Legends of the Treasure Child : Demon Spawn

To all readers

Warning: This chapter contains graphic sex between Jesus Christ and John Sparrow. If you believe in the Holy Bible and do not wish to be offended by my writing, please refrain from reading this chapter.

Here it goes:

John spoke to the winged lesser demons which approached him and Lucifer with great speed. He said to them with thundering voice: “Fight me if you must, but remember this: On Judgement Day when I, the Gatekeeper, open the Gates of Hell to the world above, I shall remember those of you who will enter to feast on the flesh of humanity, and those of you, who will be judged to spend eternity down here and never witness the blue skies. The choice is yours!”

He watched their number dwindle into nothing. Something made John look down, and to his surprise, he realized he was stark naked. Where’d his clothes go? He looked at Lucifer in amazement, but The Morningstar only smiled secretively, and said: “When I did that to Prince Paris, he became ashamed and covered his nudity. You, however, don’t seem to mind, my love. As beautiful as any god, you are, Jehohanan.” The Morningstar couldn’t tear his hungry eyes away from the revelation in front of him. John did in truth look like a deity, with his tanned muscular torso and strong thighs. His eyes were two sparkling golden stars in the half dark of the abyss, and his hair, restrained from his forehead by a black and silver bandana, flowed about him like a midnight velvet sky strewn with stars. His wings had turned into wing-shaped infernos on either side of his shoulders. He looked positively breathtaking. He turned to The Morningstar, whose constant gaze had come to res upon John’s manhood, and the Demon King of the Eight Plane of Hell found himself frowning over the missing erection. Why wasn’t the Treasure Childe turned on by this display of perfection? It usually worked on everybody. John cocked an eyebrow at him as if he’d read the Demon King’s thoughts, but said: “I will not give you an answer just yet, Lucy. I need to help Jack.”

“Must I really resort to violence to have you, Jehohanan?”

“Don’t try to threaten me, Lucifer Morningstar. I am The Gatekeeper. I answer to no one” John replied angrily, starting his ascent.

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about hurting you, my love, I know just as well as you that you are invincible. I was simply thinking aloud, you see, darling. You say you answer to no one yet you run after Jack Sparrow like a dog that’s lost his master. Can you not see how he controls you? Are you really that blind, my love?”

“Stop calling me that!” John snarled with increasing worry. Why wouldn’t the stone ceiling melt away and open to him?

“He’s a wicked, greedy needy little pirate of no importance! Another soul gone bad, a wart on the face of humanity. His black heart gave him in truth what he deserved. He’s a miniscule—“The Morningstar shouted. But he was interrupted as John suddenly shot right at him, tackling the demon dead on. The impact sent them both reeling downwards in an uncontrollable spin, and John very soon after realized his mistake as Lucifer wriggled himself between his legs with a vile grin on his lips. John locked his fingers around Lucifer’s velvet neck and squeezed with all his might. The entangled fiends reeled downwards, wreathed in the flames from John’s wings like a meteor crashing through one hellish plane after the other. John’s eyes had gone from beautiful golden to bloody crimson. Lucifer fought to keep John under control but was unable to get a hold of his wrists. He bucked his hips, attempting to force himself inside John, but to no avail. The Treasure Child writhed and wrung himself, making it impossible for Lucifer to position his manhood properly. John scratched after Lucifer’s face, and tore his pretty features asunder with long claw marks from temple to chin, snarling like a wild tiger. Lucifer howled in pain, automatically reaching to his head, thus releasing John from his grip. John disentangled himself only feel himself drawn downwards. He landed on his back with a heavy thump. A multitude of shards pierced the flesh of his back and his wings, making John grit his teeth at the pain. He didn’t need to look in order to know where he’d fallen. His arms felt heavy, like timber logs, and he raised them to view the damage. He was bleeding from his palms. Everything was bathed in the colour red. Even his vision was crimson. He viewed the flesh of his palms again. The flesh was punctured on almost the same spot in both palms. That’s when John Sparrow remembered Jehohanan.


THE COLOUR RED

John vividly remembered their initial meeting. He had been wandering through the desert. The unyielding sun and smothering silence was getting the better of him, and sweat kept burning in his bruises and on his sunburnt skin. His fingers were raw from climbing countless precipices, and his knees were skinless from crawling on all four whenever another fit of bloodlust came over him.
Bands of thieves, mercenaries and demon lords who desired control over his skills as a gold maker had plagued him for the longest time. He barely stayed ahead of them, for the colour red which stained his vision; the bloodlust, kept reeling him back in, making him walk in circles. His own mind played tricks, making him think he’d eloped when he’d actually gone back to his pursuers.

