Selling Your Soul to The Devil

Feel you were tricked by the future you picked?

So it’s come to this…you’re at the end of your rope, you have no one else to turn to, no other options, nothing to lose. Well, except your soul, of course, and you know who can’t wait to get his red-hued, pointy-fingernailed mitts all over it?

That’s right: Ol’ Scratch, Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, Lucifer, Number 2 Fiddler — the Devil is ready and waiting to take your soul in exchange for the satisfaction of your worldly desires, and we here at colleendemonrising are happy to send you along the left hand path to success!


You’re going to want to check the current market value of souls before entering any kind of exchange or contract. Avoid professional auction houses, estate sales, or price guides, as they may feature inflated values. Searching closed auctions on eBay will likely give you more realistic expectations.
Make sure want you want in exchange for your soul will be worth spending your eternal afterlife eyeball-deep in flaming hot lava or having your entrails continually eaten by gibbering and insatiable imps. RECOMMENDED: Trading your soul for wealth and/or power. NOT RECOMMENDED: Trading your soul for Katie Price book tokens. Or trading ANYthing for The Only Way is Essex season boxsets.
Watch out for loopholes! The Devil will find some kind of ironic method of undermining or entirely invalidating your exchange if you give him half a chance. For example, you wish for immortality, and you end up getting tricked into life imprisonment in jail or something. C’mon, you’ve seen THE TWILIGHT ZONE, you know what I’m talking about.
Now you’re ready to call forth the Devil and negotiate your deal. Using the blood of a goat, paint an unbroken circle in the floor of a deconsecrated church while reciting the Lord’s Prayer backwards. Or you can check the Yellow Pages under “Souls, bought and sold.” You know, whichever’s easier.
When the Devil appears, try not to choke or cough on the attendant smell of brimstone. That’s no way to make a first impression, especially with someone who wants to torture and consume your spirit right from the get-go. Putting a little Vicks Vapo-Rub right under your nose should do the trick.
Don’t be so much polite as entirely obsequious. Sure, it’s not classy or refined, but we’re not talking about dealing with particularly subtle folks, here. This isn’t teatime at Grandma’s house, this is bargaining with a hideous creature from the pit. Bow a lot. Don’t look him in the eye. You may have to kiss a lot of ass…I’m not being figurative about that, by the way.
Once you get the deal nailed down, you’re going to be expected to sign a contract with your blood. First, read the contract. No, REALLY read it, don’t just gloss over it like it’s a Microsoft software agreement. Keep in mind the Devil wrote this contract, and he’s as bad as, like, THREE Bill Gates, at least.
As for the actual signing of the contract, blood will have to be drawn, and it’s probably best if you let the Devil do it. He’s had a lot of practice, and, surprisingly, he’s very sanitary. Go figure. You, on the other hand, are probably nervous and shaking like a leaf at this point, and you’re just going to end up cutting yourself really badly and getting blood all over the place and, perhaps, getting some kind of infection and dying. And there the Devil will be, waiting for you in Hell and laughing and won’t you feel like such a sillypants?
Don’t be alarmed if, as soon as you sign the contract, the Devil snatches it up, laughs maniacally, and vanishes in a dramatic puff of smoke and flame. He does that to everybody. It PROBABLY doesn’t mean he just pulled a fast one on you. Best not to dwell on it.
So there you go! You’ve made your bargain with the Devil, and now you have everything you’ve ever dreamed of! Sure, you’ll have to watch your every move to make sure you’re not falling into some ironic comeuppance (see Step 3), and of course there’s the whole “eternal punishment after you die” thing, but surely that’s worth having a few decades of the good life!


Don’t ask the Devil if he can get you the autographs of some of his other clients. Look, you’re trying to do some business here. Don’t get distracted. You can always get Snooki’s signature later.
In some rare cases, the Devil may take some early Metal Blade LP releases in VG++ to Mint condition in lieu of your soul. Inquire first.
Avoid challenging the Devil to a fiddle battle unless you are Charlie Daniels (thanks to my Dad’s Country collection).

