The Fallen

Chapter 7

The first level was scorching hot.

The descent into hell was surprisingly long. All of my life, whenever someone mentioned hell, I pictured a fiery pit filled to the brim with tortured souls screaming for help. But that wasn't even close to the truth. The pit, if you could even call it that, was structured in different levels, each of the seven tiers was different from the next. The first one was the hottest, smoke and fire bursting through the cracks, charred hands and bent fingers reaching out to grab whatever they could. The second was just as awful, coated in grime and soot, the echoes of gurgles and screeches bouncing off the dark stone walls.

By the time we reached the seventh level, however, the temperature dropped exponentially.
Abbadon led me down a corridor, sneering at multiple demons who rushed out of the cracks to see the newcomers. Samael was barely awake, his wound bleeding profusely, his groans terrifying me more than the deafening screams of hell. As we walked, a frozen lake came into view, the reflection of the ice picks dangling from the ceiling sending a pale light across the space. Behind it, a long corridor plunged us into darkness, black doors on each side of us as we walked, dragging Samael along.
Despite Abbadon’s snarls, the demons remained, glaring at me with a vengeance. The sight of them sent a shiver down my spine, and I turned my gaze back to the big door at the end of the corridor. Something told me I shouldn't show fear around these creatures, no matter how horrifying they looked. But ignoring twisted horns and scaly faces proved harder than I thought. Abbadon looked nothing like them, her red hair and pale skin unmarked by the trip through the depths of hell.

“Here,” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “This is his room.”

I stared at the double doors, engraved with golden symbols the color of his eyes. Abbadon nodded her head once, and I grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was warm, unlike the ice cold corridor we just came from. A queen sized bed sat in the middle, golden silk sheets covering fluffy pillows. A lush rug the color of the sunset adorned the space, several lit candles placed around the room casting a soft glow around. The whole place looked beautiful, like something out of an interior design magazine, not the seventh layer of hell.
Abbadon placed Samael down on the bed, bending down to wipe the sweat off his brows. He took a strangled breath, grabbing my hand in his before his eyes fluttered close.

“Will he be okay?” I asked the demon beside me, my voice cracking with worry.

Her face looked glum, and she shook her head. “I don't know. Micheal's blade is the strongest weapon there is against our kind. It's going to take every bit of his energy to heal a wound like that.”

“Why would Micheal try to kill him?” I raked a hand through my hair, my fingers getting stuck through a million knots. “His own brother.”

Abbadon gave me an indecipherable look, her eyes boring into mine for a long while before she sighed. “If Micheal wanted him dead, he would be by now.” she sat down next to Samael, brushing his hair away from his face. The look on her face was tender, nothing like the carefree, sarcastic demon I met in the loft. “He was only trying to remove an obstacle.”

“To get to me.” My voice was barely a whisper, exhaustion mixing with guilt as I came to terms with my new reality. “This is all my fault.”

“None of this is your fault, Sienna.” Abbadon turned to me, holding my free hand in hers. She caressed my skin with her thumb, a soft smile on her face. “You did nothing wrong. Micheal is a stubborn mule who refuses to abide by anyone's rules but the Throne’s. It doesn't matter what he sees or hears or feels. He was created to follow orders.”

I tilted my head slightly, trying to digest this new information. Could Abbadon tell me more about what was happening? What rule was Micheal trying to follow when he attacked Samael? And when she said The Throne…

Did she mean God?

I choked on air, the severity of this situation hitting me hard. Of course. It would make sense, wouldn't it? If angels and demons were involved, why wouldn't God be?
But why? Why would I be in the middle of a battle between the infernal and the divine? Why would Samael risk his life, brave Micheal’s blade, to save my life? Why was he looking for me? And why are the angels so determined to stand in his way?

“I know you must have so many questions,” Abbadon said, her green eyes never leaving my face. “I'm sorry to have to say this, Sienna, but you have to be patient with us. With him.”

She looked at Samael, his face contorted in pain, sweat coating his upper body. The wound in his abdomen was pulsing, no longer bleeding but still open and raw. I swallowed back the choked sob that wanted to tear its way through me. Seeing him in this state, knowing that he was suffering because of me, made bile rise in my throat. My eyes stung with unshed tears, my bones caving under the weight of Samael’s agony.

“Can't you tell me anything?” I asked, pleading with the demon to give me some relief.

The smile she gave me was a sad one, burdened by our miserable state. “It's his story to tell.” She rose from the bed, wrapping me in her arms and rubbing my back with her palm. “Get some rest, Sienna, and whatever you do, do not leave this room without him.”

As she headed for the door, she cast one last look at Samael’s sleeping body, her tormented gaze disappearing behind the massive doors soon after.

Once I was alone in his room, all of the events of the past day came rushing to the surface of my mind, my muscles aching with exhaustion. Discarding my shoes and jacket, I climbed into bed, curling up into Samael’s side. I pushed his hair back, placing my hand on his jaw, my fingers dancing across his feverish skin.

“Please be okay,” I sighed, leaning my head on his pillow. “I can't do this without you.”