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Satan is my Father

Novel By: Inhuman

Being the daughter to Satan is hard.
Especially when being female.
Having the double life she does, it's hard to keep up at times.
But is following in her fathers footsteps is hard enough, without doing all of his dirty work?

Contains scenes of violence and strong language. View table of contents...


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Submitted:Jun 20, 2013    Reads: 55    Comments: 5    Likes: 2   

She stumbled through the doorframe, clutching at her broken leg.

Three figures turned around inside the dark room to look at her.

"Why isn't it a cute little girl?" A Tract smirked at her.

She smirked at the monster, and looked up its normal black boots, jeaned legs and flat torso. Then pointedly screwed up her face while looking at the rest of him, his webbed arms, puckered skin and heavily tattooed face.

"I'm afraid I can't say the same."

"You little bitch." He fumed pulling out a gun.

"What can I say? Tracts' are ugly ass things." She chuckled.

He flicked his thumb back on the revolver. "You've got 5 seconds to run girly; you had better make the most of it."

She looked around the room at the other Tracts' and their smug ugliness.

"I've got a job to do. I don't run." She spoke flatly.

"Then it's nighty night time for you then little baby." The Tract spoke chuckling.

The others joined in heartily the loose skin on their necks shaking and spraying warm green liquid around the room which she dodged carefully.

The room was dark, the windows and doors boarded up, letting in not a trace of the burning light outside.

The stench of warm flesh and meat sifted through the air, and torn and bloodied bodies slumped in the corners waiting to be used.

Used newspapers from decades old littering the floor amongst others dead animal bodies and metal.

The wallpaper was peeling off of the walls and showing the dark mould underneath.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not tired." She said and then all hell broke loose.

She jumped over a table and brought it down with her, using it to shield herself from the bullets. It wouldn't kill her, but it would slow her down.

Leaning the table up a little bit she took a shot from underneath and seeming pleased when a Tract dropped to its knees in pain.

Moving to the left she shot down two more of them and changed positions, next to a wooden pillar covered in the green liquid.

She scooped a little up into a glass vial and placed it into her belt with a sharp nod.

"Give up girl, you won't win." Came the gravelly voice of a Tract and she shook her head.

Moving to another table she broke off a leg and put it in her belt, moving to a group of them looking into the dark in the wrong direction for her.

Taking out a few small knives she threw them quickly, each hitting their target exactly and dropping them like flies.

She saw that there was only one remaining Tract left and she moved quietly to her right, hugging the walls and advancing with soft footsteps.

If there was one thing Tracts' were known for, it was there bad sense of smell and hearing. They relied on sight and a human's level of hearing, petty skills compared to hers.

Jumping out at him, he tripped and fell awkwardly onto and abandoned fan.

She stepped forward confidently while he scuttled backwards in fear.

"You won't win. Just stop girly."

He snapped and tried to stand up but she sent him crashing back down again with a few blows to the neck and face.

Groaning he tried to throw things at her but the only thing in reach was a few tins cans and a dead rat.

"Stop it." He growled getting desperate and she stood over him, reaching into her belt for the broken chair leg.

"Lucifers' don't answer to pathetic Tracts like you." She spat and with that she brought back her arm, her muscles flexing, and with a fierce blow, she silenced his begging.

Greenish-blue blood decorating the walls around them.


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