And what had drawn
the Others? The very underbelly of the Beyond had been at her front door. The
locusts, the scavenger demon who’d shot both her and her brother, the Black
Tides of Abaddon . . .
He felt a chill go
through his human body. In the Beyond, identity was a luxury afforded to the
very few. God, of course, stood separate from the mass of His creations. Some
angels bore names and reputations—usually the wrong kind for the wrong
reasons—but not all did. Entire battalions of winged entities answered to
angel, just as thousands of faceless, nameless entities called themselves
reaper.
But even in the
Beyond—or perhaps especially in the Beyond—anomalies existed. Lilith, Mammon,
Beelzebub, Lucifer . . .
And Abaddon, a
name most humans wouldn’t recognize even though it was the very reason they
feared death. A name that marked a place in hell all its own. Scavenger demons
took delight in killing, in the terror that consumed their victims, but Abaddon
had bathed in their blood. He’d been so cruel, so vicious that he’d been locked
away, named for the place of destruction where he’d been banished.
What humans had
never understood was that hell had been made for creatures of the Beyond, not
for mortals. God would never send one of His beloved creations there, no matter
how great the sin. But His army . . . His workers . . . His devoted servants .
. . He expected more of them.
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