The Way, the Truth, and...(Lesson)

The duo fell into the grey room once more, their Creator standing before them. He was different, though. Instead of the Fallen Angel they had first seen, there stood a much darker figure. He looked much like Dunkleflemme, except that his skin was red and his wings were feathered and black. He was also enshrouded in black shadow from the waist down, giving him the appearance of having no legs. The only things that remained of his true form were his eyes, which were strangely human and ever-changing.

"Welcome back. I trust all went well?" Lucifer asked, masking his amusement with polite discourse.

"Wonderful," Otiena said, sarcasm very evident.

Dunkleflemme rolled his eyes.

"Aw...surely things weren't that bad? Did you not kill Kesar Dumah?"

"He is dead," Dunkleflemme said.

"Then what is wrong?"

The two demons looked at each other, but remained silent.

"See? Nothing. Shall we get started then?"

"Start what?" Dunkleflemme asked.

"Training!"

The two demons looked at each other with apprehension before turning up their noses to each other and nodding to Lucifer.

Lucifer led the way out of the gray room and into a large, barren field that seemed to stretch forever in all directions. The ground was red and the sky, if it could even be called a sky, was a rather dull gray that bordered on being brown. There was nothing else there except for the Creator and his new children.

"So let us begin," Lucifer said with a grin, "Otiena, you are to practice your Illusions. You may do whatever you wish. This field is your canvas."

The two demons looked at Lucifer bemusedly, neither one knowing what a canvas was.

"You'll find out later," he said without falter, "Now Dunkleflemme...you and I will spar."

Three weapons appeared before them, almost as if they had always been there: the sickle sword Dunkleflemme had used on Kesar Dumah, burning bright blue as if nothing of the sort had ever taken place, a foot soldier's warhammer from a time that was yet to take place, and a rather large broadsword, four feet from hilt to point, that could take the smaller sickle-sword's place, should Dunkleflemme so choose.

"You may choose," Lucifer said, gesturing to the weapons.

Dunkleflemme looked over the weapons as if disgusted, but finally chose the warhammer, since it was the least like the sickle-sword. He picked it up by the blunt part of the hammer and held it to the side of him out to indicate his choice.

"Very well," Lucifer said, waving the other weapons out of existence and grabbing another warhammer seemingly from mid-air.

Lucifer gripped the handle of the warhammer with both hands about two thirds of the way away from the hammer and waited for Dunkleflemme to do the same. He reluctantly followed suit.

"The warhammer is a very simple but very effective means of bashing in your enemy with few blows. It requires very little finesse if it is the only weapon you wield, but it will often be coupled with long-range weapons such as bows and arrows when used in battle."

He flew at Dunkleflemme with the warhammer and embedded it into the area between his left shoulder and collar bone. Dunkleflemme fell to his knees, taken back by his Creator's act of violence. Lucifer quickly disengaged the weapon from his shoulder, bringing with it Dunkleflemme's collar bone.

"Your turn."

Dunkleflemme looked at him as if he was insane. The pain...was excruciating, but it was also subsiding. Dunkleflemme looked down and watched as the wound healed itself at an insane pace, missing collar bone and all. He got up, burning with anger, and flew at Lucifer, holding the warhammer above his head awkwardly with one hand which only rested a fourth of the way away from the hammer. Lucifer quickly blocked this attack, bringing his own weapon down the back of the shaft and nearly severing the wrist with the force of his blow. Dunkleflemme dropped his weapon.

"Anger will only beget pain, Dunkleflemme. This isn't personal- death never is."

Lucifer used the blunt part of the warhammer to knock Dunkleflemme away from him.

"Don't concentrate on how you feel, concentrate on your opponent."

Dunkleflemme got up and watched his wrist reattach itself to his arm with curiosity, not even realizing the bruise from being knocked about six feet through the air was slowly melting back into his skin. The nerves buzzed with pain as they reached out to each other from the void and veins aimed the blood into the veins that remained in the mangled hand, surprising little actually escaping to the red ground beneath him. Dunkleflemme held the hand closer, ignoring the pain. The muscles and skin that generally held the appendage to the rest of the body did the rest, stretching over and consuming the broken hand until it was whole once more. The bones in the wrist snapped into place with a loud cracking noise, completing the restoration.

