Devil Slave (Satan system) Chapter 1 To Be Like Master...

//Welcome to the Satan System//

//Prior to asking any questions, please review the communique from Lord Lucifer Morningstar.//

//My existence is fading into nothingness, so I shall be brief. I was betrayed. I was swindled out of my Apocalypse, and I demand that you avenge me.//

This was the notification that greeted me the moment my eyes closed, leaving behind the familiar world I had always known and utterly loathed.

I have never been considered a normal individual. At the very least, society viewed me as anything but ordinary.

Then again, has history ever produced a genius who was actually normal?

Whether it was a legendary conqueror or a brilliant scientist making a world-altering discovery, were any of them truly typical?

Because of this, I always understood that I was destined for greatness.

I committed my first kill at the age of five.

The victim was my mother’s cat.

While mother was out, the animal had made a mess of the house, yet my two-year-old brother was the one who took the blame.

I noticed the spark of triumph in the cat's eyes as my mother, exhausted from her job, scrubbed the floor on her hands and knees. She even gave my little brother a harsh scolding.

Hmm! I suspect you can guess my response, can't you?

Let’s just say that when mother returned from work the following day, she found the cat smiling inside the microwave, garnished exactly like a Thanksgiving turkey.

I received a punishment for its passing, though I failed to see what the problem was.

In my eyes, I was simply disposing of trash, and to be honest, it felt quite satisfying.

Aside from my usual interest in exploring the internal anatomy of squirrels and birds, I didn't take on any significant "projects" after that.

That is, until I reached the age of seven.

This time, the target was a fool who walked on two legs and identified as a human being.

I believe he was thirty-four years old, and he worked as a mailman.

He was taking advantage of our neighbor whenever her husband was away from home.

I would often be in the middle of a discovery—dissecting a rodent to see how various chemicals reacted when poured into the viscera of living mammals—when her cries would reach my ears.

"Oh My God! No! Please be gentle. It's too much. Please!"

He is abusing her, I concluded.

From my spot in the garden, I could see him through the open window; he was naked and positioned on top of her. Her legs would be flailing in the air or draped over his shoulders.

This was unacceptable!

Back then, my logic was simple: anything in pain screams. That was certainly the reaction of the rodents when I used my blade to inspect their insides.

During the night, her wails would haunt my dreams as he licked his palm and repeatedly struck her from behind.

I had been spanked by my mother many times.

I was well aware of how it felt, and it was certainly not pleasant.

Just as in reality, my dreams featured him staring at me through that window, wearing the same smug expression as my mother's cat when she was cleaning the house in a rage.

On occasion, he would even offer a wink.

Eventually, I reached my breaking point.

I considered using my usual blades, but after examining them, I shook my head. They were far too small.

This target was large, so I decided a larger blade was necessary.

Mother always left the kitchen knives in the dishwasher, being too lazy to secure them back in the drawers.

They were easy to acquire.

I selected the longest, sharpest one available.

It had a wonderful point and a nice edge.

I walked over to the house next door.

The mailman was careless, leaving the front door wide open. I ascended the stairs and found the bedroom door ajar as well.

Clothing was scattered across the floor. It appeared she had put up a real fight for her life.

There he was, completely naked and gripping her waist from behind.

He had a fleshy, pointed knife attached to his waist, which he used to poke her repeatedly. I could see that he had already poked a hole in her.

Her screams were much louder from this distance, and he never noticed my approach.

I compared the fleshy knife at his waist to the one in my hand.

Fortunately, mine was much pointier.

My cutting technique was decent, but for this particular task, stabbing was more effective.

It turned out to be my messiest job to date. But who could blame me? It was, after all, my first time.

The police were called, along with my mother. Well, at least my neighbor called them. The mailman had suddenly decided to stop moving.

Perhaps it was because he was leaking all over the floor. One thing was certain, however: my knife was superior to his, and I never saw him again.

When the police questioned me about the events, I explained that the mailman had stabbed my neighbor in the rear with his knife, and I was merely attempting to rescue her.

They informed my mother that I was disturbed and required therapy.

However, when the neighbor’s husband returned that night, he secretly pressed a hundred-dollar bill into my palm.

With tearful eyes, he expressed his gratitude. He mentioned something about me saving his marriage, but I wasn't really listening. A hundred dollars was a fortune to me.

My first job had resulted in my first paycheck.

That evening, mother decided I needed a lecture on the nature of sin. She claimed my actions were work of the devil.

She even went so far as to read me the tale of the proud, disobedient angel who was exiled from heaven.

Eventually, she veered off-topic to describe how he would punish liars, murderers, and all the wicked people of the world.

I took the storybook from her and flipped through the pages.

This was the devil. Or, as I would later learn his name, Lucifer Morningstar.

Despite his red skin, horns, and tail, I recognized him for what he truly was. After all, mother always said we shouldn't judge others by their looks, but by their hearts and actions.

And here was a being dedicated to punishing evildoers.

In my mind, I decided there was no way this individual could be evil.

I simply couldn't see it.

That was the moment I discovered my mentor.

I went to sleep that night with a picture of the devil I had torn from the book, and I slept soundly.

I didn't care if the world labeled me a murderer or if the news called me a serial killer.

After all, isn't it the ultimate goal of every disciple to become just like his master?