Chapter 1: Afoke
Present Day
Old Yaba Road,
Lagos, Nigeria
It was the 14th day of December 2006 in Yaba, Lagos. Afoke strolled down Montgomery Road, the morning air misty with harmattan. He wrapped his jacket close about him in the blistering cold, mindless of the weather, and his destination, the old Yaba library fixed firmly in his mind. He knew there was not much to expect in the library, but it was better than flipping through the dull, uninteresting shows on TV—that was if the Nigerian Electric Power Authority did their job, which was ensuring that the electricity did not stay long. It was a good thing that books did not run on electricity.
The sweet, musty smell of old books welcomed him. This was his real home, not his room at No. 3 Ameen Street, Abule Oja. A handful of readers, mostly students from the University of Lagos and other tertiary institutions around Yaba, were scattered amongst the reading desks. Most institutions had closed for the session but, the efikos or bookworms, as usual, wanted to put in some extra hours of reading.
Afoke was obsessed with books, but not academic ones. He barely did enough school work to pass his classes, much to the chagrin of his parents. He hoped this would not reflect on his West African School Certificate result. He walked to the fiction section and breathed in the scent of the books. The books were his true brethren, and here was his domain. Here, he escaped from the dreadful lethargy imposed on him by life in Lagos and Montgomery Senior High School. He was intimately familiar with this section of the library and knew most of the books by heart. It also helped that the library had not been restocked in a decade. Afoke’s zest was not dampened by the lack of restocking; the books were his siblings, and he imagined that children with siblings did not get tired of having the same sibling year after year.
He had read every one of the fiction books on the shelves, but he was not tired of rereading them, just as a drug addict did not get tired of the same drug. This was his addiction: from historical fiction, the best being the Buckler and Wilbur Smith’s Sunbird, to crime fiction such as Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes to Children’s books such as the Animal Adventures series by Willard Price, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and the beloved Narnian Tales. He ran a finger towards the fantasy section. C. S. Lewis, Dragon Lance, Tad Williams…
He froze. Here was something new, a brown book that had not been there the day before. The librarian had been there for an eternity and knew the library almost as intimately as Afoke. They always replaced books removed from the shelves in the same position they were removed. And of course, nobody had restocked the library. The Lagos State Government was too busy with bigger projects like building roads and looking for new creative ways to embezzle funds and had no interest in books or reading.
He pulled out the brown book and ran his finger through it. It had a glossy, dark brown cover. There was no title on the cover. This excited his curiosity. He glanced with a tinge of regret at the familiar titles on the shelf and thought to himself, I’ll be back for you soon. I have to investigate this. He went to one of the old tables and pulled out a chair to sit. The first page of the book read, “Diary of The Dark Child,” but it did not look like a diary; it looked rather like a full-sized novel. This should be interesting, he thought, and flipped to the first page.
Chapter 2: The Dark Child
3064
New England
Post-Cataclysm
The nightmares started as daydreams—not the sweet, tender imaginings of empty-headed, albeit love-deserving teenagers. Maybe I should call them daymares, for they occurred during the daytime too. But whether at night or during the day, one thing connected them: they came true. These dark thoughts were strongest at night, and I suspect it was because my subconscious mind manifested the ability more strongly than my conscious innocuous self could in the daytime.
And yes, it was ability. But I don’t think that “innocuous” is a word applicable to me. I don’t think I have ever been good or innocent. I have been ignorant and unaware, but not innocent, not good; no, not even in the cradle as a baby.
This reminds me of my birth and my mother.
My mother’s name was Lilith, and she was a member of the satanic sect known simply as “The Brotherhood.” She conceived me on the night in which the satanic rite of the Black Mass took place…
The words in the book dissolved before Afoke’s eyes, and he was no longer reading them. He was transported wholly into the scene—a transcendent being hovering with an omniscient vision over the affairs of unsuspecting mortals.
The leader of The Brotherhood strutted in, exuding the dark aura of the Devil himself. His gaze swept over his followers as they bowed themselves before the terrifying darkness that enveloped the room. It was for this reason that the leader was known as the Dark Father: his soul contained the knowledge of dark things, the wisdom of Satan.
