Author's Note: This was created by last moment inspiration with a piece I intended to write for something else, but then ended up being elaborated into Mello's perspective in Sweet Decadence.

Despite his Catholic origin, Mello placed his faith in power rather than God. Power allowed him to choose his own destiny, to create the future in his hands. Mello knew it was power, not God, that moved the world. Perhaps one time he would've believed different, but ever since Mello joined the Mafia for his obsessive revenge, he knew his delusional paradise of heaven harbored no place for broken messiahs like him.

Mello used to desperately hope that a better place existed beyond this world, beyond the chaos so he could believe all his struggles through his life weren't in vain. He used to be so gifted, so talented, surely blessed with God's grace. People have even called him the picturesque quintessence of an angel, with halo-golden hair and infinitely blue eyes. Mello might've believed himself worthy in the Lord's eyes, though deluded irony forced him to believe he was cursed rather than blessed.

Cursed to have been born in a world as contemptible as this, to have fallen so far from grace that Mello could do nothing except clutch his rosary and utter blasphemies as truth and prayers as lies, revelation unfulfilled. Knowing that heaven remained a hallucinatory mirage forever eluding him, Mello fell downward into the maddening spiral of anger, the Dante incarne of his psyche traversing the nine concentric circles of his mind, yielding forth the profundity of his madness. He had no chance of redemption, no nails for his crucifix, no thorns for his crown. A prayer without faith, a church without God, a rosary without a set of Mysteries. Bitter disillusionment only remained, and Mello found solace in anger and hatred.

He hated everyone.

He hated Near.

He hated his dead parents.

He hated God.

Yet more than he hated everything else was himself. It wasn't enough that he rejected the religion he once believed in. It wasn't enough when he cursed God's name the day L died. It wasn't enough that he joined the Mafia in an obsessive rage to take down Kira. No, the epitome of everything that made him disgusted with himself was when he raped Sayu Yagami. When Sayu stared up at him with lifeless eyes devoid of humanity, she mouthed the single word 'why', speaking infinite volumes in the void (perhaps the same emptiness that existed during the time of Creation) surrounding them.

Why?

Why was he doing this?

Because he needed release. To escape from reality.

No, that was wrong. It was because he needed someone to be as miserable he was. Someone who felt as pathetic, as worthless, as hateful as he was. He didn't need to justify that to her, though. He didn't need to justify anything to anybody.

What right did she have to ask him?

When she moaned as he suffocated her with his fervent kiss, Mello found it easier to transfer his loathing of himself to her. How disgusting, to enjoy something so filthy, so degrading. What kind of masochistic whore was she to submit to a sadistic bastard like him?

How profoundly disturbed could anybody else be?

On a subconscious level, however, Mello couldn't help but notice reflections of his insanity mirrored through Sayu's facial features, dark eyes dulled into blackness darker than L's in his death throes, darker than his parents' as they screamed delirious blasphemies that Mello would always remember through the –terror horror anger malice- of his childhood. Perhaps he never knew the difference between calm and calamity - he never did, not with the kind of life he lived.

Mello's birth wasn't celebrated by a chorus of angels, but hateful curses from his mother who spat out his name like an obscenity. She named him Mihael as a condemnation rather than a blessing - another part of his ironic existence, because she knew (but most of all, he knew) that he would never live up to the likeness of God. Mello (Mihael) always lived in fear as far as he could remember. The constant praying in complete darkness, the unholy illumination of bleeding candles, the atrocious smell of smoke and burning flesh. Whether it was divine retribution or unfortunate circumstances, Mello didn't know. What he did know was that the only thing he ever lived through was calamity.

He didn't hate Sayu Yagami, not really, but he couldn't bring himself to care about her, either. Just let this one moment of hedonism, this sinful indulgence of sex and masochism, plunge him into that moment of perfect stillness, away from everything. Mello needed that blissful nirvana of perfect calm, to escape from the calamity he suffered through his entire life. It didn't matter what she felt. It didn't matter what he felt. He needed this more than anything. It didn't matter whether God (Kira) incurred His wrath upon Mello for this sinful deed - he was deserving and he knew it. What beautiful poetic justice it would be if he perished in a brilliant wave of holy fire.

Instead of finding the sweet release he hoped for, Mello found himself trapped in the same whirlpool of calamity he'd always known. There was no calmness. There was no heaven. Stricken to the core, Mello knew there was no hope for him now. With every plunge he made inside her, he blasphemed God, cursed every saint, and condemned his beloved Virgin Mary's name. What else could he have done? What more did he have to lose? Just a discarded rosary he wore as a shameful reminder to himself that God didn't abandon him; he abandoned God. What a pitiful child he was, especially knowing that he could no longer control anything in his life.

But he couldn't bring himself to care because he could no longer play the martyr.