Chapter 15
Iwake to orange-tinted morning light—or whatever passes for it in the Abyss—filtering through the drapes of my long windows.
It dances in the glittering swirls painted along the walls, sparkling enough to make me think they could be flaked with real gold.
You know, I could believe they’re trying to create a shadow of Heaven down here.
Maybe mixed with a bit of Hell, too… Hellaven? Abyssahell?
I still cannot get enough sleep, and it’s an effort to drag myself out of my lovely bed. However, a quick glance at my watch tells me I have less than an hour until breakfast, and I wanted to unpack some of my things this morning.
My eyes catch on the armoire across the room, with its ornate carvings and glistening black finish, and I decide to roll my suitcase over to it.
I open the doors and stare, blank-faced, before frowning.
The damn thing isn’t empty! Clothes of all varieties fill it to the brim, leaving no room for my favorite sweatshirts and jeans, which I went through all the trouble of bringing here. Weirdly, though, these all seem… custom-made to my exact size.
“Definitely some angel magic at play,” I mutter, dragging my fingers over the fabrics.
It has everything from the most decadent finery to highly functional desert training garments.
The latter takes up the majority of the space, seemingly fabricated to be durable and functional in the terrain of the Abyss.
For a few minutes, I attempt to stuff my favorite pieces inside the armoire, but it’s pointless. Not only is the space fully packed, but every garment inside is significantly better made than any of my own.
With a sigh of resignation, I stow my nearly full suitcase under the bed and resign myself to my new wardrobe.
For my first day, it only seems appropriate that I wear some of the training uniforms they’ve stocked.
Every piece is a matched set of sleeveless wrap tops and lightweight pants, loose-fitting except for the ankles and waist, in various neutral shades.
Before I’m even done dressing, I’m already comparing myself to my favorite sci-fi heroines.
I can’t tell if it motivates me or just makes it harder for me to take myself seriously.
Perhaps both. And it’s not the most flattering thing on my lower half, but again, I’m not trying to seduce anyone here.
Opening the nearest chest of drawers, I find a variety of boots and leather accessories, all in matching shades of black or cognac brown.
It’s not difficult for me to build my own apocalypse style from the pieces.
Starting so early like this, I’ll be a fashion trend-setter by the time it’s raining blood and brimstone.
I trudge into the bathroom to re-braid my hair and freshen up.
Looking in the mirror, I struggle not to laugh at myself in misplaced cognitive dissonance.
I can’t believe this is my life now. If I were any better at managing my long waves, I might even try one of those iconic sci-fi hairstyles, just to really cement the vibes of the outfit.
How am I supposed to fight celestial bad guys without three buns flopping around on the back of my head?
I suppose I should go eat now.
If I’m lucky, I’ll find someone who can tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing today. If not, I guess I’ll take it upon myself to go explore the city. Maybe I can get ahead of the curve by getting the culture shock out of my system.
The hallway outside my room is quiet at first, filled only with the sound of my boots on the stone floors as I walk toward the grand staircase.
They’re rubber and grippy, though, so they don’t make the same satisfying sounds that Abaddon’s had.
It’s more of a squak squak than thomp thomp. .. Slightly embarrassing, actually.
The sounds of the lobby grow until, eventually, I find myself peering over the staircase railing.
It’s quite lively at this hour—much more than last night.
The locusts move about in autonomy, their chitinous skin and gold armor clicking in soft rhythms, mixing with the strange sounds of their foreign language.
Hesitantly, I head down the stairs, steeling my stomach.
I have the misfortune of passing one of the locusts on my way down, its beady eyes inspecting me in the process.
I know I am the foreigner here, but that does nothing to help the chill that wracks through my body at the sight of its face, wrinkly and grotesque, beneath the crown-like spikes of its forehead.
Their faces are the dictionary definition of uncanny valley.
There’s some movement to the decrepit skin, but I can’t glean any emotion from it.
I can only hope the look it gives me is something of respect, maybe even indifference, and not disdain.
Or hatred. Surely they wouldn’t hate me, right? I’ve done nothing to wrong them—
“Good morning, my Dawn,” a warm voice calls. “Here to shine some of your light on us?”
I look up, finding Dusk sprawled across one of the lobby’s couches. One of his wings drapes onto the floor, while the other is halfway propped up on the back of the couch. A part of me instantly relaxes at the sight of him.