“Today is a great day in the history of our struggle,” the Dark Father said. “Today, the Dark Messiah, spoken of in the prophecies, will be spawned.” The crowd erupted into praise for Satan for deeming them worthy of participating in such a great ritual, even if just as spectators. The Dark Father raised his right hand, and the followers became silent. An altar at the front of the room was already prepared for the ceremony. It was covered with ancient runic symbols resonating with immense darkness. Everything else seemed suspended as a nude, young, Black woman with full breasts and voluptuous hips sauntered gracefully into the room, the spitting image of Eve herself before the fall of man. In such a ritual as this, she acted as the primary altar. But that night’s mass was no ordinary Black Mass. That night her body would carry the seed of the foretold Dark Messiah.
She lay on the altar, her face glowing conspicuously with the knowledge that she had been chosen for a high honor. Her legs were spread in a gesture of invitation, while her outstretched hands held candles. The Dark Father walked to the altar and launched into a fevered invocation of Satan. Ave nostri Domini Inferi. The crowd chanted along with him. As this was going on, he lit the candles on her hands, and the light cast a sinister glow over the assemblage. Dark spells continued to issue from the leader’s mouth as the ceremony progressed inexorably towards the climax.
The most important ingredient of the mass, the communion wafers—otherwise known as the hosts—were brought forward. As the crowd watched, the Dark Father proceeded to deconsecrate the hosts by dipping them into the woman’s vagina. This desecration of the so-called body of Christ made it perfect for satanic purposes because everything satanic is a negative mirror image of divine instruments. The Dark Father laid the hosts aside, and the ceremony moved on to the long-expected phase. The leader hiked up his vestments and proceeded on his devilish ride. The woman on the altar gave a slight jolt as the leader’s penis penetrated her. As he rode wave after wave, she moaned, urging him up the crest. The followers continued chanting, expectant. As both the Dark Father and his lady rode the last peak of pleasure, they both moaned; he gutturally, his lady hornily. As the Dark Father came back to his senses, he dropped his vestments back into place.
Turning to the gathering, he declared, “This is indeed a great day. Our Infernal Lord has seen it fit to send his spawn to dwell among us. Praise be unto his name!” He then lifted the chalice containing the sacramental wine. The chalice was symbolic of that most sacred of body parts, the uterus. That night, it was of a more profound significance, as the wine it held was no ordinary wine: it held a mixture of semen and vaginal secretions. This mixture represented the fruit of the body offered up in service to Satan.
One by one, the followers came forward to partake of the chalice and the deconsecrated host, in what can only be termed an unholy communion. In all this, the Dark Father looked on and gave silent thanks to Satan.
Of course, everything had not gone on smoothly. Christianity was the religion of the state after The Cataclysm, and all acts contrary to Church doctrines were outlawed; therefore, the activity of The Brotherhood was vastly illegal. Unfortunately for The Brotherhood members, the authorities had gotten wind of their activities. The place was raided by enforcers, and they were rounded up to be tried. The Dark Father escaped and his followers—including the vessel with the young devil brewing in her womb and myself—were incarcerated. Thus, before I was born, I was already incarcerated. Minors were exempt from punishment until they reached the responsible age of twelve, or thereabouts. I had not reached the responsible age when the strong arm of the law, incited by the ecclesiastical order, clamped down on me. My mother was given the ultimate sentence, for Satanism was a serious crime. She was cared for during her pregnancy. New England was fairly civilized, after all, and bore the strongest vestiges of order in the world after The Cataclysm. The rest of the world was still struggling with feeding, survival, and basics.
I was eventually freed from my unvirtuous mother’s womb into another prison, the great prison, that of life. Things were not so horrible; I was not technically a prisoner, for, at my birth, I only stayed with her long enough for her to ascertain that I was alive. Thereafter, I was taken from her and cared for as a property of the state. She, a sordid criminal and Satanist, was not qualified to raise a child. We were separated the moment I was severed from the bloody cord binding me to her and given a new home, the home of a priest, a senior priest of the Grand Chapel of Christ. Perhaps this was due to the circumstances of my birth, an attempt by the state to foil the propaganda and intents of the state’’ enemy, The Brotherhood.
