CHAPTER 1
Date: February 8th, 110 P.A. / 2114 C.E.
Abaddon. The angel of the abyss in Revelations, the leaders of the chaos that would throw the world in the purging fires of the Apocalypse. A seraph of darkness, demons were at his service, but alone he had enough power to end the world. During the dawn of the new millennium, barely half a decade short, he had appeared, and done such.
Rather, our world had ended, in a way.
Now, over a century later, he stood on the roof of his Temple, the flat surface outside his quarters. The breeze of the bloody sea swept through the holy capital, which clustered about the elevated cliffs where his domain stood, built by human hands, with human sweat and vital fluid. Upon it carried the salty brine stirring in the waves, the bitter stench of incense and ash, and the weeping of peasants below. Chants of dead tongues, conveyed in the flow the emotions of false grief, soothing to the distressed, traditional, and often spoke in these recent years. Jet banners fluttered in sorrowful declaration.
The God of Shadow and Souls gazed out upon the scene without emotion, observing the sprawling city, not the people. Like he had numerous times before, he mused on the sand and clay bricks that made their buildings, the twin deltas that sprawled on either side of the plateau, the desert whose edges he could scarcely spy from his elevated position. The balmy evening air, the step pyramid that looked out over the human homes, the carvings, exquisite, reminded him of a strange mix of Mayan and Egyptian culture, even odder when considering the true location of this realm.
Distracting him, a lock of pigeons flew in the rays of the setting sun, their feathers stained red, free and certain to draw omens from their appearance this evening, their wings tainted with bloody light.
The potential symbolism struck him as morbidly amusing.
A shuffling of feet behind him, cloak swishing in a low bow, drew him from his thoughts. He had hoped that the young man would not come to him so swiftly, that his approach would divert from him. Alas, though, Abaddon had no such fortune. Sensing his hesitance, his mourning, he let the pitiful creature gather himself, not demanding the information in which he was already well aware.
"God Abaddon...High Priestess Kara is dead. She succumbed to poison, which is guessed to have been within her ceremonial wine, which she drank three days past."
The god's eyes gleamed. "I know, Attendant Byron. I felt her passing. As I understand it, her suffering was painful, was it not?"
"…Yes, my lord. It was."
There was a low growl in his voice, dangerous if detected by the Priests. But Abaddon found his bitterness amusing. The young human blamed him for not curing the girl, but neutralizing venom was not in his power. However, easing Kara's agony had been, and he had taken no steps to do so.
"Befitting, I find that. She was a foolish creature. Had she heeded my advice, she might still be alive."
The young man bristled, but said nothing to argue with him on this point. To do so would be treason, punishable by a horrible death of crucifixion and stoning. He would not be honored, likely having his body thrown into the purifying sea for the beasts of the deep to devour. For one of his position, it was the most shameful end one could meet.
Of course, his Attendant was already treacherous. He had, after all, taken the woman he was supposed to serve platonically into his bed. Hence Abaddon's amusement. Human affairs were at times humorous in how they played out.
"Do you search for another?"
The divine being glanced back at him, his amethyst eyes flickering over him slowly. "Indeed."
Turning away, he faced the city once more, stretching out his telepathic probing into the outer reaches of his realm, looking for the one who would take High Priestess' Kara's place. There were numerous qualities he searched for, youth of the body the only essential asked of by the people and their heads. After all, the Empress of this holy empire might as well be attractive to their eyes. Especially considering some of their hopes….
He pondered on the girl that drew his attention, barely into womanhood as far as age went. A rare smile crossed his face as more of her attributes because apparent. His tail flickered, his outstretched paws falling, his eyes losing their azure glow. Yes…she would do just fine as his new High Priestess.
He gave Attendant Bryon that usual commands, the directions to find the candidate. His servant's eyes went wide with surprise as he understood the district in which she resided, already loosing ready to protest…but spying his god's quelling glare, he reminded himself that Abaddon's decision was final, his word law.
Bryon bowed low, "As you wish, my lord," he murmured, then went back into the Temple, to let the choice be known.
The dark seraph, enjoying the image of the horrified Priests in his mind, stared out at the mournful scene with content. The sorrow of the human could not touch him. But then, he wasn't human, was he?
He was a beast. A demon.
Nothing of humanity could affect him any longer…not now that he and his were free. Not now that they had turned on their masters in revolution, nature rising up with them in lust for human blood. No wonder, was it, that he was called Abaddon?
She was thrashing, crying out, gasping in senseless confusion, trying to comprehend when she had no certainty of what was and was not reality. Turmoil consumed her mind, the very words of questions jumbled, emotions somehow distressing and without names. Though she did not know what it was, there was defiance and pain, and in her lack of calm, these plagued any formation of thought. She wanted it to end, even in her lack of understanding she felt that much. But what was there before the chaos? Nothingness?
Fear. It consumed her, playing images before her eyes, flashing and making her cringe. One word then, a plea, developed from her then, a cry to anyone who might be beside her.
"God!"
Darkness burst into light and shape before her as she jerked awake, so dizzy that her world spun. In nausea, she shakily leaned over the edge of the bed she lay upon, vomiting a foul, blackish, sour substance, dryly heaving what liquid was in her stomach. Agony and the sense of violation racked her form, her trembling unceasing. No though but confusion was present in her mind. But the sheets of the silken fabrics beneath her, the light white robes about her, were warm and comforting, smelling of cucumber and aloe. The scent soother her, and she fell back into the sweet softness she'd been lying in, staring at the ceiling. Soon though, an itching of her mind urged her to look around…and with curiosity, she obeyed.
