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Chapter Text

London- 1884

It was the early morning of Brian Warner's 15th birthday- so early that the sun had barely begun to rise. He was sound asleep in bed, unaware that in a few moments his life would be turned upside down. Brian was the only son of Hugh and Barbara Warner- a wealthy couple from America who had moved to England and became nobles after getting in good graces with the Queen. Now, the reason his parents got such good graces was not because of what they traded or how splendid their parties were, it was because the family was good at taking care of scum. Any crime that was too mysterious or dark for the regular police at the Scotland Yard to handle, the Warners would handle it with deathly precision. This earned them the nickname of 'The Queen's Guard Dogs'. A title that gave them lots of enemies. And today, those enemies would strike.

It all happened so fast that Brian had barely any time to comprehend what was going on before he was thrown into the back of a horse drawn carriage- limbs bound with rope and mouth muzzled with a cloth. He watched in horror as two masked men closed the doors in front of him and the carriage started to drive off as fast as the horses could go, his family's manor growing smaller as the distance grew greater.

By dawn, Brian was taken to a secret underground bunker underneath an abandoned warehouse far into the countryside, where an evangelical cult practiced their dark rituals. He was brought before the high priest of the cult- a stout old man in dark robes and a golden mask covering his face. he was busy licking blood off of a dagger when his henchmen brought Brian into the ceremonial chamber- still bound but now with the cloth removed from his mouth.

"Ah, I can't believe my luck! The Warner heir, here in my presence! I've been expecting you, dear boy" exclaimed the high priest, sizing Brian up like he was a prized pig.

"Y-you won't get away with this!" said Brain, trying to sound brave "When my family finds you they'll-"

"They won't find us, dear boy. We're far to remote to ever be located"

"Well then h-how do you expect to get any money from-"

"We don't want your parents filthy money" the high priest sneered, pointing the blood soaked dagger under the teens chin "We want you, as one of our sacrificial lambs"

Brian's eyes widened in pure terror.

The high priest went towards the fire and placed a brand on a poker before putting it in the fire. While he did that, the two henchmen that held Brian ripped open his night shirt, revealing his pale chest. The mask clad priest soon returned with a red hot branding iron. "I think this number suits you very well" he said coldly before pressing the hot iron against Brian's exposed chest, causing the teen to wail in pure agony.

He had been marked with the number of the beast.

The didn't give the boy any time to recover before tossing him into a tiny metal cage with a dirt floor, laughing as they did so. Brian sat up and pressed his slim face against the bars, a look of pure terror mixed with sadness written all over his face. The heavy doors behind the men then closed, leaving Brian alone.

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For 5 long years, Brian was kept inside that cage. The once happy and sensitive boy was replaced by an angry and jaded man, who wanted nothing more than to watch everyone around him burn. He learned quite a lot in the half a decade of imprisonment- such as crying will get you nowhere, prayer is useless, and nobody was going to come for him. He watched as other children were brought in, abused, cried their eyes out, and were eventually executed in the cults vain attempts to summon the holy ghost. He knew it was in vain because they never managed to summon anything in the entire time Brian was there in the bunker. And with every failure, they would take their anger out on him- beatings would be worse, he wouldn't be fed for days, and they'd yell such vile curses at him that the young man was starting to believe them. He didn't just change mentally, butt physically as well. His hair was now long and tangled, his skin was near death white, and his body was pretty much emaciated. The branding of the beast (which was three number 6's circling around each other) had healed for the most part, but was a constant reminder of his fate to die at the hands of these monsters. One day, the high priest and a group of his followers went up to Brian's cage, he looked up at them with silent rage.

"Today's the day, young Warner" the priest whispered with a small sickening grin "You'll be the one to summon the ghost, I just know it".

The cage was unlocked for the first time in years, and 2 pairs of rough hands grabbed the skeletal young man and started dragging him towards the center of the room where the sacrificial alter lay. Despite him knowing it would be in vain, Brian flailed and squirmed with all his might to try and get away, grunting and screaming the whole time. The men then lay him harshly on the table and held him there, as everyone gathered around and the high priest took out his dagger. The vile priest said nothing as the others began chanting their rights, before plunging the dagger into Brian's stomach, a sadistic and satisfied grin plastered on the old mans face.