The Treasure Childe he had been, had gone by the name of Jehohanan, the Revelator. He had been known as The One who Walks with Shadows. He had been known as The Infernal Angel and The One who made Gold. He was The Demon from Anatolia. The Howling Red-Eyed Demon of The Desert, he was Azdai - the Angel of Lust and Insanity.
Oh, the names were so many.

In Anatolia, the land of the rising sun which was his homeland, Jehohanan quickly become the hideous child with the clairvoyant gift. Where ever he turned, there were misery, and the future only brought more misery, to both good and bad. Too often did he see the cruelty of men and women get the better of them and destroy everyone in their path.
In his adolescence, the clairvoyance became littered with ghost sightings. They would often seek him out and demand justice. All though he helped out as best he could, Jehohanan often experienced that rectifying the name of one person often let to the demise of another whose soul in turn would seek Jehohanan out with a vengeance. Jehohanan’s powers were of such magnitude that he could reach out and touch a ghost, and its energy would improve a thousand times, allowing it to ‘re-materialize’ for as long as Jehohanan held on to it.
As a full-grown re-materialized demon, Jehohanan had access to an endless power source: Nature. Those who saw him at the peak of his blood lust, would see a red-eyed human looking beast with fire shaped as wings shooting out from his shoulder blades. They said he was made of The Beast and howled like the mountain cats. Neither did it help that not only was he clairvoyant, but the Gates of Heaven were, for some reason, open to him, and he could see straight into God’s innermost sanctum. The Throne, the Lamb, the four-faced seraphim and the knight and the sword. He had written it all down, so he could get it all out of his head, yet he couldn’t understand why God allowed a demon to see all these things. Perhaps God had wanted him to bear witness. Dreaming of The Lamb frightened him, for in his dream it had the eyes of a man, and the face of the Lamb was like a mask. Brown, chocolate eyes, ripe with knowledge, forgiveness and understanding. It knew why. It forgave him. And it understood. It was all-knowing, all-seeing and still, despite of the wickedness of men, it was willing to be sacrificed so they could wash off their sins by his blood. In another time, in another era, Jehohanan had seen eyes like that before. They had been similar to the eyes of a prince. And the name of the prince had fluttered in his brain while Jehohanan slept at night, pulling him from the shimmering white of God’s heaven down into the dark abyss of the planes of Hell until he’d set eyes on a ruin. And upon kneeling on the ruins, he had been filled with sadness beyond words. He would sense that it was his birthplace, and every time it came to that point, he would wake up in terror.
Oh yes. He was The Revelator. His gifts had been very much in control, and his human mind had been a very unwilling host because of the multitudes of horrors presented to him which often were accompanied by feelings he couldn’t understand. The mystery of the ruins on a certain place in Hell had seemed ungraspable. It had to do with his bloodline – but for some reason he felt that the knowledge was not meant for him. He was not the one who was meant to unravel it. It was too soon. Too many things had yet to happen. The chain of events was still undone at that time.

Jehohanan, as he had been reincarnated as, some two thousand years ago, had, by the time he found himself wandering the desert, had his vision permanently bathed in the colour red for many years. Too much had he endured. Too much had he seen. Whether it was the sight of victorious soldiers throwing infants from the battlements of recently conquered cities, and then enduring the sight of the same soldiers then enjoying the mothers afterwards – or enduring the agony of being held prisoner to some king which would torture him into using his gold giving abilities, or to watch innocent women stoned to death on allegations of adultery or simply because they fell in love with the wrong man, or be it to be awoken by a crowd of drowned children standing by his bed, children so small they had yet to learn to speak, begging for release with their eyes. What else could they do? The women with hollow bellies; They watched their husbands die at the hands of thieves, then raped and dying at the noise of screaming babies removed from their wombs before they were due, pinned to the walls like butterflies in a glass stand. The women’s souls –their bottomless pain, not only to be robbed from life but to have to stand by in ghost form an watch the thieves commit these foul acts against their bodies just after dying, to watch in helplessness as their children die before life even began!

