Roy Carlin, son of Jack Carlin, was busy fending off a sword when the door to his father’s study creaked open. Jack’s expertise and love of swordsmanship left his workplace a mix of books and paper along with an open dojo for practice. The entire area was surrounded by oak plank walls with a foam mat covering half the floor while bookcases and black tiles filled the rest.
Standing on the mat was 9 year old Roy and his father busy going back and forth swinging at each other with two blunted rapiers. They broke apart with Roy going to sit at a nearby bench while his Father approached the visitors. Both were men and carried a box lengthwise between them. They continued through the door to drop the box on the mat and look at Jack expectantly.
After a few moments of silence, Jack sighed and asked, “You come in here on a Saturday morning with a random box and expect me to bite?” The shorter of the men responded, “I think keeping it a surprise would be best.” Jack smiled while reaching down to take off the lid of the crate.
He almost couldn’t breath when he finally got a good look at the blade laying on a silk sheet. “Is this as old as I think it is?” Jack asked to which the shorter visitor responded, “If you think it’s a 250 year old sword that shows no damage then you would be correct. We found it in eastern France buried deep under the ground. I don’t understand how it’s so well preserved considering we found it sitting in a puddle. We were hoping you could tell us more about it.” Jack put his hand to his chin while staring intently at the sword.
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The shorter man went to pick up the sword to provide a closer look, but his eyes went blank as his fingers hit the metal of the hilt. He stood motionless for a moment as the other two men wondered what he was doing. In one fluid movement, the sword chopped through the necks of both Jack Carlin and the other visitor before coming to a rest at the shorter man’s side. With blood beginning to pool on the foam mat, the man turned and began walking over to the boy.
Roy sat frozen trying to comprehend what the shorter man had just done. The loss of his father before his eyes was impossible to accept. The shorter man continued approaching as Roy sat motionless caught in his emotions.
A few feet from Roy, the shorter man lifted his arm and thrust the sword into his chest allowing it to find his heart. The now dead body fell forward on top of Roy allowing the hilt to came into contact with his skin. In the boy's jumbled thoughts, new words entered his mind as a deep voice stated, “My name is Lucifer and you are my vessel. With my power, you will reach heights never before seen by humanity. You have no limits and will fall before no foe.”
Roy fell off the bench and onto the mat with the sword clenched tightly in his hands. He was still laying on the floor convulsing when the authorities arrived shortly after. Lying on the floor before them was a small boy surrounded by a pool of blood gripping a shining blade.