Blood started pooling fast, with Brian even coughing some up after the initial stab. Then, while the dagger was still in him, he screamed out a wish. A wish for power, a wish for revenge, a wish for destruction. With tears in his eyes and blood dripping out his mouth he shouted to any being that would listen to come and help him, he didn't care who or what at this point. Then suddenly, the floor below them began to glow, first white, then a deep purple.

"It's working!" exclaimed one of the cultists. The whole room broke out into cheers as the light grew brighter and brighter, until something started to emerge from it. "Wait a minute, that's not-"

The form that emerged from the ground was indeed not the holy ghost they were hoping for, instead it was something more darker than their wildest imaginations. It was a black formless shadow with bright red eyes and a sinister aura. The cultists knew instantly what it was.

"A-a demon!" one of them screamed. They all ran away from the table as fast as they could to try and escape, meanwhile the shapeless demon locked eyes with Brian.

"My my, sacrificing yourself to summon a demon, that's a first" said the demon with a slightly amused tone. The demon had a female voice, cold with a hint of sarcasm.

Brian should've been terrified- he was terrified. However, there was something about the demon that called to him. With what little strength he had left, he raised up his arm and reached out towards the demon, trying to grasp at it. The demon smiled and walked closer to the stabbed man, reaching out her own hand and clasping the trembling humans in a sort of handshake.

"I will help you with the revenge you seek, and in return, I will get your soul" said the demon calmly.

Brian nodded with all the vigor he could muster.

The demon chuckled "Very well" The demon then lifted Brian's face up, looking into his hazel brown eyes "Hold still" said the demon before she plunged her other arm into Brian's left eye, causing him to scream as the room was enveloped in purple light

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Brian and the demon were the only ones to walk out of the bunker alive. Everyone else had been brutally slaughtered by the demon before she set the place ablaze. She had now taken on the form of a woman- with dark hair, lightly tanned skin, and a feminized butlers uniform. She looked down at Brian- her new master that she was carrying bridal style. He had a tired expression on his face, his left eye now being a pale blue with a tiny black pupil, blood trickling down from the socket. His shirt had been ripped and turned into a make shift tourniquet for his stab wound. His long blondish brown hair blowing slightly in the wind.

"You may rest now, master" said the demon with a slight smile on her face, revealing her fangs.

Brian took her up on the offer, slowly closing his eyes and letting sleep consume him.

Chapter Text

Brian awoke 3 days later in hospital.

The doctor and a nurse were standing over him with concern carved deep into their faces. He looked at the visitors corner of the room and saw the nameless demon, watching him with a slight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Oh thank heavens you're awake!" exclaimed the nurse, clearly relieved "We were almost sure you weren't going to wake up again"

"May I inquire the whereabouts of the Warners?" asked Brian in a hoarse voice.

"And why do you ask that?" questioned the doctor.

"I am Brian, their son"

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Once it was confirmed that yes, the emaciated and scarred young man that arrived at St. Bartholomew's was in fact the Warner heir, the news spread across England like a wildfire. Old family friends and other nobility came to see him in droves, and journalists from 'The Times' newspaper tried to interview him about his disappearance (he barely responded to their intrusive questions). Despite all the visitors, Brian noticed that there were two people who failed to show up so far.

"Excuse me" he asked the doctor one morning "But I was wondering if my parents were going to come visit soon?"

The doctors face took on a look of grim sadness "I'm afraid they won't be coming, son"

"Why ever not?"

"Because they are dead"

Brian's eyes widened in shock, the words hitting him like a slap across the face "I'm sorry, did you say....dead?"

"Yes son. They've been dead for about 3 years now, some say due to grief from your disappearance. I'm so sorry"

As the doctor walked away, Brian found himself staring off at nothing in particular. The one thing that could've made this hell he went through worth it was long gone.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss, my lord" came the voice of the demon as she walked closer to Brian's bed. "You have my condolences".

Brian looked up at the weird demon woman, the one he had promised his immortal soul to. In the days of being bombarded with the upper crust, doctors, and journalists, he hadn't really gotten the chance to know more about the mysterious creature or their arrangement. "I don't suppose you can bring people back from the dead?" he asked half jokingly.

"I'm afraid not, for once something is truly gone it can never be returned" said the demon smoothly.