Thus, I, the Devil’s child, grew up in the house of God, my black heart pulsating in the body of light. As I have already said, the situation was not all bad. It was perhaps my most pleasant time growing up and the calmest in my fear and grief-filled life. The old priest, Father Michael, was kind to me. I was taught church doctrine and raised to be an altar boy. But that it was not all bad did not mean that it was good or easy. I had problems growing up mingling with the other children. Mulatto, I would hear mothers whisper in distaste as they pulled their children away. My mother was morisco, and by virtue of something I had no control over, and which could not influence my actions, I was a mulatto: mixed, dirty, contaminated, less than wholesomely human. But Father Michael, Godly and kind, never treated me as if I was the child of the Devil, nor did he ever give any indication of the circumstances of my birth. But the neighbors held their children close when I was around, and as a result, I did not have many friends. I also received the most suspicious glances from adults. Perhaps news of the circumstances of my birth had leaked out somehow, something I now know for a fact to be deliberate. The darkness was alive and working after all, even from the shadows. It started a cascade of events which I will narrate later in the pages of this diary. But suffice to say it caused problems as it would any young child growing. It was then that I first got an inkling that something was wrong with me. My powers had begun to develop…
They started as nightmares. I dreamt of bad things happening. Then they became daydreams. I saw disasters springing up from every conceivable situation. Everything warped into destruction. They almost had the appearance of fantasies. My mind reached for them, involuntarily. I cannot quite explain it. It was like a detestable song that nonetheless keeps replaying in one’s head despite all attempts to banish it from memory. Even at my young age, I knew it was wrong, but I could not banish those thoughts. When I looked upon rodents chewing waste, they choked on what they were chewing, or a bone lodged in their throats killing them in a grisly manner. The food I was eating would begin to crawl with worms and maggots and spiders. The ledge a construction worker was walking on would crumble, sending him plummeting to a horrible death. Or, the metal bar he was carrying would drop from his fingers, impaling a pregnant woman on her merry way. Everywhere I went, I saw these grisly disasters. At first, they were just thoughts. However, I was terrified when I saw them every waking moment, those disastrous sides of everything.
I later came to understand this to be one of the side effects of being a demon child. It was my nature asserting itself. Corruption manifested itself in everything I did, resulting in the mutilation and destruction of all I came across. It left me very scared. I withdrew from people and interacted less with others. Eventually, I told Father Michael. He took it kindly with his soft brown eyes and sat with me every time I was having particularly bad episodes. This helped. The visions always retreated when he was there. There was a certain light he cast with his stoic and Godly ways. His warm smile cast a hallowed glow from which the shadows retreated. He also taught me to pray. Together we recited the words of the Lord’s Prayer and the holy Psalms. The visions always retreated before the verse, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil…” But alas, he had his duties and could not always babysit me. My nature grew and started to become stronger than the Psalms and the Lord’s Prayer. Another Lord wanted to claim me. And this dark lord was much more insistent and closer to my heart, in my very essence even. His darkness pulsed through me in an echo that could not be denied. His corruption grew stronger, and the rate at which disasters happened around me increased.
The visions started to come true, subtly, and in small ways. Food spoiled around me faster than normally possible. Small animals died. Serpents appeared frequently around me. Accidents happened around me too. I understand now that this was the second part of my nature asserting itself. It manifested unconsciously when I was asleep. The most noticeable and bizarre of them was the death of my neighbor’s dog. I dreamt it, so I knew I caused it the next day when they found it dead, strangled by vines in the backyard garden. But I used the gift consciously for the first time in an archetypal situation, in defense of self, in anger, and for revenge.
It was a regular afternoon, and I was taking a stroll to let the afternoon sunshine warm the damp and soggy corners of my soul. I was on Stanton Avenue when the town bully, José Garcia, came upon me.
“What are you doing out here all alone, papito? You know I don’t like to see you around.”
Most people did not like me around, true, but Garcia’s boy disliked me more than others, and he did not have the fear that made the rest withdraw from me. He would tease and abuse me every time he saw me. I walked away from him, but he kept following me, tossing his verbal jabs at me.
“ulatto.” He called me. “Your blood is dirty. Mixed with the filthy blood of your negro mother.’
I ignored him.
“Not just a dirty filthy morisca, a satanic whore.”
I had heard all this before, whispered as mothers pulled their children away with me. I was an outsider, a filthy, contaminated thing. Corrupt within, and marked by the color of my skin, unable to hide what I was. I wasn’t sure which was worse. The darkness within that killed but was unseen, or the blackness without that was harmless but shouted for the entire world to see that I was an unwanted thing.
He kept talking, and I kept walking, drowning out most of the noise. But I kept thinking about my mother and father. Not paying attention to my direction in my desperation to escape his words, I took a turn different from the one I intended to follow and came to a dead end.