Too much. The red veil on his mind, the savage bloodlust clouding his judgement, the anger colouring his golden eyes into molten red, had been a way to escape. Why not kill when everybody else killed? In times when sanity whispered from the back of his mind, Jehohanan had been unable to calm down, to decelerate, to part the veil that was the colour red.

Half deranged– hoping to somehow end it in the desert. It was a slim hope. A hopeless hope, as he refused to admit to himself that he ought to know better. Demon spirits of his kind aren’t allowed to escape, save their bodies grow old and they die a natural death. Being in his twenties at that point, salvation was nowhere in sight. It was a demon’s curse to have to endure the weaknesses, the incapacities of its human form; The need for sleep, the fatigue and the constant craving for food. Then it was all the diseases, the rollercoaster of human emotions which surged through the mortal body and which most often was beyond the demon’s control. No demon in his right mind longed for reincarnation, not unless they’d singled out a victim for some reason, perhaps someone important to God and his followers.
John remembered fondly how he’d encountered a flustered and angry Lucifer in the desert. The hellish King of the Eight Plane had been shaking with rage over something as irrelevant as one single human soul.

“Our brother of the light refused me three times. Three times! Who the hell does he think he is? Kill him for me, and I will forget that your king once denied me my prize. Look at you” Lucifer has sighed as he always did when he liked to reminiscence about the past, “and had you but been an offspring of mine instead of ‘his’, you wouldn’t have had to suffer this exile and the misery of constant rebirth. I tried to seduce his chosen one, Paris. But he was an idiot. A bloody prince with too much honour!”

The Light that was Lucifer then disappeared, leaving behind a baffled Jehohanan. It made no sense to him then. He was too far gone in bloodlust to understand, to see clearly. For reasons he could not tell, he turned and went in search of the man who’d refused Lucifer’s temptations three times.

It didn’t take long before Jehohanan had found him. The man, frail-framed and shrouded in a grey shift made from coarse wool, looked up to see who was coming. He had a handsome, bearded yet open face as custom of the times was. He wore his dark hair long and loose, and Jehohanan could smell the mix of soap made from animal fat and herbs which the man had use to clean his hair with. He was sitting by a withered old tree on rocky bottom, clearly aware of Jehohanan long before the demon himself had seen him. Upon meeting each other’s gaze, Jehohanan immediately froze. The eyes of the Lamb! They belonged to this man!

For a moment the air became heavy, and Jehohanan felt himself pressed to the ground as a surge of energy seemed to wash through the air. A balance within Jehohanan seemed to shift, and quite inexplicably the colour red was drained from his mind. He breathed heavily, feeling his heart beat violently in his chest as if he’d laboured hard. He looked up at the man once again.

“Who sends Thee?” the man in his late twenties spoke.

“No one. I came to see what kind of mortal man it was who would be capable of resisting Lucifer three times and live to tell the tale.”

The man stood, and walked over to where Jehohanan was kneeling. He hesitated before kneeling beside him.

“You would kneel by my side? I am a demon incarnate, I would tear you to shreds in a matter of moments” Jehohanan said, feeling dizzy when looking into the other man’s eyes. Something about the mortal made him want to flee. There was a certain indefinable touch of destiny about him.

“I am Jesus of Nasaret” the man replied with kind, almost indifferent voice, “and I see the Truth written in Thy eyes, yet Thou art too blind to see it yourself. It is there, but not for you to see. Thou art not worthy of the Truth.”

“So it would seem” Jehohanan replied dejectedly, not really knowing why he felt disappointed. Neither did it bother him to have a human tell him something he already knew, but denied to see.

On no way had Jehohanan expected the kiss. It came out of the blue, catching him by surprise, but he did nothing to stop Jesus. It was like drinking in a flood of delightful coolness which soothed his lips and his sore limbs all at once. He wanted it to last. And when Jesus broke off the kiss, Jehohanan was quick to kiss him back, his lips lingering, never getting enough. He had to put his hands on him! The gesture was returned, and he soon felt Jesus’ hands on his body finding their way through the openings of his ragged tunic. The man from Nasaret had carpenter’s hands. They were rough yet dry, and moved tentatively about Jehohanan’s skin with contemplativeness and skill, measuring Jehohanan’s skin and curves as like he would search a sculpted piece of woodwork for irregularities and smoothness.

