The Scientist and the Devil's Infant

I was born, but not how i should have been. In place of a caring staff of doctors and nurses, I hear the snarls, screams and laughter of mad men in a cage, drooling at the prospect of fresh meat. I may not be the first baby to be violated by the mad men, but I shall certainly be the last. 

My mother was a pentagram; my father, a long drippy string of sperm from the scientist who created me. Within moments of my birth, i am tossed by the foot into the cage, my fall cushioned by their flesh, but threatened by their claws. My head hits the concrete floor of the cage, and it is both the death of my humanity and the awakening of the blood inside me, the blood of the virgins of the pentagram.

Within minutes, I have consumed the whole lot of them. I devour them at supernatural pace; drinking blood, chewing muscles and organs, swallowing bones. I raise my hands in triumph, screech in victory. 

"Utterly fascinating!" the scientist says as he leans into the cage. He leans to hard, and his grip too weak, and so he falls into the cage. 

A bit more meat, a bit more blood, and the scientist is history.

The Devil's infant is free.