost flawless corpse. The condition was pristine: no ruptured vessels, no interrupted system, just a natural human body. Pure, unadulterated bliss coursed through my now-clear mind. A mind high on the temporary relief from madness.

"The cause is cyanide poisoning."

I knew because I was the one who supplied the wife with cyanide. She didn't even suspect me of having to manipulate her emotions to force her to commit murder and, later on, suicide.

I left the room in bliss, satisfied that the nagging had calmed down as the blood appeased my soul. In fact, I became a renowned pathologist for the sake of seeing blood without needing to kill. Of course, this was only a compromise that was rapidly deteriorating as my mentality wore ever thinner.

Sitting down on the bench directly outside of the autopsy room, I pictured the body again.

"I admire your art Dr. Mangelle."

My reverie was interrupted, but something about the words, the simplicity, of his statement, drew my interest enough to look for the source of the voice.

'Art?' Thinking back, the peculiar word made me curious so I decided to at least figure out what the man meant.

"Pardon?"

Opening my eyes, I saw an average man in a business suit. However, upon closer inspection, his eyes captivated my attention. Not for any reason to do with attraction, no. I don't swing that way. His crimson eyes were almost frightening. Deep, cunning, brimming with malice and gazing at everything with disdain. Everything but me. Contrary to my expectations, this mysterious man viewed me with interest. Not as a person, no, but with a gaze that one might level against a new toy after discarding one that has lost all sense of captivation.

"I'm a longtime friend."

"If you were I would remember such a distinct face. Who might you be?"

The man chuckled. A grating noise reverberated inside of my head. My muscles tightened instinctively.

"But you do doctor. I am the devil."

I became even more confused. After all, I often referred to door-to-door salesmen as devils, but none were close friends of mine, nor, to the best of my knowledge, did they ever call themselves devils. I began to open my mouth but the self-proclaimed devil interrupted.

"No, I'm not a salesman. As I said, I am the devil and I admire your beautiful art so I have come with a proposition."

"A proposition?"

"Yes, a proposition. I would like to buy your services."

The devil flicked his finger through the air and a piece of paper materialized in between us. He grabbed the sheaf and handed it to me.

I was shocked and hesitated to receive the piece of paper. However, curiosity overcame caution and I slowly reached my hand up to grab it.

"What's this?"

"A contract, dear doctor."

I inhaled deeply and began to read the neat print on the front of the page.

________________________________

This agreement is made between the Devil, Emperor of the Night, and Dr. Mangelle, blood artist and renowned pathologist. Upon the signing of this contract, the following will be agreed to.

a) Dr. Mangelle will provide a masterpiece to the Devil.

b) The Devil will grant Mangelle a new life within another realm.

Upon completion of the contract, the agreement will be concluded. If the contract is breached, it will be terminated and the offender's soul will belong to the remaining party.

Signed: Lucifer & _________

________________________________

I was confused. Another realm? New life? Soul? Not to mention other confusing terms that I wrote off long ago as religious superstition. Not to mention, the self-proclaimed devil's signature and the lack of any fine print whatsoever worried me to no end.

Noticing my bewilderment, the devil took it upon himself to inform me.

"You see, dear doctor, I admire your work and want you to help develop your art. Of course, the risk of death is high for you, so the contract will reincarnate you into another world upon your untimely demise, whenever that is. Or it will if you uphold your end of the contract."

Looking up, my eyes interlock with the devil's deep crimson ones.

"I know you want to perfect your craft Dr. Mangelle. Just one signature is enough for the assurance of life."

"But this… I already have enough and I think you are misunderstanding something."

"No, you don't and you know it. Animals were difficult and annoying, the living were loud and obnoxious, the law was limiting, long-dead bodies are imperfect and you have to make yourself scarce. With the contract, you can finally have free reign over your art."

The devil's voice continued to rise in excitement, but it seemed to not reach anyone's ears except for mine.

"You can experiment and embellish to your heart's content. You can finally…"

His voice crescendoed then fell to a whisper as he leaned in close to my ear.

"...be you."

Grinning, the devil leaned away and took a step back, waiting for a decision. I signed the page.

________________________________

Signed: Lucifer & Terem Mangelle

________________________________

As the ink pen lifted from the page, the contract burst into flame, the ash of which rapidly coalescing above my right hand. Once stable, the ash fell, imprinting an intricate symbol upon my flesh. It hurt, but the pain was bearable until it vanished shortly after.

I looked up and the man was gone, leaving no trace of our previous meeting other than myself and the gray sigil I now possessed. I then glanced at my hand, looking directly at the sigil once again only to find that the ash had dissipated, only leaving behind a symbol scarring my flesh. A symbol that I soon discovered to be the Sigil of Lucifer.