Otiena had been obediently practicing her Illusions as she was told at first. Creating scenes of Gomorrah that she had seen as well as recreating many different events from the marked one's life, watching with interest as the sad life flashed before her. He was, by trade, a mercenary of sorts. He would kill whoever those who could afford it asked. He had killed husbands of beautiful wives, competing clergy and city officials, and family heirs without so much as a shudder of remorse. He had even begun to like killing, justifying it as his calling and his right to kill those unworthy to live. He took this calling to an extreme, killing not only who he was hired to kill, but oftentimes those who had hired him- after he was paid, first, of course. He then moved this addiction to the brothels, finding extreme pleasure and satisfaction from taking the lives of such detestable whores- after he had his way with them, of course. He had even begun to kill random plebeians, and had begun to think of himself as a worldly embodiment of a god. Did not the gods kill indiscriminately, after all?

Eventually, the monotony of the marked one's bloody life bored Otiena, so she turned and watched the sparring with a smug satisfaction as Dunkleflemme was sent flying through the gray-brown sky.

"Otiena? Back to your own devices, I will be along to train you shortly," Lucifer scolded, blocking another attempted blow by Dunkleflemme without so much as a second glance.

"Better!" he assured him as he knocked him away again.

Otiena frowned, but continued to play with shadows and lights, choosing to indulge in more abstract creations for a bit.

Dunkleflemme leapt up from the ground almost as soon as he hit it and took to the air. Lucifer merely watched with a slight smile to see what he would do.

Dunkleflemme flew high into the dismal sky and dove towards his opponent, warhammer high above his head. Lucifer turned to face him as he dove, his own identical weapon raised defensively. Dunkleflemme seemed to aim the weapon at Lucifer's head, but at the last moment, cut the warhammer to the side much like the way he had jack-knifed the sickle-sword into Kesar Dumah and rolled through the air so that the claw of the hammer would bury itself into his opponent's spine. Lucifer's grin broadened at the use of tactics instead of brute force and decided to indulge Dunkleflemme. The claw hit its mark. Dunkleflemme rolled, using his momentum to pry the weapon out of his Creator's back as he did.

"Much better!" Lucifer said, unperturbed by the gaping hole in his back. There was neither blood nor bone exposed; only a strange black liquid that oozed slowly from the wound.

Otiena frowned as Dunkleflemme landed his blow.

He let him do that, she thought with dismay.

She crossed her arms and pouted, quitting her light show for a moment. A small smile crossed her lips as she came up with a way to increase the difficulty of Dunkleflemme's endeavors. She created several Illusions of their Creator to confuse Dunkleflemme. They were fuzzy and easily distinguished from the real thing at first, but as she concentrated, her works began to become more real and practically indistinguishable from Lucifer.

Lucifer laughed at this turn in events, and all of his other forms laughed along with him.

"Quite a predicament," he and his copies said.

They raised their weapons at Dunkleflemme.

"Shall we?"

The figures rushed at Dunkleflemme with their warhammers raised. They hit him at the same time, but only one connected. Dunkleflemme staggered, unable to decipher where the blow had come from. He got up and braced for another attack, resolving to watch to see who lands a solid blow.

The first, second, and third figure flew through him. The fourth, however, connected the blunt end of the warhammer squarely with his jaw, snapping his neck and nearly knocking his head off. Dunkleflemme's vision blurred and he lost track of his target. He waited impatiently as his head slowly healed itself. He jumped up, and searched the spectres for some telling clue as to who the real one was. One flickered, and he turned his attention from it, but that still left five others. They rushed at him again, and he swung the claw of his warhammer in an arc at the advancing line. It went through the two figures at either end, leaving only three more to worry about. They raised their warhammers over their heads and swung into Dunkleflemme again. Dunkleflemme was ready, however, and jumped back, flaring his wings to get extra distance. The claws missed, and the middle claw struck the ground, digging into its soft, red substance. Dunkleflemme took this opportunity and rushed at Lucifer, swinging the claw of the warhammer straight into his Creator's side. The blade hit its mark, and buried itself into his flesh, bringing forth the same black liquid that had issued forth with his first blow. Lucifer's side was a torn mess, but quickly imploded into itself and healed.

"Very good! Excellent!"

A small smile turned up the corners of Dunkleflemme mouth ever-so-slightly with this bit of praise.

Otiena frowned.

Alright, then.

Otiena focused even harder on her Illusions and prepared to add a little kick to her smoke and shadows.

Dunkleflemme smiled and raised his warhammer with confidence, able to focus on the true Lucifer. Lucifer and the Illusions rushed at Dunkleflemme while he waited for the figures to blow through him, tensing his muscles in preparation to leap over the real Lucifer.

What a surprise it must have been, then, when one of the Illusions sent him flying through the air. He landed, face first, in front of Otiena who was all but rolling on the ground with laughter. He leapt up, his eyes bright as white-hot fire.