Giving in to Jesus from Nasaret was not difficult at all. Every touch, be it from his velvety lips or his skilled craftsman’s hands, was more convincing than any word a man or woman on this earth had ever spoken. It was so right, yet so wrong, for the gathering of stormy clouds above did not go unnoticed. It was as unnatural as it was possible to get, bearing every signature of being fabricated by an angered god. Jehohanan would not have blamed Jesus if he had decided to heed God’s warning and disentangle himself from the demon. But the man from Nasaret ignored the thunderous warning above, instead positioning himself between Jehohanan’s legs. And as he was about to make the first thrust, Jehohanan stopped him, laying his hands on Jesus’ chest in a warning manner.

“You just declined King Lucifer three times. Why this?!”

“Should I not commence?” Jesus answered with another question.

“What happens, happens. The Path is made before us all. We can but walk it. What else is there?”

“But” Jehohanan swallowed hard, biting down the pain flaring up as Jesus mounted him in one swift thrust, “you would have had all the kingdoms of the world” Jehohanan replied, drinking in another kiss. The tongue of his lover made an occasional sweep inside his mouth, and Jehohanan felt a spark of lust swell in his groin. “All you had to do was make bread of stone. Why go hungry?”

“There be things I do, and things I don’t. Making bread from stone is not possible.”

“But you didn’t tell Lucifer that. You made him believe you could, just to spite him” Jehohanan moaned, watching the sombre clouds above roll above their heads. Angry thunder filled the air and sharp lightning pierced the bleak horizon.

“My friend. Thou shiver” Jesus said, pausing his lovemaking to look into his lover’s golden eyes. He had a worried wrinkle across his forehead, and up close were fine, almost unseen lines of age hidden in the sun-tanned, perfect skin on Jesus’ face.

“Please” Jehohanan moaned into his lover’s ear, “please don’t stop. Or if you must, stop now and forever turn your back on me and leave this place, for I have never before known such completion. Having you inside, is beyond anything I’ve ever felt before. You are the half I have been searching for all these thousands of years.”

“Yet our love will only be brief” Jesus moaned, gripping Jehohanan’s shoulders hard. The grip was a statement of the unspoken; The truth they both saw unfolding inside their minds: Never again would they know each other’s bodies before a thousand years or more once again passed. They’d both squandered precious time occupying themselves with trivialities such as the vanities of men. Though Jesus’ work with them mattered a whole lot more than what Jehohanan did, and despite the fact that compared to Jehohanan’s by then two thousand years old soul, Jesus’ soul was basically born yesterday, Jesus’ insight and wisdom was by far greater than Jehohanan’s. Jesus was and would, in demonic terms, always stand as nothing more than a drop in the vast ocean that was the blood of humanity. Still, his soul was the fated mate of that of Jehohanan’s. God’s agent and a demon offspring. Forever bound.

They stared into each other’s eyes a long time once the lovemaking was over and done with. Then they parted without another word.

After that, as Jehohanan, John remembered seeing Jesus one last time. It was an experience which threatened to drain the remains of goodness from him.

She was a frail little thing. And when she found his arm, The mother Mary had clung to his arm resolutely, as if she’d sensed that Jehohanan was a friend of her son Jesus. She wore her fading black hair in a long braid, and for the occasion she was shrouded in strong colours; Red and blue. She wanted to be seen. She wanted them to know that the mother of Christ intended to stay strong and watch her son die. She had decided to stand dignified through the humiliations they’d put her son through. No one but Jehohanan saw the great, invisible cross she carried as she made Jehohanan plough the way through the mob which had gathered to watch the procession through the gate of Golgotha.

Not once did she lose sight of her son’s troubled face and his handsome features which were obscured by the blood running from the thorns pricking the skin of his forehead. It was a distorted mask of agony, and Jesus’ eyes were blurred with fatigue and immense pain. He saw no one, felt nothing except the heavy weight of the cross and the road before him.

The Mother Mary’s fingernails near punctured the skin on Jehohanan’s arm. She was holding on so tight, the knuckles on her hands whitened, and her jaw was set firmly as to hold back the flood of tears he thought he saw cascading on the inside.

Could she possibly know Jehohanan had been with her son? Had he perhaps shared that information with her at some point? Jehohanan would never know. He simply escorted her to the heights, seeing the silhouettes against the merciless sun of the crosses already hanging there. He felt sick at the thought of Jesus hanging there with them.

