The world went to shit after a certain institution decided it was time for the Second Coming. And they did it, they brought Judgement Day to Earth, just as it was “preordained”.

They called themselves “The Crushing”.

They leeched from the world for years, crafting their precise plan to “judge”, hiding away in governments, bunkers and any other important position of power. Nobody could notice. They were instructed not to. So they built their new “heaven” on the land that was so welcoming to their ways – the two American continents. They became a worldly power, and just like that, they carried out “justice”.

Fire rained down on all “sinners”, who had not procured their fair judgement with them. It rained down on the rest of the world, true scorching hellfire that destroyed most in its path. Oh, what a spectacular sight to observe from your high-story window!

This did not stop after. All that were “truthful” and “pure” would be accepted into Heaven. The rest would roll in the waste that they produced, thrown and deposited in the rest of the world. Hell, maybe.

Yes, The Crushing turned the Americas into Heaven and the other five continents into Hell. God's kingdom upon us.

You can probably guess what happened to those who were not "pure".

Blood in the water.

I run through the trees. The shootout is about to start, The Crushing's army is to trample into the forest, shoot out their pointless speech and then level everything "that is sinful in this world".

What a calming thought. To simply shoot at what you dislike. At what disagrees with you. To know you have the power to grind to dust everything that is wrong draws the world with very sharp, clean lines - the good, the bad and how many bullets would it take.

The "sinners", like me, began to gather in mobile, nomadic settlements about Europe. The Crushing had accepted them into their worldview as well - "sacrileges". Perhaps it was that sinners, showing love for their close ones and surviving despite judgement, was a sin in itself. Of course, to repent, a sinner would have to lick the boots of God and "his servants" clean. One way or another, sacrileges were subject to total annihilation.

What came next was the next pompous organization of mass power - The Third Coming. Sinners gathering not to survive, but to retaliate. To return the world to how it was, as if it was worth it all along. Some had fervor to claim that they were "cleaning the world of the wrong servants of God, in his Name". It was free to dream, with or without faith.

My personal opinion on the matter was that this all resembled a ridiculous and deadly competition about "Who is the greatest moron?", but I had my own reason to participate. Or three of them, if we were counting.

Throwing myself in the next trench, dug out by The Third's men, I scan the soon-to-be-battlefield with the scope of my sniper. The Crushing hasn't entered the forest yet. Good.

"No movement," I inform the radio. "All clear. Moving to next sector."

"Affirmative," crackled back the answer.

I hang the sniper on the magnetic holder on my back and pull out a shotgun. I can at least shoot something with it in these trees.

I had no care for anything, except Simone, Jake and Alex. My wife, son and daughter, respectively. I lost them in the same order.

Simone was vaporized in the bombing of our sacrilege. Even demons were crossfire victims, crying for mercy, on that day. Hell within Hell.

Jake was old enough to protect us. Surviving the hellfire, he faced off his enemies bravely. I saw his brain getting turned into geography.

And Alex. I had barely gathered my bearings together, and all the surviving women were captured. Later, in the rubble, I found her mangled and forgotten by careless soldiers that should have burned her.

Dead and raped.

I killed them. Every single one of them felt what it feels like to lose the only thing you care about. They certainly were not happy when I sent them to God's Realm.

I killed them all.

Blood in the water.

I cross the next sector and radio the small army one kilometer behind me that it's clear. Then prepare to move again.

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I joined The Third by accident, after having pushed through a year of senseless absolute destruction of The Crushing's military camps throughout Hell. Using their own technology and masking myself with their moronic speeches. All that moved and talked in the world began to know me as Lucifer, The Wicked One That Carries Many Faces, having crawled out of the depths of Hell to help the sinners.

What I was actually doing was stab, shoot, flay and torture my way up to the officer that had ordered the annihilation of my sacrilege. I was to show him what he had done to me.

After finishing the last interrogation amidst the bloodbath of a camp I had left after myself, the man before me breaking completely, I was approached, warily, by a dozen of them. They instantly knew my handiwork and waved their flag at me, inviting me to join their cause. To fight for the good, as if our ideals were aligned. Instead, I was glad to receive any help in finding that officer and then dying in peace.

"We shall spare those who repent and vow to serve their one and true God!" A voice shouts from beyond the trees. "Heaven is for the truthful, and there is no place for sinners! Or defy us, stay in your twisted demonic connection until we free you from it! Through death!"

What was disturbing in the obnoxiously high voice was how much honesty dripped from it. How much belief it had in its own words. The saddest thing about The Crushing was that almost all of its followers believed in their twisted faith wholeheartedly, and carried out judgement from the bottom of their souls.

"They're here, take position in the next sector," I mumble into the radio and the positive crackles back.

Pulling out my sniper and scanning forward, I see I am just beyond the treeline, I can see them between the rarer trees. Laying in the closest trench, I check my silencer and aim. They wouldn't know where it hits them from.

Foop.

Foop.

Clank.

Foop.

Foop.

Clank.

They fall like ripe fruit.

"You signed your death, scornful bastards!" the honest voice screeches. "Fire!"

Their machine gun starts pounding, turning the forest into a fog of splinters.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

I light my heels on fire.

But it was not preordained.

I was old even before I became Lucifer. My knees were popping painfully, my back would scream every now and then. I wasn't that good at bending forward and so on.

Running was not something I was suited for anymore either.

My left leg flies out, dragging me with the force of the bullet, before plunging in burning pain. All I manage is a pained wheeze and growl that escapes my lungs. With the good leg shot, I am not getting out of this alive.

I slip and fall face first, then try to push myself up.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

Pain lashes me in the back, like burning acid coating a whip. The force of the impact throws me on the ground again, my air pushed out with a miserable sigh. I squirm on the ground and get up again. Limping and wheezing. Hazy from the adrenaline pushing the pain away.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

My right leg drags forward too, making me spin back and fall on my wounded back. All I feel is the dull force in my leg. My vision is black dancing spots on a violent red.

Death's butterflies.

My body is rushed with the urge to survive. Somehow, I can't give up at the very end.

I drag myself sideways, away from the battlefield. The radio crackles with some voice, but I can't hear it. Too far away. I know there's a river nearby.

River.

Thirsty.

I drag myself, sounds around me becoming dull and muffled, through a cloud of pillows. Only the blood pulsing in my ears is clear.

Blood in the water.

In the end, I did find the general. The one that had carried the order that ruined what life I had. I cut his body before his eyes, keeping him conscious with numbers, words and water. I wanted him to feel every possible pain, to make him understand what he had done to me. To let him know how we suffer here, in Hell.

His fingers were the first to go, then his limbs. I drew deep bloody tattoos with a scalpel, along his skin, then burned them shut. Lastly, his eyes, ears, nose, tongue and finally the teeth. One by one.

I couldn't stop.

When I was finally done, I drowned him in a river. Slowly. Chipping away at his broken consciousness by pushing him under and pulling him out.

His blood flowed along the current in pretty red wisps of thread, like the ones Simone used to knit. She had to make her own clothes, and for us too. She liked making shapes and toys too. Red was one of her favorite colors. I finally had let go of the forgotten corpse, and it was carried away with the already rusted blood.

Blood in the water.

I drink, thirsty. My head hums in pain. I can't breathe, my chest constricted beyond my control. I might have a bullet in my right lung. Or just a hole right across it. All my memories flitter before my reddened vision, but none are as bright as the general's torturing. This is what I deserve for not forgiving. We all go in the same place in the end.

Blood in the water.

I am in the water. It's a small stream. My blood mixes with it, unraveling in beautiful, dark threads.

Simone... I love you, Simone.

Blood in the water.