Method In Madness?

“Is this madness? Or is it purely method? Hmm … perhaps there is method in madness? I can’t tell. Why don’t you tell me? Oh, that’s right. You’re paid to deal with things like me, aren’t you? Well, I bet you have a fun life, right? Prying into others’ minds like this. You love your job and I suppose you know what to do with things like me? Do you deal with others like me very often? No, I suppose not. I’ve read your records on me, you know. Your little theories, now let’s see. What did they say about me? Ah, yes! ‘Patient traumatized after mother’s suicide.’ I remember that line. Let’s see what else. ‘A severely depressed teen, the patient killed adopted parents. Current illness: schizophrenia.’ I found that line most amusing really. Tell me, what type of symptoms have I ever shown of this to you? You know…You’ve been awfully quiet this session. I wonder, are you ill, my good friend? We’ve been through a lot together, and I wouldn’t like it if you were ill, not at all. Why yes, the birds DO tend to scream in my ears. You too? And I thought I was the only one. But where were we? Your job how is it? Do you feel luxurious, earning so much, living a wonderful life, with your large house and cheating wife? I thought not. You know, you are more than what I thought you were. Most like you aren’t as honest. They tend to lie to themselves, to us about your lives, or just dismiss ever talking. My dreams? And what dreams are those? If you speak of the ones I have during periods of crying, then yes, my dreams are lovely. No, let me finish! It’s rude to interrupt! However, you already knew that. Because like it’s stated in this little record of yours, ‘ patient seems to repeat certain conversations without realization.’ My, my, and here I thought all of you were stubborn, lying idiots! You’re intelligent compared to your little friends. But you know what? I’m smarter. I am out there. In the real world, satisfying a need, but not all are as lucky as I. You, for example; while your whore of a wife goes out screwing every man she meets within a 5-mile radius, you sit back and pretend that you don’t notice. Even when you come home to orgasms filling the air, you pretend and fall asleep on your couch. Nevertheless, I know deep inside you just want to come home and strangle her. You just want to slit her throat and watch her bleed, don’t you? But I can relate. Death’s a wonderful thing to see my friend, a very wonderful thing. What?! Oh god, did you hear that? You did? What did it sound like to you? Hmm. I see. Not at all like what it sounded like to me. But after all, I am just a ‘paranoid being who tends to listen to things which aren’t there’. Oh, you are writing more now, are you? And what are you writing this time? Oh good. It had better be nothing. Am I making you nervous? Oh, you’re cold? I see. Well, I’m almost done, so just hold on a bit longer. As I was saying, every human has a hunger deep inside. However, some others like me tend to…how do you say, actually fulfil this little hunger. Yes, it’s been 13 already. It’s a lovely number, my favourite. You know, your little girl, Carol, she was the most exciting of them all. She was so beautiful to watch. She was my favourite, you know. I bet I could tell you from her favourite colour to her first lover if you really wanted to know. Colour; she loved black. Lover; a handsome boy by the name of Carlos. You know him; he was one of your patients too. He got in the way of things, always defending her. It’s too bad he was on that wretched medication; he could have actually felt something. You miss Carol? I can take you to see her. No? Alright. I won’t force you. And may I say you actually DO serve a purpose. Why, I feel better already! Oh, and have you SEEN the rabbit? I swear! Wouldn’t it look positively beautiful nailed to my wall like your daughter? Shocked to hear that? Well, I told you she was my favourite…it looks like my time is up now, father. Why don’t you invite your next patient in? hmm?”

