Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“I am Abaddon, the Lord of locusts. The Angel of Destruction. I hold the key to the Bottomless Pit.” Shivering at how powerful those words felt on his tongue, Abaddon pushed back his long hair and cupped Gabriel’s face with the other hand. “I know what’s been done to you, poor lamb, and I will avenge you.”
He could see the truth sink in as Gabriel’s pupils widened. “You’re not here. You’re just another delusion. I should have taken my meds,” the boy uttered stubbornly, even though the smell of blood was dense in the air and Abaddon’s human form couldn’t have been any more solid.
“I’m not?” Abaddon asked and grabbed the slim hand, pulling it straight to his chest. “Does this not feel real?”
Gabriel gasped, but at least he wasn’t running anymore. He must have understood that no harm would come to him at Abaddon’s side.
“And you just materialised in the kitchen, to kill Mr. Watson because he’s an evil cultist who burned me with a torch a long time ago?” Gabriel asked in a high-pitched voice.
Abaddon exhaled and placed both his hands over Gabriel’s, studying the boy’s narrow yet long nose. “No, I was born in the ground. When I broke free of it, the remnants of my wings were still scattered everywhere. Hundreds of black feathers.”
Gabriel chuckled, making Abaddon frown. “That makes so much sense. Abaddon is a fallen angel, so of course he’d come from underground.” He reached for Abaddon's hair and picked out a few lumps of dirt. “And you’re here to avenge me? We’re going on a killing spree?”
Abaddon frowned, taken aback by the boy’s eagerness to make his pretty hands dirty. “That man burned your chest, didn’t he?” he asked, gesturing toward the meatbag bleeding out on the floor, with a new burn scar on his own face. “And then, there were others. Rogers. Martinez. Benson. Beatrice. Father John,” Abaddon recited with nausea climbing up his throat. He leaned against the wall as the world blurred somewhat, just like when he’d vomited soon after his awakening. But this time, the unpleasant sensation passed without such consequences.
The silly smile drained from Gabriel’s face, and he put his fist over the scar that no doubt hid under his clothes. He nodded and looked away from Abaddon, his small mouth pale. “I hate them so much. C-can I look at him?” he asked and pointed to Watson.
Abaddon exhaled, unsure whether a boy so frail could cope with such a drastic sight, but concluded that there had to be a firm core to the dainty exterior if Gabriel had survived this long. He stepped back and slid his hand down the boy’s arm, entwining their fingers. “Of course.”
Gabriel stiffened but didn’t pull away, and let Abaddon guide him into the pool of blood growing around Watson.
“Is it wrong that I wished him dead?”
Abaddon exhaled. “A man can sin not only in deed and word, but also in thought. Alas, I know how badly he hurt you, and you cannot be blamed for those feelings. He wasn’t a servant of the Almighty. None of them are.”
“If it had really happened, it would make sense for me to have these bad thoughts, right? Of revenge?” Gabriel whispered.
They stared at the red face that had been mangled by hot oil before Abaddon slit the man’s throat. Watson lay in his own blood, illuminated by the morning sunshine as if God himself was showing appreciation for Abaddon fulfilling his righteous mission on Earth. Angels did not feel remorse or fear the way humans did, so he had no qualms about the violence, because he knew it to be just.
“How does it make you feel?” he asked, rubbing his thumb across Gabriel’s smooth skin.
Gabriel’s lip curled, and he squeezed Abaddon’s hand. “Glad. I just wish I knew why he hurt me back then, only to act like nothing happened afterwards.”
“He and the others were trying to call on me. I have come, but not at their invitation,” Abaddon said, stretching his neck as he studied the corpse. In the glow of the sunrise, the blood glistened like ruby dust.
Gabriel nodded, making Abaddon so proud. He was taking it all in stride and bravely facing his tormentor. “Should we… move him? Get rid of him? What if we get caught?”
“‘We’?” Abaddon asked with a small smile.
“Y-yes. I want to help. I need to. I can’t have you caught before they’re all fucking dead.” Gabriel cleared his throat and pulled his hand away. “Excuse me. I mean… for the swearing.”
Abaddon smirked and cupped the pale face, stroking it with his thumb. “Don’t you worry. Until I fulfil my calling, I am technically one of the fallen. So you can swear until my mission ends.”
Gabriel let out a nervous laugh. “And then what? You ascend?”
Abaddon smiled despite the pulsing at the back of his head and constant, if low-level nausea. “I shall. Once all of your tormentors have been punished, God will grant my wish of being with Him again.”