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CHAPTER ONE
SARAKIEL
Medrion was there when I opened my eyes. He was staring at me, his gaze fixed and angry. Sucking a quick gulp of air in through my teeth, I scrambled away from him, my hands clambering over uneven ground that clattered and shuffled beneath me.
The air tasted like dirt; rancid, cold, and hard to inhale.
Medrion didn’t move. I realized after a moment that he wasn’t looking at me, but through me. Even in the dim light, I could tell his eyes were glazed over and glassy.
And his neck was entirely the wrong way around.
The sight of his twisted muscles made my stomach tighten and turn itself over. I found myself fighting the urge to gag, to throw up what little food was left inside of me. He was dead. I had watched Lucifer kill him and throw him.
Throw him… in here.
Into the Pit.
Dread filled me as my memories rushed back. My head spun, nausea filling me and making me feel even more lightheaded than I already was. The ground seemed to give way from under one of my hands and I wasn’t quick enough to stop myself from sliding a few feet. That slide turned into a tumble, and that tumble quickly became an unstoppable roll that only ended when I hit a wall.
Debris fell on top of me, disturbed by my fall. I had to bat the landslide away from my face to keep it from burying me, from suffocating me. When the ground stopped churning, I opened my eyes and discovered that I had landed at the bottom of a tall mound of bones—I could just about see the tip of one of the dead archangel’s wings, sticking out at the top of the pile.
We must have both landed on it when we were thrown in.
Around me were more bones; skulls that seemed to watch me from behind eye-less sockets, ribcages, hands, and even spinal cords surrounded me. Everything was coated in a thick layer of ash, some of which hung in the air, making it difficult for me to take even the slightest of breaths without coughing.
It would’ve been pitch dark down here, if not for the single spot of light way, way, way above me.
It was so incredibly faint.
Like a distant star.
Just bright enough to reveal the horror of my surroundings, but not bright enough to bring me any comfort. In fact, the light only made my dread surge again, because I recognized it.
It was him.
Lucifer.
That was his Light, and if he was still up there, then so was Abaddon.
Desperate I tried to get to my feet. The bones beneath me roiled as I stood up, feeling more like quicksand than solid ground. It didn’t matter where I put my hands or feet, there were bones; some crushed and broken, some entirely whole.
I managed to stand, balanced precariously on top of the morbid pile, though my shoulders and wings felt sluggish—like I was being weighed down by something heavy and invisible. I opened my mouth to yell.
“Abaddon!” I roared.
There was no echo.
My voice didn’t bounce along the walls of the Pit, instead it seemed to slap against them dully, muted and choked by the build-up of dust and grime. I tried again, this time screaming until there was no air left in my lungs. I called for Abaddon again, I called for help, I even called for Lucifer; but the Pit swallowed my voice, grabbing the sound and dragging it back down.
I wasn’t about to give up and let this place take me. Angels had to be broken before they were thrown in here, crushed so they wouldn’t have the strength to pick themselves up and claw their way back into Heaven. I was neither broken nor crushed, so if anyone was going to get out of here, it was going to be me.
Heaven was right there.
Abaddon was right there—and I had wings.
I shrugged my shoulders and unfurled them. Just that simple movement had kicked up a massive cloud of dirt that was difficult to see through. It was only going to get worse when I beat my wings, but there was no time to waste.
One hard push and I was up and off the ground, another and I was about two feet up. Three feet. Four feet. I had to fight for every single inch of height, not because I was weak, but because the Pit was trying to drag me back down.