I turned around and tried to walk off. He jumped in front of me, blocking my path. I stood still and waited. He kept talking, and my pain grew as he talked, and my shame built up. I wished the ground could open to swallow me. But why was I ashamed and not José, the offending one? My anger transformed into hatred. I hated him because I was hated. I turned my attention to my immediate assailant, willing the ground to crack open and swallow him. I pictured it clearly in my head. Garcia had stopped talking. He seemed to sense the impending disaster. He noticed that I had been muttering under my breath. The air around us was ominous. I took a step forward, still muttering, “round, swallow him,’ over and over, like an incantation. José took a step backward as I moved towards him. He was scared but did not want to show it. In an attempt to assert his position as the bully, he lifted an arm to slap me.
The arm never landed.
As José drew his fist back to swing, the world seemed transformed. A wind came rushing through the streets, howling in destructive peals. Reality seemed to give way.
He took a step back and turned to run, but it was too late. A lightning bolt landed just before him, throwing me backwards. The ground around him cracked and opened, and he fell in. The concrete sizzled and liquefied, embroiling him. His cries rent the air in animal intensity. He kept sinking in the boiling liquid. I smelt his burning flesh. Gradually, his cries receded and became a low gurgle as he gobbled the liquid fire. The concrete solidified back into the regular shape of the road but left a little crack through which the tufts of burnt hair on his head were exposed. I turned from the horrid sight and hastened out of the scene, looking around to ensure that no one had seen what had transpired.
That evening, the police came to make some inquiries. They had found the body encased in concrete. Someone testified to seeing a lad my age being pursued by José before the incident. Father Michael was somehow able to get the police to leave on his word that I had been home all day. When they left, he called me aside.
“You were there, weren’t you?: he asked, his eyes locked on mine. I said nothing, and he continued. “I can smell sulfur on your body. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
I remained silent.
:The police will come back. They are determined to set up an inquisition because it is an affront to them. When they come back, I can do nothing to keep them away.”
I nodded.
“Did you do it? Be honest with me. All sins can be forgiven except lying because lying is of the Devil.”
“I am of the Devil.”
He looked at me for a while, without anger in his face. Then he said, “You have to leave before they return.”
So I packed my few things to escape the dreaded Tribunal del Santo Oficio la Inquisición.
I left in the dead of night. On the doorstep, I dropped the copy of the Bible Father Michael had given me. Bibles were rare and expensive, but Father Michael had given it to me out of love. Father Michael watched me through the window. His hand lifted to wave goodbye, and I knew by the movement of his lips that he was mumbling a blessing to me. I turned and walked away without looking back. There were no blessings for the curse.
Chapter 3: New Kent
3066
New Kent
Post-Cataclysm
It was said that life began at forty, but for me, life began at fourteen. From the moment I left Father Michael, I was truly on my own. I knew I could not live in New England anymore because I was not safe there. I journeyed to New Kent, where I thought my chances of survival would be better. But sadly, I had to live the life of a beggar. My very existence depended on the goodwill of the occasional passers-by who deigned to look in my direction. I felt as if I was at the bottom of a pit, with no hope of rescue. My days were increasingly hunger-filled. They remained so until I experienced a turnabout.
While I was struggling to eke out an existence in the quieter part of town, my powers continued to leak out. In the poorest quarters, it did not pose many problems. The poor themselves avoided the authorities. So, they generally stayed away from me. Some took no notice. The ones that took notice, instead of reporting me to the authority, took me in. It seems I had found my way home. These people understood or thought they did. They had powers themselves. They were members of The Brotherhood. It had been dormant for many years after the raid. But recently, they had started to develop their powers, dark gifts only the members of The Brotherhood possessed. This was around the time my own ‘gifts’ started to blossom. There was an uprising. Their leader, the Dark Father, had started to muster the members of The Brotherhood in the shadows. They were gathering for something big, and they brought me in. All these years, I had been taken from my destiny, like Moses in the Holy Bible; I was taken from the Lord’s people at birth, returning to free them. I was home…
Chapter 4: Old Yaba Library
Afoke,
Old Yaba Library
2006
Afoke leaned back and stretched his limbs. He had been reading for hours, and he found the book chillingly interesting. The Dark Child, Felipe Campos, had fallen in with members of The Brotherhood that wielded powers, now poised for domination. He had joined their ranks mainly out of a desire for companionship and for the resources they offered, but he was also honoured and respected amongst them as he had never been before. They welcomed him as a gifted member of their family. There he used his gift and practiced it with more proficiency. Initially, he used his gift for small things; intimidation, bullying, and extortion; he did not use it for grand displays as he had done on the first day of his conscious utilization of it.