“Caffeine first. Food second. Then I’ll consider allowing your flirting.” I wave a hand noncommittally, walking up to him as he lazily rights himself.
“Are you always grouchy in the mornings? I’m sensing a trend.”
I ignore his jab, instead looking him over. I don’t even know how to describe what he’s wearing. It’s like a ninja-assassin outfit, except all white with gold trim.
I raise an eyebrow. “What are you wearing?”
“What are you wearing?” he copies.
“Functional training clothes that I found in my armoire.” My eyes catch on the gold sun emblem over his chest, briefly, before wandering over the rest of his white robes. “Do you not expect to get a speck of the Abyss’s red dirt on you?”
“It’s protected from dirt, amongst other things.” He frowns. “It’s just standard-issue Elohim officer training gear. What’s wrong with it?”
I find my gaze inadvertently lingering on the matching wraps tightly covering his muscular forearms and calves, and I clear my throat. “Well, you’re one face mask away from being a very shitty, easy-to-spot ninja.”
Dusk rolls his eyes. “Oh, hush. We need to meet the gloomy goth king in an hour on the training field, and I’m starving. Let’s go.”
After a quick breakfast, Dusk leads me out of the castle.
We walk through the front gardens again, heading in the opposite direction from our living quarters.
One archway opens onto a small path surrounded by hedges, which eventually leads to a clearing with a much larger archway.
Nestled between tall stone barrier walls, it holds a massive set of solid iron doors.
They’re already open when we arrive, but my pace slows as I walk through, my eyes catching on the magnificent scene engraved on the doors. The majority of the surface is taken up by a skillfully carved dragon, fierce and menacing, with angels as small as beetles fighting valiantly against it.
“Is there a dragon in the apocalypse prophecy?” I call after Dusk.
“Possibly.”
“What do you mean ‘possibly?’” My eyes jerk to him, where he’s paused a few paces ahead of me. “Are dragons real or not?”
“Anything can be real. The Bible mentions some beasts; interpretations vary. Come on, we’re almost late.”
Dragon-slaying wasn’t on my apocalypse bingo card, but I shake it off, catching up to him with a few quick strides.
The first thing I see inside the barrier wall is the massive domed building.
It’s built from the same charcoal shade as the castle, the rock so smooth and pristine that it’s semi-reflective, but it’s topped with a metallic gold roof.
Numerous columns support an overhang around the outside, almost reminding me of a stadium-like structure.
About halfway to the building, Dusk stops. My focus shifts to him, and I steal a glance at his white boots. Mine are completely dusted with red dirt, while his remain spotless. I frown, envious. “What am I even supposed to be training for?”
“Opening the Abyss,” he answers, looking around.
“Yeah, I got that. But will I be fighting, I don’t know, fallen angels or something? If there’s a dragon in there, that’d be nice to know, too.”
His golden eyes flick to me. “Do you not think figuring out how to control your gift will be enough of a challenge? If this star is even a fraction of the small skills angels utilize, it’ll take a heavy toll on you.
You need to be much stronger than you are now—physically, mentally, and spiritually. ”
I huff. “I can gain that by training to fight, too. If the world’s ending, it’d be nice if I knew how to protect myself.
Even if it’ll only ever be useful against my fellow species.
” Crossing my arms, I level him a look. “And I’ve been regularly going to the gym for well over a year now, too, but Jackie’s only taught me the bare minimum of self-defense. ”
Dusk takes a long look at me, visibly assessing my body in a way that’d be either enticing or insulting in another context.
“You have very little muscle tone. You’ll need to go on an intensive workout plan.
And a richer diet, too. I know your culture loves to glorify leanness, but it makes you fragile. Easier to break.”
“I’m not hearing a ‘no’ to the fighting.”
“Fine,” he concedes, seeming exasperated by the idea. “You’ll be allowed to train to fight, but not at the expense of anything else. I hope you’re prepared for some very long days and very full weeks.”
A grin spreads across my face. “I’ll take it.”
Dusk looks less than enthusiastic, but I can’t be bothered to care. For the first time in a while, I’m optimistic about my future. The thought of becoming lethal is exciting. And at the helm of celestial warriors? Hell yes. Jackie would be so jealous.