The Aurulent Hellion…

(From the war diary of Lt. Stafford Brookshire, United States Army)

August 9, 1899. Cotabato Valley, Philippines:
They came over the eastern wall last night, led by a wild eyed devil in ragged yellow robes. The bastard was ferocious as a mad dog and some of the boys gave way and ran from him. I came within pistol range as he was dismembering a private from Ohio with his great curved knife, I fired 2 rounds into his upper back and as he turned from his grisly work to face me I fired 2 more; one of which tore apart his lower jaw and another into the neck which ruptured the large artery. He stared at me for a moment, his face horribly disfigured and the lifeblood gushing from the neck wound, and then he fled back to the jungle, scrambling over the 7 foot wall in a blur of yellow robes and splattering blood. That broke the attack but the crazed chanting continued throughout the night.
August 11:
Another attack last night, they did not make the walls this time but I spotted the yellow robed man again near the tree line. He had wrapped his lower face in a yellow scarf but by his bearing I know it was the same man, he did not take his eyes from me during the entire episode. I ordered corporal Smithson to sniper him but yellow robe faded into the jungle before Smithson could get a bead on him.
Something is not right here, how he survived the 4 rounds I put into him is beyond imagining. The 38 long colt is a much maligned cartridge but it will surely kill, and this man should be dead considering the amount of his blood still staining the eastern wall.
August 17:
Severed head of Smithson found near main gate this morning, eye sockets and mouth stuffed with yellow rags. How Smithson was killed outside the walls of the camp is impossible to guess. He must have left willingly; there is no way he could have been taken by force unless we have traitors among the Philippine scouts.
August 18:
Talked with some of the boys who were close to Smithson, they told me he had been sleepwalking and was found standing at the wall the last 2 nights before his murder. He proved very hard to wake and mumbled that the yellow robed man was whispering to him from the jungle.
August 19:
Some bastard left a yellow rag in my coffee cup this morning, I almost swallowed it. When I find the fellow behind this prank a few days locked in the tool shed should convince him this is no joking matter.
August 21:
Dreamed of Yellow Robe whispering to me last night, couldn’t understand the words but I know he wanted me to come into the jungle.
August 22:
Sleepwalking last night, dreamed Yellow Robe was calling to me and I attempted to leave the camp. Vaguely remember fighting with Baker and 2 others when they tried to restrain me, finally came to myself when someone gave me a crack with a rifle butt. I will not end up like Smithson; tonight I will handcuff myself to my cot and give the key to Baker.

(Note: Lt. Stafford Brookshire disappeared the night of August 22, 1899. A trail of blood led from his quarters to the eastern wall of the encampment, he had apparently severed his thumb with a pen knife to free himself from handcuffs. Missing and presumed killed in action, Brookshire’s thumb was shipped to his family and given a proper burial.)