He continued to rise in the ranks as he increased in proficiency in the use of his ‘gifts.’ Most, in fact, all members of the brotherhood had singular gifts. Their powers manifested in only one way though they had different abilities. Pyrokinesis, telekinesis, and other powers. But the difference between them and Felipe was that while they all had just one ability, he had many. His powers were undefined. The more his powers developed, the more The Brotherhood took an interest in him and he advanced in rank. This was not necessarily a good thing for him as power always came at a cost and the cost was his soul. More was demanded of him each day, greater were the tasks imposed on him. From bullying and extortion, he was required to commit robberies and assassinations. Although he was never the leader of the group on any given mission and was therefore not required to do the actual killing, he accompanied other assignees on each mission. Though they had run-ins with the law on numerous occasions and he had to leave them wounded and maimed, he always strove never to kill anyone; but sometimes his partners would finish off those he had wounded. This weighed heavily on his conscience each time. The Godly, Christian values he learnt at the knee of father Michael as an altar boy were in sharp contrast with the life he was living now.
On the other hand, the Brotherhood had a point. The church was the government, and the government was not good either. The world at this time, as painted by the dark child, was eerily fascinating. It was the year 3064 in England, but it already looked like the past, reminiscent of the 13th century. There were no computers or heavy machinery, including weapons. The weapons used by the enforcers varied from bayonets and pistols to light firearms and rapiers and swords. Literature was sparse. Bibles and dictionaries were one of the rarest and most precious objects in the world. All this was due to The Cataclysm. The Cataclysm as explained by Felipe was a nuclear war that had occurred centuries ago between the then world powers, Russia and America. Nuclear warheads had been launched, for the first time since World War II, destroying much of the world, its literature, civilization, technology, and culture,. Europe had rallied what was left of civilization. Mainly the English language survived as the new language of the world. New England was the new capital of the world.
Christianity became the religion of the state. All others were banned, and the scarce Bible became the new constitution. Of course, the new constitution was not readily available, so the church dictated law on the pulpit and enforced it through the machinery of state and its enforcers. The law that came forth from the pulpits was the word of the Lord and therefore unquestionable. It was answered with an iron hand when questioned. It was said by the church/state that the war that happened heralded the end of all things and the coming of Christ to usher paradise, new heavens, and earth. So, what was left of the world had to be united and made pure and holy for the coming of its saviour, Christ. This was where The Brotherhood came in. They considered themselves freedom fighters, opposing the ruthless and evil ways of the state and church. And since the state was run by and through the organ of the church, they set themselves against everything it stood for. They worshipped Satan, performed satanic ritual activities, and went to all lengths to oppose state and church. And now they had power. Their black mass ritual had paid off. It would finally be a war fought on equal fronts instead of the skirmishes they had done since. At the centre of this war stood the Dark Child.
Chapter 5: Post-Cataclysm
3066
December 4th
Post-Cataclysm
Two years in the Brotherhood and I had done lots of things I never wanted or wished to do. Even though I had also gained the respect and admiration of many, I could not go on anymore. I was tired of the life I was living here. And this was not simply because of Vanessa. Vanessa was a tender soul who could not hurt a fly. How she came to love me I do not know. Or perhaps I did. It was the books which I purchased with the income I made from The Brotherhood missions. I taught her to read and she enjoyed these old-world books which carried the fantastic tales of the worlds of magic and knights and castles. But I kept the real magic far from her. I was her prince and her knight in shining armour. I had met her before The Brotherhood found me and brought her from the slums as I rose in rank and income. We lived together. She helped me to forget what I did, although she did not know it herself. Lying was my talent, after all, and I was always careful to change my blood-stained clothes and wash up whenever I came back from ‘night jobs’ and ‘work trips’ before entering our home. Since I had the ability to heal my wounds, I always came back unscathed. As a simple soul who loved me absolutely, she believed me implicitly.
But she made me want to be a better person. She reminded me of Father Michael, of all that I had learned, of the good in me, of what I imagined was still good in me. I began to question my place in The Brotherhood. Was what the brotherhood did really necessary? I wanted answers before I carried out any more missions. I was taken to see the Black Bishop. He was the head of the department of indoctrination and keeper of the black lore of The Brotherhood. He had a lot of the answers I wanted, but the answers he provided did not make me happy. He told me that The Brotherhood was gearing up for an overthrow of the government. It was a tall ambition. Members of The Brotherhood were developing powers fast, but it was still a long way from overthrowing a despotic and powerful government that had been solidly entrenched for ages. The Brotherhood was not going to move just yet. They were waiting for ‘the weapon’, The Antichrist. This figure was said in the prophecies to be the one who would usher in hell. He was the reason for the development of all their powers. And when he finally revealed himself, their powers would double, and with him at the forefront, they would start the final phase of the war for the overthrow of the church and government.
