The most disturbing, uncanny thing about them, though, is theirfaces. The only skin on their whole body covers the front of their heads and necks, but it’s wrinkled, grey, and resembles a mummified carcass. Their two eyes are in the same place as a human’s, but they’re black and beady with massive pupils, no irises, and hardly any sclera. A nose, too, sits in the middle, but it’s sunken in and decrepit. Even their grey-tinted lips bear a disgusting resemblance to my own—if you ignore the jagged, shark-like teeth barely fitting inside their mouths.
Technically, Dusk was right. I don’t think they could swallow me whole. But even if I can’t fitwhollyinside their mouths, they could still rip me to shreds with them. I have no doubt about that. And for the larger locusts that also bear sharp mandibles around their mouths, they could probably snap my head right off, too.
DEFINITELY.
NOT.
BUGS.
Who thefuckdecided to call these thingslocusts?
They watch us with their black, beady eyes, restlessly flitting around amongst themselves. Not a single one advances toward us. My skin starts to feel intensely uncomfortable beneath those soulless stares, like phantom insects are crawling all over my skin. I know it’s in my head, but I still scratch at my bare neck and the sweaty skin.
Dusk clears his throat.
Instantly, a shift occurs in their chaotic gathering. The locusts in the air start dropping like flies, sliding into nonexistent gaps within the packed crowd on the floor.
It’s a violent sound of metal slamming into metal.
They condense into a crowd so tight, I don’t even understand how they can move. If they were humans and not metallic beasts, they’d probably be suffocating. All too quickly, the sickening cacophony quiets into a hushed crowd. I don’t know when Dusk got ahead of me, but once the cavern is entirely still, it’s impossible for me to miss his impatient hand-waving to encourage me onward.
I can’t bring myself to move. I’ve reached new heights of regretting my life circumstances. Why,whydid I agree to this? Is it too late to optout?
Dusk stalks over to me, steals the reins from my hands, and begins to lead the camels forward. I’d almost forgotten about them. To his credit, they’ve been surprisingly calm, making them easy to ignore. But it’s not like him to be in such a hurry, and he seems to be straining. His posture is stiff, sweat beading on his skin. The camel furthest from him is significantly more anxious than the others, too. It swings its head around wildly at the sight, stomping its feet and chuffing. The suitcases on its back wobble around haphazardly, threatening to come loose.
The poor creature distracts my focus from the imminent danger surrounding us. I run my hand down its side, speaking softly in a gentle encouragement.
The effect is mutually beneficial, as we’re both able to move forward together.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea, filling the air with the sound of shuffling metal. Our path forward opens up piece by piece, while the path behind us closes just as much. For the first time in my life, I think I understand what true claustrophobia feels like.
After a few nerve-wracking minutes, the crowd ahead finally breaks to reveal a wide set of stairs, leading up to a platform I hadn’t been able to see before.
Somehow collapsing even further into their packed crowd, the locusts give us a wider berth. Drawing my eyes upward, I immediately realize the reason.
We’re being presented to their king.
He’s one of the few angels explicitly named in the Bible—in the same chapter as my own alleged role in the prophecy, no less. I know it well by now. Known as Abaddon or Apollyon, depending on your preferred translation, the meaning of his name remains the same…The Destroyer.
It’s said that he’ll lead the army of locusts into the apocalypse. That they will torture humans without the ‘seal of God’ for five months with their torturous sting. And that those people will long to die, but death will elude them.
I was imagining the Grim Reaper in the flesh. Something heinous, deathly, monstrous—a true creature of nightmares. But I was wrong.Sowrong.His appearance, however ghastly it may be, is still that of a beautiful, magnificent angel.
He has porcelain skin and silver-gray hair that falls in thick strands around his shoulders. The pallor of his body strikingly contrasts with his all-black metal armor, including the wraith-like cape flowing behind him. And his wings—his magnificentwings—they could have been ripped off a dragon in a fairytale. The scaly top of the bat-like shape is pitch black, but the membranous portion looks tinged with arterial red rivers.
His silver eyes meet mine, and at once, I am filled with fear.
Supernatural and glowing in the dim lighting, they’re utterly haunting, as if a ghost is trapped inside them. Every bit of my confidence saps away, eaten alive by the intensity of his gaze.
The locusts stop moving completely, allowing a deafening silence to overtake the cavern.
“Finally, the time has come,” Abaddon announces, his baritone voice echoing off the earthen walls.“The fifth angel sounded his trumpet, and I saw a star that had fallen from the sky to the earth. The star was given the key to the shaft of the Abyss.”
He looks at me for a moment like I’m his God-given gift, promised to him in that Revelation verse so long ago. And when he begins his descent, his strides holding every intention of claiming me as a tool for his apocalyptic reign, I’m filled with fear.
I am consumed by sheer terror.
It feels like my soul is about to be stolen by a demon, yet I can’t bring myself to back away. I literally cannot. To my utter horror, my feet start to involuntarily move me not backward, butforward, towards the King—as if I’m being pulled to him by an invisible rope.