"You will regret that, wench," he said, his face and tone rather cool for such heated words.

"Oh, really? How's that?" Otiena asked, still laughing.

Dunkleflemme clenched his fist into a ball.

"You will see."

Lucifer considered interfering, but thought it best to let this play out. Why pass up on an opportunity for one or both of them to learn a new skill on their own? He simply stood back with the Illusions that were waning with Otiena's lack of concentration and smiled to himself.

Dunkleflemme's hand began to burn bright blue as the jewel in his forehead lit up once more. He unclenched his fist and smiled with satisfaction as a flame of his own creation burned just above his open palm. He looked at Otiena, who was no longer smiling, and smirked at her no longer confident expression. He held out the flame to her, but just as she reached to touch it, the flame grew and engulfed her, burning her entire body. Otiena screamed with pain.

Lucifer walked over to the two quarrelling demons and gently placed a hand on Dunkleflemme's shoulder.

"Enough," he commanded quietly.

Dunkleflemme looked at his creator and extinguished the flame, making no pretense about relishing Otiena's pain. Otiena fell to her knees as the flame subsided, whimpering and clutching her sides, unsure of what hurt the most.

"See?" Dunkleflemme asked, mockery made evident when he turned before she could acknowledge his remark.

He looked at Lucifer, and then to his forgotten weapon.

"I won't use that weapon or any other ever again."

"Why not?"

"Because they are beneath me and a waste of my time."

Lucifer smiled at his creation's arrogance, but yielded nevertheless.

"Very well. We will only train with your inherent abilities from now on."

He turned to Otiena, "As you can see, you are not meant to fight...or pick a fight for that matter. You are to use a much subtler art to get what you want. The Illusions, however, are getting much better very quickly. I am very happy with both of you."

Otiena got up, shocked that he would let such an exchange between them take place.

"I think we are done for the day."

The field disappeared, revealing the true Hell in which they resided.

"You are free to roam where you choose."

"I would prefer to train," Dunkleflemme said, echoing Otiena's desire as well, though he did not know it.

"I thought you wanted to explore your home, Dunkleflemme," Otiena said sweetly for spite.

"This is more important...to me, anyway."

"How sad that you must be all work and no play," Otiena mocked as she began to walk down an obsidian-inlaid path that had appeared before them.

That creature is incorrigible, Dunkleflemme thought.

"I heard that!" she called back to Dunkleflemme.

"Don't read my thoughts!" he called back, also starting down the path.

"Well, if you wouldn't-"

"-think so hard? I got the first two times, Otiena."

Otiena huffed, and ran out far ahead of Dunkleflemme, hoping to quit his company as soon as possible. Dunkleflemme, no more fond of her, kept his pace.

The part of Hell they set out to explore was rather tranquil, all things considered. There were sparse, dead trees and yellowed grass all under a dreary, cloudy sky. Even with the clouds, the sky seemed darker than normal. Rain drizzled miserably across the gloomy landscape, heavy enough to be a nuisance, but too light to be invigorating. It was humid, and yet the rain itself was painfully cold. The mud puddles that dotted that and sloshed across the yellowed grass were brown and murky, reflecting nothing but their own filth. It seemed that everything about this place induced depression.

People from all walks of life and ethnicity shuffled across the wet landscape, shivering in clothes that were drenched and obviously not made for this type of weather. They all looked at the ground, heads bent as if in thought. However, upon further inspection, it was plain by the glaze over their eyes that they were not thinking of anything except their soggy trudging and their pitiful shivering.

Otiena leapt into the rain, splashing the murky water into her smoke-robe and onto her bare skin. She didn't seem to mind, though, as she danced wildly about, humming a song from the marked one's past. It was rather vulgar, but fast-paced and jolly, nevertheless. She whirled and twisted about, even using the bodies of the near-lifeless souls about her to propel herself. A few of the people looked up at her display and sighed as she gripped their shoulders briefly. She didn't care. This was her playground, and the shuffling bodies were her toys. She leapt into one of the scraggly trees, using telekinesis to give her the desired lift. The frail branch took her weight, though light, with much complaint. She gazed at her surroundings from her new perspective, and found it far more interesting than the gray room or the red field, but still in want of the vitality that she felt in
Gomorrah. She laughed and leapt off the branch right as it began to break. The branch hit the head of a small, forlorn woman just as Otiena's small feet touched the ground.

"That's enough," Dunkleflemme said as he finally made his way into the field, mildly disgusted by the display.