The Black Bishop did not know I was the Antichrist, the Black Messiah of the prophecies. I knew that I could not stay on longer. I resented the things I had to do. I always knew I had darkness in me, but having it inbred and participating in it deliberately were different things. This, and my desire to please Vanessa, led me to take the decision to leave. If I stayed longer with them, they would know who I was.
Of course, I did not let the Black Bishop know any of the things on my mind. Instead, I asked more questions. I asked about the gifts of the Brotherhood. He told me it was lying. Every person was gifted with the power of telling lies. These lies altered the fabric of reality. The more skilled a liar, the stronger the effect of his power. The Black Bishop thumbed through the Devil’s Bible where he showed me that The Devil was the father of the lie since all our power stemmed from him. He told me about the dangers of lying. If one told a lie that was too big, it had the possibility of exploding in one’s face and led to a number of unforeseen consequences. Two things could result from a bad lie. It could collapse and nothing would happen, or it could explode, harming the liar and others around him. But the foretold Dark Child would have none of these limitations.
He would be dark of heart, and black of skin said the black bishop, looking at my dark skin wistfully. Bearing the unholy mark of Cain, the brother killer, first negro, and unkillable man. Able to tell lies of any proportion and bend the world to his dark will. I shivered. He looked at me and chuckled.
‘Isn’t he a scary figure?’
He had no idea.
I did not just leave the Black Bishop; I left the organization too. I took Vanessa and ran away. I moved far enough to where they would never find me. But when darkness is so much a part of you, you cannot outrun it.
Chapter 6: Dark Messiah
Present day
Old Yaba Library
2006
Afoke looked up. The librarian was telling him that the library was about to close. He looked at the time. It was 5.30 pm. He had read the book all day without eating but he felt no hunger. He asked the librarian if he could borrow the book. She thumbed through it and replied that it was not a library book. Maybe someone had brought it in and left it. He could take it home and bring it the next day since the owner could not come back for it until the following day, as the library was already closing. Afoke walked out and sat down on the steps outside the library to continue reading.
The Dark Child had escaped, retired from The Brotherhood, and absconded with his lover, Vanessa. But The Brotherhood had found them. The Brotherhood had tracked them down to their apartment in New Kent town where they were living a wholesome life. He had managed to tame his powers. The light which Vanessa had brought to his life had countered the darkness in it, till The Brotherhood extinguished that light. They had found their home on a day he went shopping for groceries. He reached home to find the house in shambles and Vanessa dead. He tried to use the dark gift to bring her back. It did not work. It should work. He was the Dark Messiah. He could tell any lie. He should be able to lie to the body that there was life in it and it should believe him. Perhaps there was something barring it; perhaps it was the fact that the power was negative and only meant for dark things. Rage filled him at this. The one thing he wanted from this darkness that had been compulsorily imposed upon him was the one thing he could not have.
The Brotherhood had left him a note: Service to Satan is for life and beyond. There will be forgiveness, for services past. Come find us and redeem your former glory.
So he had gone to find them, but not to redeem his former glory.
He had gone there with hate and vengeance in his heart. For the first time, he welcomed fully the darkness within him. He arrived at the headquarters and went on a rampage. He was the Dark Child, the foretold Dark Messiah, their Antichrist, and source of their powers. They finally knew him for what he was. Confused, some tried to worship him while some tried to put up some defence. Felipe Campos, their dark messiah, single-handedly decimated the ranks of The Brotherhood and left the organization broken.
The Dark Father sent more assassins after him. Felipe eventually turned the hunt around on them and the hunters became the hunted. He wiped out the last vestiges of The Brotherhood. Still, he was insatiable. Vengeance became the only thing he lived for; his life would be meaningless without it. He found the books of the Black Bishop and learned from them, the gateway to the underworld. He also learned of a weapon in the New Vatican, the spear spoken of in the Holy Book, with which the flesh of the Lord Jesus was pierced. It was a weapon that could kill a god or devil. He raided the church building, the most secure place in the world, and made away with the weapon. None could stop him. The Brotherhood had been unable to. The government and church too could not. There was no force on earth that could stand against him. And now armed with the spear, none even outside the world could too.
