Warning! This story contains language, blood, violence, sexuality, and mature subject matter (cutting, suicide). There are strong spiritual themes as well. If you are bothered by any of this, this story is not for you!

Prologue- Decisions of Departure

He stares at the knife, his finger gently sliding down the length of the blade. He glances at the hilt, a silver cross with the small image of a man nailed to it. He laughs bitterly as he recalls how many times he has looked at this deadly weapon, wondering when the day would come that he would draw it across his own skin.

He hears the rustling, the creeping of a creature behind him. He knows he should turn, that he should strike the beast down, but he does not. The creature whispers to him, its voice silky and filled with contempt, knowing it has full control of him.

“You thought you could save the world, didn’t you? You were right, Dante. It’s a hell of a lot easier to save the world than save yourself,” it laughs, and its black tendril-like fingers lightly touch his arm, slowly making their way to his hand that bears the knife.

He remains passive, watching as the fingers grasp his hand, shaping it into a fist. He clenches the knife, and places the icy blade against his wrist. He no longer fights the horrible urge, his pain overwhelming.

“You are a failure!” the creature spits. “Do it. End it now. End your pain; end your guilt. Do it now, or let my darkness consume you!”

He looks at the figurine on the knife’s hilt. He blinks away tears as he looks at the tiny hands, pierced with nails. He sees the small rivulets of blood on the hands, and on the figure’s face, tiny bitter tears. So much blood, so much pain. It had been enough, he knows. He knows all he has to do is accept the blood. He knows he does not have to listen to the dark whispers. He knows he can be forgiven, that he can be saved.

Yet, he does not know if he wants to be saved.

“Help me,” he whispers as the knife flashes and begins to slide across his wrist in its final act of destruction.