Brian nodded solemnly. "Why did you come?" he then asked "They weren't exactly trying to summon demons down there"

"It was the wickedness in their hearts and the intensity of your wish that summoned me. I simply couldn't ignore a request as powerful as yours"

He gave a sharp sarcastic chuckle "Powerful. Yeah right. All my life I've been such a weak little thing, hiding behind his mommy and daddy when things got too tough"

"Well my lord, you were the one to reach out to me in the first place. Perhaps you are more powerful than you think. But then again, it could have just been desperation"

This time, Brian gave a more sincere chuckle at the demons quip "Perhaps" He then looked her in the eyes "What is your name, demon?"

"That my lord, is entirely up to you"

Brian thought hard for a moment. "Paula. From now on you are Paula"

"Yes, my lord" said Paula with a bow "From now on I will be Paula, your faithful servant"

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When Brian was finally released from hospital, the first thing he wanted to do was to visit his parents graves. He found out that they were buried in Kensal Green, and made his way there without haste. When he finally set eyes on the cold headstones that bore his parents names, Brian couldn't take it anymore. He fell to his knees and began to cry for the first time in years- hot, angry tears streamed down his sunken in cheeks, and he gripped the grass so tightly that he tore some from the earth. Paula watched him the entire time, not saying a word. Eventually he stopped crying and looked back at his new demonic assistant, his expression almost unreadable except for one slight emotion- rage.

"I will have my revenge. I don't care how long it takes. Do you understand, Paula?" he said in a voice low and cold.

"Yes, my lord"

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After reclaiming his family's estate and fortune back from the state (with the help of Paula), Brian spent most of his days wandering the halls of his childhood home, occasionally stopping to stare into any mirrors he saw. He examined his entire frame and face over and over again- the bruises and scars, the paleness of his skin, the mismatched colors of his eyes, and his long hair. He occasionally would play with the ends of his hair, pondering on what to do with it. Paula had offered to cut it, but that didn't seem right to him, at least not yet. Eventually, as if on a whim, he decided to do something a little more drastic.

"Paula" he called out.

"What is it, my lord?" she said, arriving there in mere seconds.

"I would like to dye my hair black. Both to be in eternal mourning, and as a warning sign to any enemies who dare challenge me"

"As you wish, master Warner"

Within moments Brian was laid out on an old coffee table while Paula painted the dark, sticky chemicals of the hair dye onto his scalp. Once she was finished, she held out a mirror for him to see the results of her work. He studied his reflection again, and the mane of dark hair that casted itself around his gaunt face almost like a shadow. He gave a slight, genuine smile at his reflection. "It's perfect" he whispered.

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A few days later, Brian was sulking in the study- looking through a magazine of the most influential people of the current era, when Paula walked through the door.

"I've brought your afternoon tea, master Warner" she said as she wheeled a small cart containing the tea set and other accouterments.

"That's not right" said Brian, setting the magazine down on the table besides him.

"Whatever do you mean, my lord?"

"That name. It shouldn't belong to me. Brian Warner is dead- he died that night in the bunker. And in his place rose this monster- born from pain and grief, a symbol of darkness, a symbol of fear, a symbol of chaos"

"So what you are saying is that you would like a new name?"

"Precisely" he said. He then looked up at Paula and gave a slight mischievous smile "I gave you your name, I find it fitting that you give me one in return"

"Of course, my lord. It would be an honor" she said bowing slightly. "Now lets see......for your surname, I believe that Manson would be a good fit. Both because it has a dark and mysterious undertones, and it also acts a quirky joke about how you are the 'son of man'" she said with a smile.

"Alright, and what of my first name?"

"Marilyn" said Paula simply.

"Marilyn? If I'm not mistaken, that is a woman's name" he said with an amused smirk.

"It is" said Paula "However, I believe it would suit you quite well, especially since you yourself confided in me that you've never felt fully masculine"

"Marilyn Manson" he said, trying the new name on his tongue "I like it". This would be his new name- a name that would strike fear and intrigue into the heart of everyone who heard it, a name that represented all the good and bad of the world rolled up into one chaotic message, a name that was both simple and elegant, a name that was not attached to any previous noble family, a name that was truly his own. "Paula. From now on, I will only be referred to by the world as Marilyn Manson. Understood?"

"Yes, master Manson"

Manson smiled a wicked smirk, knowing that England was not prepared for what was about to be unleashed upon it.