She let go of his hand and walked towards the soldiers, as her son was placed onto the cross on the ground. Jehohanan saw her body shake with every blow as they hammered nails through Jesus’ hands and feet. His agonizing screams pierced through him, making Jehohanan want to run away from it all. But then she turned to look at him for a brief moment, and he realized something: If she could find the strength, then so could he. She – the mother of Jesus, a mere mortal woman – stood before the soldiers who mercilessly erected the cross with the dying Christ, and she never uttered a sound.

Then it happened, that Jehohanan by accident gazed over to the officials - the priests who kept chanting about God’s will be done. They praised God for finally dealing with the sinner – the so-called Messiah. The praised God in the midst of the insanity taking place, not understanding that it was God himself who had set this in motion. Just like God had compelled the snake in paradise to deal with Eve, God had now blinded Pilatus and his followers, the disciples and every other citizen of Jerusalem into thinking that Christ was a false Messiah. God’s intent had been good from the start – Christ was indeed the Messiah, but God now punished him for his wickedness with Jehohanan. Jesus’ teachings were turned against him, and his disciples were either prosecuted or in denial. Clever, Jehohanan thought to himself, gazing upwards, how very clever of you, God. This way, no one would ever know. And the priests and every other believer in God would only be strengthened in their faith

“God is great!” they shouted, and fell to their knees while repeating; “God is great!” Oh yes, by God he would wring the necks of every single one of them! Jehohanan felt hatred swell inside his chest, felt his hate and contempt for these ignorant, selfish people who called themselves ‘God’s chosen ones’ fester and root in his heart.

She wept at his feet. She wept in silence. With strength and dignity, she watered the feet of her son with her tears and the sweat of her brow. She never left his side until he, with his last breath, opened his eyes and looked at Jehohanan and said: “My brothers do not believe. Therefore she is not safe. Care for her, as you would for me, my love”

He was, of course true. Jehohanan saw it in a vision only hours later. It was what could have been, if she chose to go home. They would be waiting for her, and they would ask her sternly why she chose to stay all day and night by the side of a criminal. She would argue against them, telling them that Jesus was just as much her son as any of them were. She would be tired and mourning. Josef was nowhere to be seen. The argument would escalate, and they would call her a witch. Jehohanan saw her being stoned to death. Then he saw the other outcome. He saw her prevail, should she choose to go with him. He saw them travel across mountains. She would sit on the back of a donkey, and Jehohanan would lead the way. He would protect her from highwaymen and roman soldiers. He saw himself burying her a year later. The grief would kill her. But she would be safe from harm, and he would love her as if she was his mother. He would honour the last request from Jesus.

When Jesus finally had died, Jehohanan took comfort in the thought that their souls would meet again, in another time and another place. It could go a thousand years, maybe two, maybe five thousand, depending on the circumstances. Maybe then, they would have the opportunity to enjoy each other’s company for a while.

Back in the present, John opened his eyes to find Lucifer hovering in the air above. He remembered where he was, and the combination somehow triggered more anger. John dug his nails into the ground beneath him, and hurled a fistful worth of dust, speckles and putrid sand into the gaping wounds in Lucifer’s face. The Treasure Child watched The Morningstar fly away with an agonizing scream.

His body felt weak and John was almost overcome with the sense of sadness emanating from the rocks beneath him.

A soul suddenly appeared at John’s side. He had to look twice, and he resolved that the apparition before him was that of a giant. The ghost was stunning and awe-inspiring, but he looked extremely sad.

“Welcome home, young master. Your arrival has long been expected.”

“Hephaisthos” John simply stated, breathing heavily. “I remember you, although I’ve actually never really met you. You died here four thousand years ago when the Demon King fled with Paris!”

“The King resolved to save his relationship to his prince consort. I was more than willing to perish for the sake of their happiness.”

“They never—, I mean, their love was never restored” John said, striving to get his limbs moving.

“The Golden Child…?!” Hephaisthos wondered.

