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It was an early Saturday morning when I came to understand that my path in life would be one of evil. I was seven years old, and I made my decision at the breakfast table while my mom wiped my face with a wet napkin. "Mom? 'Member how you said I can be anything I want when I grow up?"

"Mmm-hmm." She finished and threw out the napkin, then began wiping off the counter.

"Well, I know what I'm gonna be now."

Mom smiled at me. "That's nice, dear. What is it? A fireman?"

"Nope."

"A policeman?"

"Nope."

She furrowed her brow in mock contemplation. "Hmm... a doctor? A baseball player? A businessman like Daddy?"

I shook my head. "Nope, nope, nope."

"Well, what do you want to be then?"

"I want to be Satan," I proclaimed proudly.

Mom glared at me disapprovingly. "That's not nice talk, young man. Go wash your mouth out with soap."

My heart sank, and I lowered my head. "Yes, Mom."

Later that afternoon, as I sat on my bed, I contemplated the events of that morning. Why was Mom being so mean to me? How come she said I could be anything if she really meant that I could only be what she wanted? Why was she so angry with me when I told her what I wanted to do with my life? It didn't make any sense, and it wasn't fair. Did she want to be Satan too? I'd beat her to it, and then she'd be sorry.

I kept hidden my aspirations for several years to come, secretly gathering legions of followers from my neighbourhood. By the time I entered junior high school, I had appointed my seven closest friends as demogorgons of my High Council. No-one ever seemed to notice the ritual scarification on my forehead and chest, divine symbols of power wrought by my own hands. Those who asked me about it, I told that I had gotten into a car accident.

Over the summer of my 12th year, we constructed a grand temple of suffering out of scrap wood and construction remnants in the forest near my house. There I presided over a court of darkness, and my every whim was met by the initiates of my sect. I could feel my power growing. I was almost Satan.

I became prematurely confident during my high school years, and tried converting older students in the hallways, warning them of the coming age of darkness. They laughed at me a lot, but they stopped beating me up after I stabbed my hand to a cafeteria table with a fork. I cackled with glee as the ichor ran from the wound, and I was back in a week after the suspension was over. It wouldn't be long before I ruled in Hell.

By the time I was eighteen, the temple my followers had erected in the forest had expanded to include several smaller buildings around its perimeter. It was becoming formidable indeed, and it now merited a more impressive name than "Satan Palace". I decided to call it E-Ville, and had a sign made. My followers numbered twenty-two, and I felt that the time had come for my greatest act of darkness.

August 5th, 1994, at 2:30 in the afternoon, I stole my mom's station wagon and loaded in my demogorgons. We drove straight through a Sears display window at the local mall and came to a halt in the men's department. People were running to and fro, looks of panic and terror on their faces.

I rolled down the window and screamed through a megaphone. "EVIL! EVIL! EVIL! EVILLLLLLL- LLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!"

Everyone began laughing at me, but it was a laughter of fear and servility. Finally, my dream was realized. I was Satan!

My mom visited me later that night at the police station and gave me some legal papers saying I was no longer her son. I tried to impress upon her the glory of dark ascension, but she stalked away... jealously. I knew she wanted to be Satan!

I have a room at the Clarke Institute now, and a man visits every afternoon and tells me that my followers were all mannequins. His subversive lies only serve to strengthen my resolve, and I visit Hades nightly through a planar gate in my closet. My power is now ultimate, mortals can no longer lead me astray.