Inside Lucifer's War Read Online Free Page A

it.
    “Oh, it gets better.” He smiles at me as he continues, “It ended that night for you. You probably didn’t think any more about it. In fact, you were happy that it was over. No more Josephine and her love to cramp your style. My disciples helped you with that. She took it a bit harder, though. My disciples also have been helping with that. Coaxing it along like embers to a fire. She built up the courage to talk to her father tonight. I often find it strange that humans seek validation from the individuals who stripped it from them. She tried to speak with him, but he wanted nothing to do with her. You see, he is a self-absorbed drunk too. Sound familiar? The final straw broke for her with that phone call. Tonight should culminate in a victory for us. All of us. Including you, Thomas. Watch!”
    I can see the picture clearly now. She is holding a razor blade and sobbing.
    “Dear God. No!” I blurt out.
    Suddenly I feel a terrible blow across my face, and I find myself looking up from the ground.
    “You insolent fool!” he yells.
    Josephine puts the razor to her wrist, presses it to her skin, then hesitates and throws it out of the bathroom. She holds her face in her hands and cries. She doesn’t cut herself. A sense of enormous relief comes over me. This is the first moment I recall that I saw and appreciated the destruction I have caused.
    Lucifer looks angrily at me. He grabs my wrists, burning them with his hands as he pulls me up. “That is twice you have spoken out to him. The third time will be to your own destruction.”
    He looks back at the scene and allows the cave to close over it. “No fear. She will be mine soon enough. She has no one else.”
    He looks at someone in the darkness and gestures. Although I cannot see the individual, I can see a figure move out of sight.
    He turns back to me. “Your destruction gets better though. Cynthia was married while you were involved with her. The marriage thing, though, wasn’t even a minor inconvenience for you. Of course, it’s not like that was the first time for you. Marriage. Who believes in that relic of an institution? It is written, is it not, ‘Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.’”
    At those words, more hissing echoed in the cave.
    “Do you understand how foul you are now—the depth of your wretchedness? Do you understand the judgment you have incurred and the judgment you have placed on Cynthia? You haven’t only ruined your life, but so many other lives around you—lives that, for some reason, he cares about. You are fortunate I do not accuse you in front of him right now. I, however, don’t hold you to such high standards. I see your true nature and understand it. You are not made to worship, but to be worshiped,” he tells me.
    I feel a pain in my chest. For my entire adult life, I hadn’t cared about anyone but myself. It has always been about me. I used people to get what I wanted and needed. I have never considered myself evil or bad, though, until this moment. After all, everyone is out for themselves, right? If you don’t take what is yours, then somebody else will take it. Everyone is looking to leverage everyone else. At least, this is what I believed or convinced myself to believe, beginning as a teenager. My parents were meek and mild mannered. They were content in life, too content. They should have wanted so much more. They should have demanded so much more. People often took advantage of their kindness and generosity. My dad could have been rich and powerful, but he never pursued it. In my mind, he was afraid, afraid to go after what was his.
    I suddenly recall a Bible verse that my dad had read to me when I was younger: “If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic.”
    The last time my dad told me that story, he had been passed over for