Thus the Dark Child, Felipe Campos, journeyed to hell to confront his father. When he arrived, he found that contrary to tales, hell was not a burning place of torment. It was the plane of demons. It was a place bound by will. Everything here was determined by your will and how strongly you could impose it. It was the opposite of the physical realm. You moved not by physical exertion but by willing yourself to. You could assume whatever shape you sought. And the demons assumed fearsome shapes and sought to bar Felipe’s way to their master, Lucifer. So he assumed the shape of a dragon, the most fearsome beast he knew, and fought with the lords of hell. As the son of Lucifer, he possessed the dark power and strength of their master, Satan, who was not called the father of lies for no reason. He fought and overcame most of them. But they were many and he was tired. He drew out the spear that had pierced the flesh of Jesus. With one thrust, he killed the demon which was on the verge of overcoming him. Upon the death of that demon, the others fled.
The death of a demon was no small thing, for they were immortal beings which had existed for aeons, since the beginning of the world. That they could be erased from existence scared them badly. So they retreated and a path opened to Lucifer who was now left to defend himself. It was a family affair after all. So they became engaged in battle. The father was stronger and more experienced but his Dark Child was better armed. In battle, when two evenly matched opponents faced off, no matter how well-armed, how experienced, it usually comes down to endurance: who tires first, or makes a mistake first. Lucifer slipped first. And the spearhead that pierced the flesh of Christ found purchase in his dark person, slicing through, to the very centre of his soul. Thus it was that the Devil, the greatest demon of all, the original serpent that had opposed God, was killed by the Dark Child, Felipe Campos, the Devil’s own son. Legends said that hell was hot, but at that moment, hell froze over. All the demons came to their knees and swore allegiance to their new master, the one who had the ability to destroy with his fearsome new weapon from the earth, a thing that only God was said to be able to do. But Felipe was exhausted, being bereft after fulfilling the last act demanded by his vengeance. He had no desire to rule hell. So he trudged to the gateway and, left all the cowed, beaten demons of that demesne.
When Felipe arrived on earth, a scene of horror met him. The skies rained acid. The air was toxic to breathe. All the beasts and creatures were warped and twisted into nightmarish forms. It was as if a dark and evil creature had imposed its slavish will on earth. It was his father Lucifer, the father of lies. He had lived up to his name and told a lie and played a game frightening in scope. Felipe had not defeated him. Satan had deceived him and kept him occupied fighting another demon feigning his form while Satan himself slipped to the earth. This, then, had been the reason for the entire fiasco: the Dark Child’s conception. When Satan and his demons were banished from heaven, they were not allowed entry into heaven either. They were sealed in a plane neither in heaven nor on earth. This realm was far from heaven but closer to earth. They had access to neither the realm above nor below. This In-between state was hell for them. From there they could not access earth. But they could influence it minimally. And this they undertook through the years, subtly corrupting the heart of humans and using humans to perpetuate the evils that they sought. These games they used to assuage the pain of their banishment from heaven. But Lucifer sought more than these little evils. He ‘roved about like a roaring lion, seeking to devour.’ He wanted to enter earth fully to unleash his anger on man, the only one of the two beings he hated which he could harm. But his prison could not be opened from the inside. It needed to be opened from the outside by a being with enough power to traverse the planes. None of God’s angels would do it. No man could do it, even if they would. So he had orchestrated the whole events of the Dark Child’s life. His conception, The Brotherhood, the death of Vanessa, and his war of vengeance that led him there, had been the work of Satan. The devil had masterminded his release, a masterful ploy, from beginning to end. And here it was, at last, Armageddon, the end of all things.
Chapter 7: Armageddon
The Dark Child was tired and weakened from his hellish ordeal. But his entire world was in danger and he was the cause, even if unwittingly. He found and joined Lucifer in battle again. This was Armageddon, spoken of in both the holy and the Devils’ Bible. But there was no Messiah, no returned Christ to fight it. Just him, Felipe Campos the antichrist, spawn of darkness. Before now he battled for vengeance but now he fought for the preservation of all life. He had fought for hate, now he fought for love. And he gained strength, hidden reserves which he did not know he had. Perhaps it was the power of love. Perhaps it was another force lending him the strength to fight a battle it had been foretold another would fight. Perhaps it was the fact that he was still armed with the weapon provided in part by Christ of the Holy Bible. Whatever the reason, he won when he should not have been able to. He won and slew his father, the more experienced devil. The acid rain stopped. The warped beasts returned to normal forms. The boiling oceans calmed. The air became breathable again. But the earth was mangled beyond belief. It was broken and scarred beyond measure.
