He makes one of those adorable snuffling sounds.
I meet his gaze again. “I thought maybe we should actually know each other’s names.”
This time, he's the one who blinks in surprise.Finally caught him off guard.
Sudden nervousness flutters in my chest. I rush the words out. “I’ll start. My name is Hannah. What’s yours?”
“Han-nah,” he repeats, emphasizing each syllable like they’re separate words. I can’t help smiling.
“Your turn,” I prompt.
“Abaddon,” he says solemnly. “The Destroyer.”
“Oh.” I nod, trying not to show alarm. “That’s... intense.”
“Creator-Father said it suited a chimera demon.”
“A what?” My voice climbs several octaves. Did he just say what I think he did? Have I been intimate with an actualdemon?
Abaddon sighs heavily. “Though I’m not a true demon.” He says it like he’s disappointed.
“Ah,” I nod, attempting to look non-judgmental while my racing heartbeat gradually slows. Now that I’ve finally gotten him talking—who knew the key was a post-escape kinky encounters—I’m still feeling mildly hysterical. “From everything you’ve mentioned, I gather you and this Creator-Father didn’t have the best relationship?”
He releases a bitter laugh. “That’s an understatement. I emerged as a demon when he’d worked so desperately to create an angelic offspring.”
His wings flare behind him, which usually indicates arousal or anger. I’m assuming it’s anger this time.
“He stole divine essence from the Great Hall when he fell. He believed he could use it to recreate more like his former self.” His expression turns grim. “But all he could find on Earth were... fragments. Like your Frankenstein story. He attempted to stitch disparate pieces together and infuse them with angelic power.”
He stares at the ceiling, his chest blazing brighter. “He hoped to create a mighty army to serve him. Perhaps one day, even retake the Great Hall on the plane of light.”
“Like... Heaven?” My voice goes up another octave.
He waves dismissively. “Not as you mortals conceive it. But yes, there are beings of pure light there. Others like what Creator-Father’s ancestors once were before their fall.”
I want to interrupt—can we please return to the part where Heaven might actually exist?—but he’s already continuing.
“Creator-Father failed repeatedly. First came Thing.”
“Thing?”
“My brother with multiple arms and the serpentine tail.”
Right. I remember Thing vividly.
“Then he reached into his forge and attempted to craft me—Abaddon, who might become his great Destroyer. But I proved another disappointment, possessing none of the beauty he sought to recreate. Not that this deterred him. He simply tried again, creating Romulus and Remus, and... other failed experiments.” His eyes grow distant.
This feels like hearing some incredible new mythology unfold. I’ve always loved a compelling story.
“What happened next?” I ask eagerly.
He looks back at me. “You genuinely want to know?”
“Are you serious? You can’t stop there! Keep going!”
He blinks, those fascinating eyes sliding sideways. “Well, though disappointed by our monstrous appearances, we initially tried to fulfill Creator-Father’s expectations. My brothers and I proved... effective at destruction. But we were also unruly, and the world was changing, no longer welcoming gods among mortals...”
He speaks slowly, and I sense that for every detail he shares, mountains remain hidden—like glimpsing only the tip of an iceberg. But I’m grateful for any information, so I listen intently.
