Chapter 13
Ireally need to get in the habit of asking questions before agreeing to go anywhere. I mean, sure, I likely would have agreed to come to the Abyss no matter what Dusk said about it, but a bit more mental preparation would have been greatly appreciated.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a gaping chasm with a small village at the bottom, or some crudely carved tunnels.
Nope.
The enormous city is comprised of three tiers, spreading out from a central focal point in rising rings of concentric circles separated by rocky cliffs.
We enter at the ground level, I believe, where the deep earth saps heat from my body, but a warm breeze replenishes it.
Directly in front of us, rammed-earth huts connected by well-worn streets spread out as far as I can see.
Locusts weave throughout it, all going about their regular, human-like lives.
Some meander down the streets in pairs and groups, while others pull carts of grotesque, otherworldly foods and recognizable human crops alike.
I stare, shocked and dumbfounded, as our camels exit the tunnels.
I don’t know if I’ve ever quite seen something like it, but then again, I haven’t spent much time traveling the world.
The closest I could compare it to is New Orleans, maybe, if it were Middle Eastern-influenced instead of French-influenced.
There’s definitely a distinct feeling of self-sufficiency to it, too—a conundrum of modern and ancient civilization.
The metal gate shuts behind us, and our presence seems to be broadcast to the entire city.
Or, more specifically, the arrival of the King leading us.
The moment he steps out of the shadow of the cliffside, all activity in the city slams to a halt.
Both near and far, every locust suddenly stops what they’re doing and turns towards us.
Carts are set down, voices quieten, commotion ceases…
And in terrifying synchronicity, they all drop to a bow.
Every single one of them.
As if the city itself is holding its breath, they keep their position with an unwavering stillness. Every bit of bravado I had left fizzles out, and I feel smaller than ever. Like a gnat caught in the web of an orb-weaver, I understand just how powerless I am.
“As you were,” Abaddon commands.
Though he speaks only a notch or so higher than conversational, the message reaches everyone, somehow.
All the locusts stand up and resume their activities, as if nothing happened.
Carts return to their clattering, backdropped by the buzzing hum from the few locusts who allow themselves to fly.
Voices of conversations, in both human languages and strange clicks, mix into the fray.
Nobody pays us a drop of attention for a moment longer.
I have a newfound appreciation for Dusk doing all the work to guide the camels.
If it weren’t for him, I would’ve been too stunned to move.
There was already a mind-boggling amount of locusts before the gates, but that was only a few thousand of these weaponized creatures.
This city must house hundreds of thousands of them.
And the amount of instantaneous control Abaddon has over the enormous population.
.. It’s unfathomable. I don’t know if any human country on the planet could mobilize enough manpower in time to take on this supernaturally coordinated army.
Hell, humanity has no idea this collection of super soldiers even exists.
Like everyone else, I used to think a nuclear war was the worst thing that could happen to our species.
Now, I’m getting a sinking feeling that these locusts would survive one like cockroaches.
And they’re just the foot soldiers for angels.
The first round cannon fodder! Not even the heavy hitters!
Humanity is unequivocally, insurmountably, hopelessly fucked as a species.
While I’m staring intently at the pommel of my saddle in a hurried attempt to drown the existential dread threatening to spiral out of control, the camels carry us onward.
They’re not even afraid of the biblical monsters anymore, likely thanks to Dusk’s intense concentration on the animals.
Either that, or they’re simply more resilient than I am.
I try my best to get my shit together as we make our way down narrow, bustling streets.
Abaddon walks in stoic silence ahead of Dusk, not once looking back to check on us, which is probably for the best, really.
A silent, shaky truce isn’t ideal, but it beats another potentially deadly argument between the two.
Steadying my breath, I draw my eyes upward.
No sunlight reaches this far underground. Instead, there’s a large orb of artificial light affixed to the top of the cavern, which must be a mile high from us.
They have their own miniature sun.
Wow.
Do they have fake rain, too? Is this a completely self-sustaining system? I bet humans could survive on Mars with this technology! It’s completely unfair that they get to hoard this knowledge to themselves.
