I keep expecting someone to ask about my sword, but no one does. The Watchers seem a little shell-shocked after seeing Flyer die. It’s like tragedy happens too often yet they still can’t accept it.
The broken street we’re on ends abruptly as the town ruins disintegrate into a rocky desert. I keep an eye out for hellions to catch along the way, but I don’t see any. They must have either run off or been recruited to fight for the Pit lords when they were gathering to come at us.
The sky is changing into what I guess is the equivalent of daylight here. Instead of the purple black I’d seen earlier, there’s now a red glow casting a fiendish tint over the desert – not quite night, not quite day.
One of the Watchers sighs beside me. ‘Most of us made it through another night.’
‘Let’s go back into that street tonight,’ says another. ‘Safer there.’
I throw them a sidelong glance. They have fresh gashes across their faces and arms. One of them is limping and bleeding from a missing chunk out of his leg.
‘How long have you guys been here?’ I ask.
The guys give me weary looks as if to say forever.
‘No idea,’ says one. ‘Since before I was born, I think.’
We walk onto an outcropping of rocks. The desert is full of weird rock towers spiraling up to the red sky, twisted and tortured. In the distance, there are ruins of cities. One of them is on fire, with black smoke rising to the sky.
‘What are those?’ I ask. ‘Are they cities?’
‘Once,’ says Thermo. ‘They’re just death traps now. They used to be hellion cities.’
I turn to Beliel. ‘I thought you said the hellions weren’t much of anything before the Fallen came?’
Beliel sneers. ‘You think it excuses their torture of innocent people just because they used to have cities?’
‘They must have had a nice little primitive society here,’ says Thermo. ‘Lucifer and his army put them in their place quickly enough though.’
Things begin to come together in my head. ‘Is that why they love torturing the newly Fallen?’
‘Who knows why they do the things they do,’ says Beliel. ‘They should be exterminated, not analyzed.’
‘Whatever they used to be, they’ve devolved into lower-class animals,’ says Thermo. ‘I doubt they have any motive other than instinct.’
‘But the newly Fallen are the only angels or demons that they can torment, right?’ I ask. ‘They’re afraid of the seasoned Fallen, aren’t they?’
‘They’d be afraid of us too if the Pit lords weren’t using them to torture us. If there’s one pleasure the Pit lords give them, it’s the job of tormenting us during initiation.’
I nod. Maybe the hellions were so gleeful in hurting Beliel because torturing the newly Fallen is the only revenge they can get for the destruction of their world.
If this keeps up, I’m going to end up like Paige and start talking crazy about having respect for all living things, even for things as hideous as hellions.
The old Paige, I mean.
I watch the smoke rising above the ruined hellion city and wonder how she’s doing. Is Mom okay? Is the Resistance still holding it together? Will I ever get back to them?
The Watchers look each other over in the brightening light, assessing themselves for injuries. They look the most carefully at Raffe, but not to see if he’s hurt. They seem to just be assessing him.
Raffe is the only one of them who is whole, uninjured, and fully winged with healthy feathers. He stands tall and muscular, with no scars or scabs on his powerful body.
The only thing marring his appearance is the dried-fruit necklace that the Pit lord gave him. One of the Watchers had picked it up off the ground, telling Raffe that it could be used to show that a Pit lord favored him. I think it looks like a dead mouse dangling off his neck.
‘We thought we’d never see you again, Commander,’ says Thermo. ‘We thought we were forsaken.’
‘We always knew we were meant to be forsaken,’ says Howler, ‘but it’s a different thing when it actually happens.’
‘What’s happening topside?’ asks Thermo.
Raffe tells them about Messenger Gabriel dying, Uriel expediting an election by creating a false apocalypse, the invasion on our world, and what happened with his wings.
While he’s talking to them, I watch Beliel. Like the others, he’s handsome, masculine, and torn up. But unlike the others, he looks toward Raffe with a conflicting mix of hope and anger.
‘You’re here to take us back with you, right?’ asks Beliel. ‘We’re not fully Fallen yet. We still have some of our feathers even.’ Some of the others chuckle like that’s a joke.
Beliel strokes the remaining patches of sunset feathers on his wing. ‘They’ll grow back once they can see real sunlight again. Won’t they?’
‘Let us help,’ says Hawk. ‘Give us a mission.’
‘Let us earn our way back, Commander,’ says Cyclone. ‘We’re wasted down here.’