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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