“You’re looking at him. Though, I have to say, it’s a little morbid when thinking about it, I mean, I was reborn from the loins of my own brother” John said, laughing awkwardly. “I’ve no idea where these words are coming from and why they’re coming out of my mouth but I tell you one thing, it’s the absolute truth!” John said. His eyes were almost popping out of his head and his face shone with revelation. He felt like a child who’d just unwrapped his presents on Christmas morning, and what he found both thrilled and disgusted him. John got to his feet and stretched his wings and his back. His wings arched elegantly in the air above his head, and he felt Hephaisthos’ eyes on him as he did it. The flames had gone, replaced by black, lush feathers. John closed his eyes and wavered, almost overcome by the tidal wave of memories. It was as if the very rocks themselves tried to enter as much information into his head as possible. His vision flickered again, and John knew he was gazing upon a future to come. It involved a golden dragon, a young demon which John instantly identified as his son. His future son was embracing another young man, and from the looks of the young man, he was a Turner. It was like gazing at a much younger Will Turner! They were protected, or besieged by a host of winged Sparrows. John couldn’t tell, except they were his brothers. So many! More than a hundred!

John hid his face in his palms and fell to his knees. He heard the ghost of Hephaithos sob thankfully: “The Kingdom of the Seventh Plane of Hell shall be rebuilt and inhabited once more by the descendants of His Grace, The Demon King! I will not have to endure this loneliness anymore” Hephaisthos smiled.

“So it would seem” John moaned dejectedly. “If there is one place my people do not want to be, then it’s down here, on the remnants of what once were” John continued sternly, looking up at the ghost.

“This is your birthplace, Sire. Your true home” Hephaisthos replied solemnly.

“And it screams with grief, pain and torments passed. I do not want this to be the future home for my son and his— his whatever or whoever that boy is!”

“Then if it is in your power to change the future, then you must, my lord. I shall stay, however, forever awaiting the return of The Demon King and his kin. And that be whether they come or not” Hephaisthos said, nodding towards John.

“Well, there will be no getting Jack down here. His only love is the sea and that’s it. Which reminds me, it’s time to go. I have to find Jack. The Thyrion—“

“—that is not his true title. There can be only one Thyrion, and he died when you were born. You bear the last of his essence.”

“So my father…or brother, or whatever I’m supposed to call him….”John trailed off as his thoughts spun ahead to a conclusion, “he thinks he is our father. When he’s really just my brother. It does, however not change the fact that Jack gave birth to me. If not anyone, then Jack Sparrow still stands as my only true father.” John cast a glance over the edge of the ruins, downwards into the darkness. “If my kin, for whatever reason it may be, is to dwell in Hell, then that stuffed up, fancy-pants bat down there in number eight is going to have to be eliminated. Or permanently removed. Somehow.”

“You speak of Lucifer Morningstar” Hephaisthos told him, “who feeds his victims to the soul-eaters”, the giant said, shuddering at the memory. “The power that still remains on this plane has so far protected me from them. Yet very few know of the gift the rocks still possess.”

“Aye, there’s still life and knowledge in them after all, which is a positive aspect of living down here. Hephaisthos, I am glad to make your acquaintance, but I must try to reach the surface. Jack needs me.”

“Who is this man you call Jack, other than being your—“

“—he’s a pirate. An ex-premium scum. De crème de la crème of pirate lords. That is, until he went hunting for the Fountain of Youth. He met Saieros there, and has been his slave ever since. Saireos wants to complete his father’s endeavour to create an army of demons. By the looks of it, Jack, and not Prince Paris, may be the one who will bear them.”

“Do not speak of your father that way, The Prince Consort—“

“—was simply not meant for the job. He failed.”

“He bore you and your brothers!” Hephaisthos argued, “he did everything in his power to stay pregnant!”

“Aye, he did. I am glad to see where your loyalties are, Hephaisthos. I know what you meant for Paris. I see his reflection in your eye, you loved him dearly as if he was your own. Care for Jack as you would for Paris, and I will reward you” John told him sincerely, glad to have found an ally in the darkness that was Hell.

“I give you my word, master. I shall not fail you” Hephaisthos told him, relieved to find he had passed a test.

“I leave you now, my friend. I will return.” John took off, ascending rapidly. He thought that word must have spread rapidly as he was allowed to travel freely upwards. They were all on their best behavior now that The Gatekeeper was in town. The cave above him melted away as he approached. The very fabric of Hell was a half-aware living material, a fabric of time and place itself. It usually knew before the demon or person himself knew, and if there was unfinished business, then there was no getting out no matter how urgent it was. All things happened for a reason. Even in Hell.