Leith King…

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes-”
The beauty contained within his face was frightening and sharp. It would seem to Richter that if he were to look at this face, mortal as it seemed in its existence, his eyes would become accustomed to the burning strength of the sun before being able to look easy at the striking contours. The skin was pale, the leeched colour of bleached parchment, though it held none of its expected fragility. It was taut over high cheekbones, leaving desperate hollows in the flesh beneath them, shadowed by the faint flickering light overhead.
His nose was sharp, a dash of flesh that heaved his face in two distinct hemispheres. The eyes that rested at the bridge of this nose were sunken, the lashes long shrouding the aperture behind them in shadow. They held no colour, or all colour depending; the shade of shadows at midnight-cold and lifelessly black. His hair hung limply tied at the nape of his neck, a few ebony wisps swinging faintly in his face. But it was the smile that was so awe encompassing.
The liquid heat smile that crossed his features sank deep within; pulling the unfortunate looking at it into his clutches. The lips were thin, like razors in his flesh; his teeth just on the edge of being bared if the smile were stretched any farther. It said he knew what is hidden, what things you wished no one to know, what sins you pined to commit in the darkest of dark. A taunting smile, begging to be given an excuse to feast on just what you wished not be consumed. It was arrogant and powerful and it told of knowledge far beyond what anyone else could possibly know.
At 6 .3′ in height, his shoulders were broad and strong. From them swept a sweeping white cloak, the edges torn and frayed. Holes littered the main body of the cloth, tattered and worn through, though no dirt marred the perfection of its colour. His body swathed in shadow; though covering it a suit of purest white. Torn in several places; the knees and shins of his trousers revealed the flesh of his spread legs, the jacket’s pockets were a danger to any small thing entrusted to them, and pale naked flesh was visible through the upper portions of his pants and shirt. None of him was soiled in any way. A tie knotted heavily at his neck; it blew in the same breeze that toyed with his cloak. In rich contrast, the colour of purest blood, arresting and loud against the rest of his attire.
“Hello, Richter.” The voice that escaped soft and rasping was vaguely amused. He took a step to his right, the bare soles of his feet padding softly and unhindered on the rock-laden ground. He put a hand in one of his pockets, the cloak billowing out behind him despite the sudden stillness of their surroundings. A finger strayed to his face to stroke the skin beneath his lower lip, as if urging himself not to smile at a joke.
“Who are you?”
His steps did not falter even a fraction as he turned and fixed his gaze upon him. The smile was a secret he would not let him know. “Who would you like me to be?”
Richter’s brow furrowed, “I don’t understand.” His hand strayed toward the collar of his shirt; for some reason he felt like even a millimetre of skin was too much exposed in his presence.
A grin spread over his face and he raised a hand to his countenance. In a gesture no larger than a small wave, he brushed his palm over the whole of his face. The stirring of air began quicker than you could blink; tumultuous shivers of darker nothing against the light shining from the rest of the room. It encompassed the entirety of his body, without cause or noise. As the flesh of his hand rasped against his face the skin remoulded and melded into that of a woman. His body folded in on itself; the male musculature melting and meshing to reform that of a female. The body that strode towards him was lush and lithe, the muscles of her arms and legs left bare at the knee by the torn hem of the dress, prevalent and smooth. Her small stature, compact and lean, the dashing black of her brows were lifted at a hidden joke, a smirk tilting her rose coloured lips at one side. Her chin had a point to it, the line of her jaw sharp. She was as harshly and spectacularly beautiful as her male counterpart.
The suit replaced with a white dress, though in the same state of disrepair with holes baring pale flesh though to the light, was as pure as ivory; it contrasted darkly with miles of thick black hair in an undulating mass. The eyes were the same however, and the smile. “If I were to say who I was,” she purred, a voice slides out like honey in June, one wispily thin hand trailing over Richter’s shoulder as she circled, “would it make you any more comfortable with my presence?” Richter followed the woman’s progress behind him, wishing his fear wasn’t so tangible. “Would it give you precedence over my existence, Richter?”
Richter scowled. “It would do better for me to know exactly what you are, I suppose.”
The woman smiled, her mouth curving with graciously heavy lips. “What I am. What an excellent question, my dear.” She pushed her hair out of her face with a hand, and as it travelled through the mass she was once more a man. “I am the one no one likes to think about.” He took a step in Richter’s direction, smiling.
Richter retreated, his hand falling behind him in search of a doorknob as he stuttered. “And the devil showed him all the kingdoms of the world and said; all this I will give you if you will bow down and worship me.” Richter whispered.
“You think I am tempting you? Surely the point of temptation, is to prompt a decision, that’s not yet been made?”
The man continued, circling him as a shark does a wounded fish. “I am one who is feared. I am the one who haunts the shadows.” He drew a finger down the bare flesh of Richter’s arm. Gooseflesh shuddered across his frame and he took yet another step in retreat.
“What do you mean?” Richter felt his gorge rise.
“I creep after school children, hissing terrible things in the dark.” He grinned viciously and for an instant a darker face shadowed his, blazing eyes and dripping crooked fangs. Then it was gone. “I allot lovers to meet secretly, Richter. I whisper lust and jealousy in their ears. It’s great fun really.”
Richter felt his mouth go dry as naked want filled the man’s eyes.
“What do you stay alive for, that endless scurrying from bad to good to bad again, must be exhausting and each return to bad brought with it a little flurry of deaths. Tell me Richter, if you admired humans so much…why did you keep inflicting your failures upon them?”
Richter raised his head in defiance “Because I think…one day, I’ll win.”
The man smiled wanly. “And if the lion wishes hard enough perhaps one day he’ll become a lamb.”
“You have a whole army-why this interest in me?”
“For time spent, services rendered, bloodshed. But it is not just that, having one of The Three on the outside, I don’t like the aesthetic.” He emphasised the last word pointedly.
“Then I could flee, I hid from you for five hundred years, I could do it again.”
The other smiled darkly. “Back to another Violet, with a new set of friends like Richter, whose skin you wear after doing him such a disservice?” He folded elegant fingers “Something about that format clearly appeals to you.”
“How did you know?”
“I created Sin, Richter for the mere pleasure of taunting mortals with it. I am what Is dark, what calls for you in long stretches of the night. Oh, Richter, you weren’t hiding, I was just giving you the afternoon off.”
“What do you want?”
The man stopped and stared at the floor, his eyelashes shrouding his eyes. His voice escaped in a whisper, an accusation almost. “What do I want -Why Richter, how kind of you to ask? I want you to run Out-world for me, when the hurly burley’s done.”
Richter felt the cold steel of the doorknob graze his forearm. Clammy hands gripped at it fiercely.
“Richter, you wouldn’t want to leave would you?”
“What are you waiting for? Just tell me to join you.” He challenged.
“Why did you move to this city?”
“My friend came here to die.” Richter said simply.
“And you stayed?”
“There was stability, of sorts.” Richter shrugged.
“And us, in time.” The man replied.
“I don’t want any part of this!” Richter snapped.
“A man who wants to stop gambling doesn’t move to Las Vegas.” The other tapped a well manicured finger against his nose.
The steel grew hot beneath Richter’s fingers; he felt it sizzling after he released it through the back of his shirt. The heat causing him to throw himself forward, he collided with the man, whose hands slid up and covered Richter’s arms. His breath was stolen as he felt the strong fingers bury in his flesh, holding him firmly in place.
“Never was someone so tortured for so long…so needlessly. But it’s over now. We have come to rescue you, as you knew we would.” He whispered softly. “Why haven’t I told you to join me? The answer is simple because I have you already, heart and mind.”
“And what will you do with the world, Leith?” Richter could not suppress the shudder.
Leith stared. His smile grew broader “Nothing really, Phare.” He met Phare’s gaze and within, for a moment Phare saw fire and brimstone. Fear filled him and all thought of struggle melted. “Pluck it apart, like a child with a spider.”