"Oh, I assure you, it's not!" Otiena laughed, splashing him with water with a graceful kick of her foot.
"These people suffer enough without your antics," he said, ignoring her provocation.

"Oh really?" Otiena challenged, "That woman-"

She pointed to the woman who had been hit by the branch.

"-Killed her two children before they could utter their first words."

"What are children?" Dunkleflemme asked, only having the marked one's obscure perspective on the subject as a guide.

"Children are..." Otiena looked around, searching for an example that would never be found in Hell.

She put a finger to her lips, which were pursed in thought. Her dark gaze traveled from the ground to Dunkleflemme's blue legs, up his body, and finally rested at his face, looking thoughtfully into his brilliant eyes.

"You are a child," she said finally, "As am I. We are Lucifer's children, in a way."

"How so?"

"We were created by Lucifer with part of Lucifer...we are his children."

Dunkleflemme thought about this. The marked one's parents were cruel, constantly beating him and belittling him until he finally ran away at about age ten, completely at the mercy of the wilds. If that was what being a child to someone meant, he would pass.

"Well, they were her creation, why shouldn't she eliminate them when she wants to?"

"Because they were innocent, defenseless, and precious in society's eyes. It seems that such murders especially appall these people."

"They aren't even useful, though."

This was the conclusion the marked one had drawn about children. It is how he justified killing small heirs to massive fortunes on occasion. Dunkleflemme had to admit, though, that even with this justification, there was an overall feeling of unease the marked one felt when he killed the younger versions of his species that was absent when he killed adults.

"That seems to be part of their charm, I think. The helplessness...the potential. Besides, they're only useless during the first few years of life; after that, they are very helpful with the basic chores of the household."

"Hm. It seems to me the loss of an adult would cause more problems, and therefore should be the bigger sin."

"It would seem that way, but these people are strange. They worship non-existent gods and follow strange rituals. I really don't think they are the best measure for moral standards."

"You still shouldn't mock them so."

"Why not? That is what they deserve."

"And what of yourself? What do you deserve?"

Otiena bit her lip.

"The same could be asked of you," she retaliated softly, "For you have killed an adult- something you said was a bigger crime than killing a child."

"He killed many others. Cheated even more, correct? I was stopping that cycle of destruction."

"And yet, cont-"

"How have you enjoyed your little tour? Lovely, isn't it?" Lucifer asked, stepping out from behind a dead tree.

"I'm not sure that's how I would put it," Dunkleflemme said, his countenance now gloomy.

"Aw...Surely it wasn't all bad?" Lucifer asked.

"This place-"

"-is Hell? Yes it is. That is the idea."

"Why?"

"These people before you have earned what they get: Damnation. This isn't supposed to be a pleasant place. Each place here is designed to punish those who have earned Damnation. Of course, this isn't really necessary. The inability to find contentment is the primary punishment, but to make sure they can find no other form of happiness is needed to assure that they understand that punishment cannot be eluded. I can make the sun shine..."

The skies cleared and the greenery bloomed and grew. The Damned began to blink and look up at the sky, and a few even smiled. They all walked and a few even skipped under the sun's bright rays and laughed as the puddles they splashed sparkled like tiny flecks of gold. One woman, the same woman that was hit on the head by Otiena a few moments earlier, smiled mischievously at another man as he walked by and splashed him.

"What is your problem?" he demanded angrily.

"What's yours?" the woman countered, splashing him again and laughing.

"Don't do that again..." he warned.

"What? This?"

She splashed him again, still laughing maniacally. The man scowled and swung his left fist at her, uppercutting straight into her jaw. The woman screamed and slapped him, digging her nails into his cheek.

"How dare you?" she asked angrily.

“How dare I?!” he asked, punching her, “How dare you?”

The fight spread from the man and the woman to the rest of the Damned in about six minutes. People were doing everything from clawing to stabbing with the brittle branches. They were worse than children.

Otiena watched the ensuing chaos with mild amusement.

“See? This makes things easier,” Lucifer said, “These people cannot handle true freedom or privilege. There is an inherent and constant trait in all of the Damned that forces them to make themselves miserable if you don’t do it for them. Things are less chaotic this way.”

Dunkleflemme nodded, but skepticism still pulled at the corners of his bright eyes. It seemed that making the Damned miserable might have lent to the ensuing chaos instead of prevented it.

Dunkleflemme turned and walked away, saying nothing else to the matter. He had better things to do than to pick on the Damned- namely, train. Otiena rolled her eyes as he walked away.

No sense of humor, she thought to herself, and continued to play amongst the Damned.