When he slew Lucifer, the dark child felt a flood of power fill him. He felt a sundering of the cords that bound him before: the restraints on lying, the darkness, the negativity, and all other laws that had held him in bondage. He inherited the mantle of the devil after slaying him. He was the new devil now, and dictated the laws and rules. His newfound power was without reservations. He used it in repairing the earth. But he could not repair it fast enough so he tried something else…
Chapter 8: Diary of the Dark Child
Diary of the Dark Child
3067
It was said in the Holy Bible that the whole world was lying in the power of the wicked one. Well, the wicked one was no more. I had assumed his position even though I was not wicked, and that means the world is lying in my power now. I was trying to repair the world but it was not working. I had all the power but not the proficiency to use it. It is thus with lying. It required experience. Perhaps I should not call it lying now. It was the same power that created the world. It was called lying when my father, Lucifer, used it wrongly, in his sly and deceitful nature, without God’s permission. It is that illegitimacy that separated the powers and made one Lie and the other Truth. With me, should it still be called lying, since I had done no such deceit? Whatever one called it, it required imagination. Imposing your will would work only if you knew what you willed. The whole world was broken and I did not know how to fix it as fast as I wanted. So I took a shortcut. Instead of fixing every broken thing, I did an entire overhaul.
I decided to take the world back to a time before it was broken. Was I traveling back in time, moving myself to a prior point or taking the whole world back, moving existence in its entirety backward? I do not know the mechanics of these things. But I had to take the world back. And while I was at it, why did I have to take the world back to the time before Armageddon, when I could as well take it to the time before the first war, the war that had led the world to what it was in my time? While this was a disaster currently, it was far from perfect the way it was before. So I took us back to this time that you, Afoke, lived in. Things were going well. It was still far from perfect but people said it is going well. America just had its first black president and people said this boded well.
I did not stop there. I had taken it all back, made it all right for mankind. What about me? Did I not deserve a fresh start too? I was the new devil and god. I could do anything. Giving myself a fresh start was the least I could do. I needed a normal life, a chance to have decent, loving parents, and find love like I had with Vanessa. This time, all would be in a better world. So I lied again, my final lie. I gave myself a second chance, made myself to be born in this new world, in Africa, under unassuming Nigerian parents in the placid town of Yaba. And these parents called me Afoke.
But fear not. This lie was not absolute. I created a fail-safe. In case you, my incarnate, do not want this life, we can return. I wrote this story and kept it in this diary for you to find. It is your choice. If you ever want to return, to be something else–what we were before, a devil, a god, a liar–you can. You know the truth now. All you have to do is tell your first lie and it will all unravel. Your memories will come back. There is one thing, though. I did not fully understand what I was doing when I did this. I had all the power, but power is not knowledge. So I do not know what things your first lie will unravel. Remember the original rules of lying. If you tell a lie too big for you, it may blow up. I have no limits, or so I think. But I can never know the truth of that till I reach it. So it may all unravel. We may go back to the time after I vanquished Lucifer, the first Armageddon or even back to before he was vanquished. So only do this if you are absolutely sure you want to.
Felipe Campos
The Dark Child
Epilogue
2006
Old Yaba Library
Afoke
Afoke closed the book with a snap. It was getting dark and he had been straining his eyes to read the last part. He started walking home thinking hard about what he had just read. Going by the contents of the book, he was supposed to be a god-devil, having gone to hell, fought the demons, and defeated the original Devil and Satan. And he had accomplished all this and given away his memory and power to have a normal life, an unbelievably stupid thing to do. One never knew what one had until one lost it. One always valued what one did not have. The Dark Child had not valued all he had. His past, his pains, and his accomplishments were a valuable part of himself that losing would make him less. What a sorry thing if people just went about erasing their own memories of the hard or painful things they experienced! One eventually becomes an empty shell, forgetting one’s lessons and why one learned them. You forget the things that gave you joy if you forgot the things that gave you pain. Because they were usually one and the same. And what did it even mean to be normal? Is normality not a concept overrated by those who could not be normal?
It was dark as he picked his way homeward, along old Yaba road. The street lights lightened up his path. When God created the world, there was darkness roving over the surface of the waters. And God had commanded that there should be light. He looked at the light from the streetlights shining down. He held the diary in his hand as he walked home. The diary had said one lie would bring back his memories. It could be all a lie, of course. Ironical, that. He looked at the street lights and whispered: ‘Let there be darkness.’
The lights went out.
The End…
…Not really, this never ends.