The Symbol of Wrath (WIP)

Effieron: The Age of Change…

…Arriving to the War Council chambers Larion sought to order his thoughts.

“King Larion, it is my extreme pleasure to meet with you at this time, I am grateful for your consent to attend at an earlier time, than was scheduled.” The Diak meeting Larion as he entered the Citadel smiled, momentarily taken aback Larion frowned. The younger, fine boned, bland faced muscular Diak bowed his half shaven cobalt coloured head.

“Lt Falden, it surprises me to find you here I was to meet with the Lords and War Council.”

“Yes my King, I have been voted to lead the debate on strategy for the Council after the passing of Lord Devron – my mentor.” Falden said coolly indicating that Larion should pass before him.

“None has arrived yet to this strategy gathering, where are the members of the War Council?” Larion enquired as he entered the chamber.
Falden was careful in his approach “My King I believe they will arrive shortly, as is tradition they are most cautious when coming here, these are dangerous times and we cannot allow ourselves to be complacent.”

“Your candour does you credit, lieutenant.” Larion nodded.

“It was the stated condition of my mentor Lord Devron, that caution must be the first priority.” With those words Falden moved nearer to Larion the other unaware of his action remained unmoved. “My King, I know these are difficult times I wonder if I might share my thoughts with you.” Falden continued his careful approach.

