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He roars and turns away from me.
And then he leaps out the window and flies away.
“Fine!” I yell after him, holding onto the window ledge for balance. “Just run away instead of talking it out with me! Because that’s real mature!”
Once he’s gone, I immediately feel bad. Obviously, bringing up whatever torture he’s been through is a sore subject. It had to be inflicted by their father. It’s quite evident he was a terrible man. He must have abused them all. So of course Abaddon believes it is the only way.
I sigh, incredibly sad. Because despite it all, Abaddon isn’t like his father. He might have learned his ways, sure. But with me, Abaddon’s been… well, not gentle, exactly. But he hasn’t been cruel, either.
And then I look back down toward the dark stairwell.
He can be taught there’s a better way.
Maybe there’s a reason I was brought to this strange little family. Maybe there are more miracles to be found here than just in the release of my pain and newfound strength of body. Maybe, just maybe, I can bring some healing, too?
I sigh.
Or maybe nothing so lofty as that will happen if there’s been so much damage and trauma done here.
But I do know that even the biggest projects start one step at a time.
So I take the stairs to the kitchen, fill up two big buckets, and head back down to the dungeon.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ABADDON
I tell myself I am out seeking again the male from whom she got the clothing, or to hunt, should I see any prey. I tell myself I am not fleeing from a tiny mortal a fourth of my size, with no wings or claws or fangs. I tell myself I am not afraid of mere words.
I scoff at the idea. And fly faster. Harder.
Yes, Creator-Father whipped me. So hard it has left permanent marks upon my back.
Discipline was necessary when I would not listen. I can be obstinate. And he was not—
I roar so loudly I cannot pretend to myself I am hunting anything, for the noise will scare away all prey.
I fly harder. Faster. Higher.
“What a disappointment.” His voice rings rancorous in my head. “You cannot even win a fight against your brothers, even though you are the superior destroyer. I should strip you of your name and make you the Thing.”
He often set us against each other. Always the two of them against me. And when we tangled too long without a victor, he’d set upon us with the bullwhip to separate us. And then extra lashes to each of us after we were chained up again to punish us for all that we lacked.
The new monsters, he said. They wouldn’t have our flaws. They would be truly superior.
Ha.
Creator-Father was as flawed a Creator as he was a Father. Our youngest brother, the most beautiful and perfect among us, was tortured by the supposed gift our father bestowed upon him and knew not obedience because his constant craving was endless.
But did that make Creator-Father any more grateful for us who had come before?
No.
He despised us all the more for his failures.
His whip grew heavier.
Another roar rips from my chest. I will not, cannot, dwell on memories.
I will not give into the madness that took my brothers. It is not in me. I am whole in ways they are not.
I am superior.
Creator-Father said so.
If the thought does not give me as much comfort as it once did, what of it?
I torpedo through the sky as I head back toward the castle. I am furious at Hannah-consort for stirring all these things up in me. My life was peaceful before she came.
Enough.
I will not let her stir my brain into a stew. I will breed her, and draw comfort from my kit, and that will be that. I will be a better Creator-Father and do what he never could. I will create a superior destroyer. Perhaps many.
Yes. My chest warms as the thoughts take seed. I will keep her bred, and she will bear me the army of destroyers that Creator-Father always dreamt of.
Perhaps, someday, my sons and I will even do what he could not. Perhaps we will storm the Great Hall and claim it for ourselves. I will rise higher and farther. Creator-Father will weep, down in whatever Underworld pit he has found himself in, that he ever underestimated my strength and greatness.
I grimace, the light in my chest cooling. Glory, if not happiness, is a future worth seeking. And it will be mine.
I am dreaming of this great future, and of stuffing my consort full of my seed to begin this great conquest, as I fly back toward my home.
I’m dreaming of exactly how I will make her cunt gush for me when I alight on the same window from which I leapt.