Though she knew little of what the items around the room were called, its simple elegance was a nice thing. It was a wide space, the walls the color of pale wood, though appeared as smooth as polished marble. Puce and mauve rugs were set about the floor, the one beneath the bed and the small table at its side, which held a flat ceramic bowl of various candles, each appearing a different height, thickness, and aroma. None were lit. There were entrances, open doors, to other, dimly lit rooms, their features obscure to her in their murky dark.
Dawn's ghostly light filtered in from the open window, looking out into the firmament. For the first time then, the girl realized she was not alone. Heart pounding at the sight of the stranger, her stomach flipping with fear, she sat up quickly, only to be overcome with a forceful wave of dizziness, her head aching.
He turned his eagle eyes to her. "Try not to move too swiftly. The disorientation you're experiencing should not be provoked."
Though his statement was somewhere caught between a command and a forceful suggestion, his tone was gentle, quiet…a fact she appreciated in some corner of her yet-processing mind. Of a sonorous baritone, soothing to her ears, she immediately clung to the sound, much in the way a helpless infant might its parent's fingers. His calm steadiness was reassuring in her bewilderment, and it scarcely mattered to her that his voice was not spoken by a mouth and tongue, but mind.
Like a daughter she stared at him with wide eyes, observing and memorizing all his features. Unbidden, the word chimera came to her. He seemed a mix of a rabbit, a cat, and a man of devil's blood.
His feet were two-toed, the shape of a hare's, crooking up to raised ankles with spherical nubs, the knees reversed from what a human's would be, like a cat's lower limbs. Thick, they joined with round hips, the waist rising to an armored chest, which began on his upper back and went over his shoulders, pronouncing the muscles of his chest. The arms were relatively thin, ending in three-fingered hands, their tips round balls of flesh. His neck was thin, the veins pronounced, which was aided in holding up his head by another connecting protuberance, a thick rope that curled from the middle of his back armor to the base of his skull.
His head struck her as the most feline. Holding his mouth and nose were a small muzzle, which curved into high cheekbones and prominent eyebrows. Two curved back horns on the top of his head seemed to be ears, his jawline angular. But his eyes struck her as the most intriguing, exotic as any feline's, but sharp and fierce as a hawk's, the color of amethyst. His midriff and long, thick, sinewy tail, where of a less vivid shade. That tail did not taper, but ended in a club-like bulge, which flicked under her analytic gaze.
She mused that the rest of him, a snowy lavender, was covered in a fine fur…likely far more comfortable than any cloak. He did not appear to need one, with the seeming lack of genitalia. Despite this, though, she knew this creature before her was male. It was in his deep voice, the way he held himself, erect and proud. Sensual handsomeness, more of grace than brawn, was not unappealing to her. She would likely have been intimidated had his masculinity been more evident, a giant of bulk more frightening by far than a tall, slender elf.
Seeing her probing gaze, he viewed her in turn, watching as she struggled to slip from the covers of her bed, her pale bare feet brushing the rug beneath her bed. She was a small creature, almost fragile in her petite size. The moment she placed her weight on her feet, her legs shook beneath her, and she began to stumble, her motor skills failing. Before she fell, he swooped towards her, catching her about her ribs, her hands and arms grasping him in panic. She leaned against him, clinging to him frantically. Though revulsion stirred in his belly, he kept it at bay, allowing her rough embrace, supporting her as her strength slowly returned.
While she began to test out her walking ability, his arm about her strong and firm, he allowed his eyes to search her. She wore the light silk robes of a new High Priestess, the flowing white skirt and top, the transparent over-robe that was patterned with tiny lavender and violet stars and wavy lines to represent the past wind and water along the edges. Similar lines flowed on swirling lines down the skirt, along the waist and neck cuts, around the cuffs of her long sleeves, about her dainty breasts.
Her long, feathery hair fell across her shoulders, and her delicate neck, strands of it arching over her childlike face. Her limbs were slender, the curves of her body relatively mild, a ribbon tying her robes closed and revealing the thinness of her waist. Her shoulders trembled, surely soft and smooth beneath her clothes, her stomach tender beneath his fingers. Her slender hands brushed his, her small toes nearly stubbing as she attempted to stride around the room.
She gazed at him, and her sweet face caught his attention in a way her mature body had not. Her ears, which beneath her hair could hardly be seen, were small and shell-shaped, her nose equally tiny. Her mouth was of an average size, her lips pale pink and pursed in concentration and plead for help, holding beneath it an angular single chin, her jaw sloping gently upwards. Much like her brow, her eyebrows strokes of violet like her hair. Almond-shaped eyes were beneath these, long eyelashes battering up innocently at him, her red-violet irises gleaming in question.
Her aura clung to his, dependently, like a child to a parent.
He slowly released her, making certain she could stand steadily before moving away, sighing. She was a pretty, young creature. No doubt she would follow him merely because she would know of nothing else to do. Like a duckling.
"Can you follow me, my High Priestess Arei?" he asked.
She blinked up at him, cocking her head quizzically…and for the first time, she spoke, "…What…what did you call me?"
He faced her, watching as she stepped toward him. "High Priestess Arei. It is your title and your name. Arei."
A small, tentative smile curled on her face. "It's pretty. I like it. And your name?"
She smelled of lilac. He breathed it in and told her, "I am God Abaddon."
And you, Arei, are mine.
"Come with me. We can't keep everyone waiting."