Dusk brings his camel up to my side, leaning in to speak quietly to me. “Their bodies are purposefully uncanny.” He nods toward the locust. “Designed to remind humans of suffering and death. But they are intelligent, some say even more than humans are. They speak and understand every language, both verbal and non-verbal communication.”
“Are they angels?” I whisper, though I’m sure it’s futile. If they’re already such super soldiers, I’d imagine they can hear me from this distance, too.
“No.” He chuckles. “At least, not by most people’s definitions. The locusts are really their own thing. They’re not technically immortal, but they don’t die easily, either. Each one lives for hundreds and hundreds of years, training for Armageddon its entire life.”
Like superpowered cockroaches. Great. Humanity truly is fucked.
But still. I’m morbidly intrigued. “Dusk, do you think that, maybe, one of them could have gotten out, and they’re what started all the myths about aliens?”
“Darling. All angels, demons, and other biblical beingsare the aliens. Humans just keep repackaging and repurposing the lore for things they can’t explain.”
I stare off into space, nodding as I mull it over. “Fair enough.”
I’m sure there’s some adamant conspiracy theorist out there, too, who would kill to have heard what I just did from the horse’s mouth. How much of Earth’s history has been shaped by angels? Even this one here, with his power over lightning, could have spurred the entire mythology of Zeus.
I have so many questions, but Dusk is right about one thing: the Abyss is more than enough for me to wrap my head around for the time being.
That becomes abundantly clear shortly after we walk through the gates, where a massive city—an entire civilization—has been hiding underground.
13
Ireally need to get in the habit of asking questions before agreeing to go anywhere. I mean, sure, I likely would have agreed to come to the Abyss no matter what Dusk said about it, but a bit more mental preparation would have been greatly appreciated.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a gaping chasm with a small village at the bottom, or some crudely carved tunnels.
Nope.
The enormous city is comprised of three tiers, spreading out from a central focal point in rising rings of concentric circles separated by rocky cliffs.
We enter at the ground level, I believe, where the deep earth saps heat from my body, but a warm breeze replenishes it. Directly in front of us, rammed-earth huts connected by well-worn streets spread out as far as I can see. Locusts weave throughout it, all going about their regular, human-like lives. Some meander down the streets in pairs and groups, while others pull carts of grotesque, otherworldly foods and recognizable human crops alike.
I stare, shocked and dumbfounded, as our camels exit the tunnels. I don’t know if I’ve ever quite seen something like it, but then again, I haven’t spent much time traveling the world. The closest I could compare it to is New Orleans, maybe, if it were Middle Eastern-influenced instead of French-influenced. There’s definitely a distinct feeling of self-sufficiency to it, too—a conundrum of modern and ancient civilization.
The metal gate shuts behind us, and our presence seems to be broadcast to the entire city. Or, more specifically, the arrival of the King leading us. The moment he steps out of the shadow of the cliffside, all activity in the city slams to a halt. Both near and far, every locustsuddenly stops what they’re doing and turns towards us. Carts are set down, voices quieten, commotion ceases…
And in terrifying synchronicity, they all drop to a bow.
Every single one of them.
As if the city itself is holding its breath, they keep their position with an unwavering stillness. Every bit of bravado I had left fizzles out, and I feel smaller than ever. Like a gnat caught in the web of an orb-weaver, I understand just how powerless I am.
“As you were,” Abaddon commands.
Though he speaks only a notch or so higher than conversational, the message reaches everyone, somehow. All the locusts stand up and resume their activities, as if nothing happened. Carts return to their clattering, backdropped by the buzzing hum from the few locusts who allow themselves to fly. Voices of conversations, in both human languages and strange clicks, mix into the fray.
Nobody pays us a drop of attention for a moment longer.
I have a newfound appreciation for Dusk doing all the work to guide the camels. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve been too stunned to move. There was already a mind-boggling amount of locusts before the gates, but that was only a few thousand of these weaponized creatures. This city must househundreds of thousandsof them. And the amount of instantaneous control Abaddon has over the enormous population... It’s unfathomable. I don’t know if any human country on the planet could mobilize enough manpower in time to take on this supernaturally coordinated army.
Hell, humanity has no idea this collection of super soldiers even exists. Like everyone else, I used to think a nuclear war was the worst thing that could happen to our species. Now, I’m getting a sinking feeling that these locusts would survive one like cockroaches. And they’re just the foot soldiersfor angels. The first round cannon fodder! Not even the heavy hitters!
Humanity is unequivocally, insurmountably, hopelesslyfuckedas a species.
While I’m staring intently at the pommel of my saddle in a hurriedattempt to drown the existential dread threatening to spiral out of control, the camels carry us onward. They’re not even afraid of the biblical monsters anymore, likely thanks to Dusk’s intense concentration on the animals. Either that, or they’re simply more resilient than I am.
I try my best to get my shit together as we make our way down narrow, bustling streets. Abaddon walks in stoic silence ahead of Dusk, not once looking back to check on us, which is probably for the best, really. A silent, shaky truce isn’t ideal, but it beats another potentially deadly argument between the two.
Steadying my breath, I draw my eyes upward.
