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“How much is a little?” asked Missolis. “Because he deserves so much torture.”
“So much,” said Hekata, nodding in agreement. “All the torture.”
“No one is torturing anyone,” Micah put in. “But yes, the concept is sound. Once we have him trapped, we can negotiate with him to fix the Sacred Machinery.”
“And if he doesn’t do it?” I asked.
“Then we’re back where we were before Medrion, but at least Lucifer is locked away.”
“This is risky…” I said, trailing off. “Azrael signed off on this plan?”
“She hated it, too. But we’re out of options.”
I nodded. “He won’t come alone. You know that.”
“I know.”
“I want permission to release Abaddon. We’ll need him when Lucifer and his demons arrive.”
Micah stepped forward. “Sarakiel, I know you care for him, but you have to know?—”
“—I know, Micah. I’m not stupid. But he’s one of the best fighters we have; that was as true in the battle against Medrion as it is now.”
“And he’s the only one of us who has fought Lucifer and survived,” said Missolis.
Micah sighed again, then lowered his head. “Azrael already agreed to his release. You can go and see him.”
“Thank you, Micah,” I said, and without saying another word, I turned towards the edge of the palisade and vaulted over it, using my wings to guide me down to the ground below. It was time for Abaddon and me to have a conversation, while there was still time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Déjà vu struck me as I made my way down into the cells. I had done this before; made the exact same walk to visit the exact same prisoner being held captive in the exact same place. I had been on my way to free him, too. So, why did this time feel so infinitely different?
It was as if these two separate moments were worlds apart.
Entire universes apart.
I had expected to find Abaddon standing in his cell, pacing angrily, desperate to be released. Instead, I found him lying on a bed in his cell, one arm tucked behind his head, one knee raised up. His wings were gone, tucked away for comfort. His horns, though—there was no hiding the marks of the sinner, and those looked uncomfortable as all hell.
Pun not intended.
Abaddon perked up as I entered the main dungeon area. He then struggled to sit upright as I approached the door to his cell. He wasn’t alone; one of Azrael’s armored angels stood guard, his sword at his side, his hand on the pommel. I asked the angel to give us some privacy, but the angel seemed hesitant. I had to ask a second time to get the angel to leave the room.
When Abaddon and I were alone, I came up to the bars of his cell fully. Abaddon took a deep breath in through the nose, then exhaled. His eyes didn’t have that red sheen about them, but the rest of him… there were marks all over his body. Cracks and veins of deep purple that crawled along his skin in an almost artful way.
“Have I been sentenced, yet?” he asked.
“I’m here to release you,” I said, then paused. “Again.”
“These angels are too soft on their prisoners.”
“I told them not to hurt you. I begged them to heal you, in fact. I told them how you saved my life and rescued me from Lucifer.”
Abaddon scoffed. “Rescued you,” he shook his head. “I did no such thing, only prolonged our suffering.”
“Because of you, I’m not suffering right now. Neither are you.”
Abaddon turned his eyes up at me, and I saw clearly now how deep the marks across his face and neck were. On the outside, it looked like him… I could still see the angel whose image I held firmly in my mind during my time in the Pit and in Hell, but that wasn’t his face anymore. There was a pallor to it that wasn’t there before, his cheeks looked a little more sunken than I remembered, and there was a strange blue light behind his eyes I had never seen before.