“Lieutenant Falden, I would be interested to hear your views, not only as King but as a fellow brother in arms, certainly you showed your worth when we faced many insurmountable odds, thus I would not deny you the right you so deserve” Larion stated, the other nodded.

“Then I must tell you a story.” Larion looked at him in surprise. “When my father, Beloc passed while in service, under Lord Devron, he was hailed as a fine warrior loyal to Effieron, and so to continue to uphold the great works wrought by him I too came into service for the greater good of Effieron. My commission was met by the noble Lord himself and it proved the most gratifying to my success. In times of uncertainty we held fast to the oath to Effieron, that our world would always endure, beyond the crisis posed by the Cayjuns. It held sway that the actions of our King would also fulfil the oath to Effieron, until recent events have caused all Diaks to question the path taken to secure our future. Now we are facing the worst crisis, dissension, deceit and betrayal of our tradition and our ways, the very principles that have kept our world strong and alive are now being drained from it like the vital fluids that keep us strong. We can no longer trust that our brother is our ally in the face of adversity.”
Falden paused, watching the King listening in silence. As he began to speak again Falden fingered the hilt of the short dagla Sabre concealed at his hip. “It is difficult to secure loyalty, when one does not truly know to what or whom to be loyal, indeed it is a certainty for further anger if the one that can prevent the event, have chosen by action not to unite with his believers that they all hold sway to the one and true belief – that is the action benefits all in Effieron.”

“Lieutenant your words hold much truth, although I am unsure as to whom they reference if not to me singularly, as your King I would warn against the notion to lay blame without first attributing thought as to why an action was taken, perhaps justice may be better served to this discussion if you were to vindicate your convictions openly.“ Larion stated.

“I believe that as King, you should act with sanction against those who would bring Effieron to ruin, by their compulsion to lead us without tradition, you should not allow a human here as a mate to our future king, the actions taken by Lord Devron was just, loyal and fair and was in service to Effieron, granted his methods may be questioned. Punishment must be meted out in accordance to our laws and cannot be averted or suspended because the lawbreaker is a future leader; it is for this very purpose that the example should be set.”

Larion spoke slowly “the age of change is upon us and Effieron, whether we choose to accept it or not, the inevitable consequence of our survival is now dependent upon others not just ourselves, we can no longer claim sovereign anonymity but acknowledge that an outsider holds sway over our doom. It may not please you and others but such is the truth of our existence, actions taken in this time will produce results that will define our future, as for Lord Devron there is substantial questions over the sincerity of his motives …”

Falden flew to his feet, snarling “Lord Devron is worth more to Effieron than you, my King,” he lunged at Larion with the drawn dagla. Lithe on his feet Larion dodged him easily, but Falden was not to be avoided, charging again.

Now Larion had drawn his own weapon, the two Diak at standoff facing one another assessingly. Falden felt the warmth of the evening against his skin, the clamminess did nothing to alleviate the tension looking to Larion the other was unmoved. Seizing the opening while Falden sought to reassert his stance-Larion moved with fluid efficiency outpacing the other Diak catching him off guard, the glancing blow landing on his shoulder causing him to step back apace, fuelled by his anger, Falden recovered immediately returning with an upward knee surge to Larion’s midsection, sweeping his hand downwards barring the full brunt of the attack, Larion brought his dagla swiftly upwards, plunging it into Falden’s torso. The other groaned from the impact, readjusting his weight, Falden shoved with his elbow, creating an opening large enough to move his dagla striking downwards, the blow struck home in Larion’s shoulder, driving him backwards, sliding awkwardly wrestling with the blade nestled in his shoulder Larion snarled angrily. Falden extended his protracted nails; the black stream from his torso coloured his robe and dripped to the floor at his sandalled feet. Both Diaks were breathing hard from their efforts. Larion wrenched at the dagla in his shoulder breaking part of the blade, staggering slightly from the effort, throwing the rest of the weapon to the floor he too extended his protracted nails. Falden smiled coldly his tone hard.
“To it then, my King.”