“Hey, Dusk,” I whisper, projecting my voice ahead of me. “Am I the first human to ever come here?”
“Probably,” he answers dismissively, and the silence overtakes us once again.
We skirt along the edge of the city’s lower tier, keeping close to the cliffside.
It brings us past various styles of earthen housing, seemingly separated into neighborhoods by style.
Most interestingly, I keep catching glimpses of colorful tents and canopies in the distance, peeking out over terracotta rooftops.
It looks like some kind of circus set up in the middle of the city, and I make a mental note to investigate further another day, should I get the chance.
Before long, we make it to a steep, zig-zagging passageway up the cliff, where the commotion of the lower level is muffled. As we ascend the sloping cobblestone path, Dusk looks over his shoulder to check on me. “Other than flying, it’s the quickest way up.”
“The route hasn’t changed since your last visit?” I quirk an eyebrow. I’m curious to know when, exactly, his last visit was. Probably during the Holy Wars, or something else of ancient history, with how old he’s hinted at being.
“Of course not. But, you know, now that you mention it…” Dusk turns back to Abaddon’s direction and shouts, “Hey, Your Kingliness! Why not just build some damn elevators already?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The ignorant, haughty bastard of an angel has no sense of self-preservation. Can he really not keep himself from instigating the King?
“Those are unnecessary.” Abaddon doesn’t turn to look at us in his response. Quick, curt, and dismissive. I suppose that’s the best I could ask for.
We may survive this yet.
The winding passageway bypasses the second tier altogether, but I can still make out its general agricultural purpose.
The side of the concave city farthest from me looks like cropland, while the one we’re bypassing is riddled with atrocious monsters kept in pens.
I take one glance over the edge at the nearest enclosure, which contains cow-sized grubs with a repulsive number of legs and eyes, and my stomach immediately sours.
I decide to fix my eyes firmly on Dusk’s wings while I unravel my canteen to choke down some water. Once I’m certain it won’t come spewing back up, I hoarsely ask him, “Hey, uh, what’s with the nightmare creatures? Are they part of the apocalypse, too?”
“No,” he replies simply. “Just exotic meat.”
Oh, that’s… disgusting! Ew!
I might be going vegan while I’m here. Perhaps indefinitely. I don’t know.
After a very long stretch of trying my hardest to keep my eyes off the culinary delicacies, we finally make it to the third tier.
I let myself look up again, to marvel at the opulent architecture.
It’s a bit Victorian and Gothic, with spires and arches and other building adornments that have fallen out of style in any modern construction.
The massive manors, often gated and widely spread out from each other, seem apt neighbors for a medieval royalty.
At the end of our straight path, built on top of the largest hill in the city, is a massive complex standing sentinel above everything else.
The Royal Fortress of the Abyss.
The dimly lit edges of its walls bleed into the cavern’s red earth, making it hard to see where the castle begins and ends.
It’s shadow incarnate, fitting for a King of Hell—or the next best thing there is in the mortal plane.
I suppose I should be grateful for the mutant bugs and mysterious, dragon-winged angel.
If fate had worked slightly differently, I could be walking through the souls of the damned with the literal devil…
Pleasant thoughts.
When we finally reach the black iron gates of the castle’s courtyard, a handful of locust guards rush down from their watchtowers to wordlessly open the gates for their King.
I can’t help but notice how particularly massive they are, each wearing unique golden armor much more fearsome than any commoners we passed before this point.
No two sets of their metal shells seem to be identical, with additional protections and weapons adorning them.
Spikes jut out of one’s shoulders, while sharp blades are affixed to another’s arms.
And I can hardly think under the weight of their beady eyes.
It’s not quite a death stare, given that they have no emotional expression on their cryptic faces, but the uncanniness is just as terrifying.
“The staff will deliver your belongings to your rooms,” Abaddon declares, catching my focus. I instantly decide to use it as an excuse to dismount my camel. As if my latent riding instincts have finally awakened, my execution is damn near perfect, too.
Or maybe I just can’t get away from the locust guards fast enough.