enemy following a battle. Reaver
might have actually killed the fucker if not for Tavin and Matt pointing out that what made Calder
abhorrent to Reaver made him an asset in Sheoul. And of the three assassins, he was the only one
familiar with the regions surrounding Satan’s stronghold.
Reaver cocked an eyebrow at Tavin. “You don’t strike me as country guy.”
Tavin snorted. “I’m not. Our assassin master took Sin’s idea to make an inspirational playlist of
every song that mentions hell and run it on a constant loop in the assassin den.”
“I’m guessing you’re not as enamored with the music?”
“Only if enamored is code for wanting to slit your wrists just so you can hear the sound of your
blood pumping out instead of the twang of some annoying human yammering about sin.”
“Ah. In that case, I’ve been enamored a few times myself.”
“By annoying music?”
Reaver shot Tavin a pointed look. “By annoying, yammering demons.”
Tavin took a swig of water from his canteen. “And people say angels aren’t funny.”
“Who says that?”
“Everyone,” Tavin said, and Matt nodded in agreement.
Well, Reaver couldn’t dispute that. Most angels he knew were all serious and dour. The ones who
weren’t were sweet and happy and… floaty. Like Mary Poppins on an acid trip and a pot of coffee.
Reaver didn’t know which was worse.
Standing, Tavin stretched his arms and worked the kinks out of his neck. “I’m going to go find a
female. You gonna get some rest?”
Reaver shook his head. “I need to log our travel today. Go.” He waved the demon away. “I’ll plot
out our trek for tomorrow.”
“Just make sure we take the southern route through the Razor Eyelets. The northern track will put us
at the desert edge of Satan’s region. We don’t want that.”
Reaver didn’t ask why. If Tavin didn’t want to go there, it must be bad. The demon was fearless and
resourceful, but he didn’t have a death wish.
Matt left to join Calder on patrol as Tavin took off for a Harrowgate he’d sensed a quarter of a mile
away. Reaver kicked back with his journal and noted the day’s events, including mapping out the areas
they’d been through, places no angel had ever seen. His journal would be a priceless record if he
survived the trip home, likely studied for centuries by the greatest minds in Heaven.
Of course, he probably wouldn’t be around to see how the fruits of his efforts paid off. Not if the
archangels had their way. Rains of fire, severed wings, maybe death… those were what he had to look
forward to.
Shoving his possible impending wingectomy and death aside, he recorded the demons, plants, and
animals he’d come across, including descriptions, strengths, and weaknesses he’d observed, and the
locations where he’d found them. He finished with personal notes about the journey so far, and then he
tucked the book away and dug out the crude maps Tavin had brought with them.
They didn’t have far to go, maybe two days’ travel, but the remaining distance was going to be
brutal. In approximately five miles, they’d hit the Wall of Skulls, a massive barricade that surrounded
an entire region and extended hundreds of feet upward. The things that guarded the openings varied
from nearly microscopic parasites that drilled into the body in search of vital organs to massive
dragon-like beasts with teeth as tall as three-story buildings. Then there were the squads of vicious,
eyeless Silas demons that patrolled the ramparts, killing intruders to add to the skulls lining the walls.
Next, they’d have rivers of lava, dead forests full of pain-feeding monsters, and an entire region
dedicated to torture devices to navigate before reaching Satan’s territory.
From there, Reaver would be on his own. Their group would draw too much attention, so the plan
was for him to sneak in to Satan’s torture complex, grab Harvester, and meet up with Tavin, Matt, and
Calder for
might have actually killed the fucker if not for Tavin and Matt pointing out that what made Calder
abhorrent to Reaver made him an asset in Sheoul. And of the three assassins, he was the only one
familiar with the regions surrounding Satan’s stronghold.
Reaver cocked an eyebrow at Tavin. “You don’t strike me as country guy.”
Tavin snorted. “I’m not. Our assassin master took Sin’s idea to make an inspirational playlist of
every song that mentions hell and run it on a constant loop in the assassin den.”
“I’m guessing you’re not as enamored with the music?”
“Only if enamored is code for wanting to slit your wrists just so you can hear the sound of your
blood pumping out instead of the twang of some annoying human yammering about sin.”
“Ah. In that case, I’ve been enamored a few times myself.”
“By annoying music?”
Reaver shot Tavin a pointed look. “By annoying, yammering demons.”
Tavin took a swig of water from his canteen. “And people say angels aren’t funny.”
“Who says that?”
“Everyone,” Tavin said, and Matt nodded in agreement.
Well, Reaver couldn’t dispute that. Most angels he knew were all serious and dour. The ones who
weren’t were sweet and happy and… floaty. Like Mary Poppins on an acid trip and a pot of coffee.
Reaver didn’t know which was worse.
Standing, Tavin stretched his arms and worked the kinks out of his neck. “I’m going to go find a
female. You gonna get some rest?”
Reaver shook his head. “I need to log our travel today. Go.” He waved the demon away. “I’ll plot
out our trek for tomorrow.”
“Just make sure we take the southern route through the Razor Eyelets. The northern track will put us
at the desert edge of Satan’s region. We don’t want that.”
Reaver didn’t ask why. If Tavin didn’t want to go there, it must be bad. The demon was fearless and
resourceful, but he didn’t have a death wish.
Matt left to join Calder on patrol as Tavin took off for a Harrowgate he’d sensed a quarter of a mile
away. Reaver kicked back with his journal and noted the day’s events, including mapping out the areas
they’d been through, places no angel had ever seen. His journal would be a priceless record if he
survived the trip home, likely studied for centuries by the greatest minds in Heaven.
Of course, he probably wouldn’t be around to see how the fruits of his efforts paid off. Not if the
archangels had their way. Rains of fire, severed wings, maybe death… those were what he had to look
forward to.
Shoving his possible impending wingectomy and death aside, he recorded the demons, plants, and
animals he’d come across, including descriptions, strengths, and weaknesses he’d observed, and the
locations where he’d found them. He finished with personal notes about the journey so far, and then he
tucked the book away and dug out the crude maps Tavin had brought with them.
They didn’t have far to go, maybe two days’ travel, but the remaining distance was going to be
brutal. In approximately five miles, they’d hit the Wall of Skulls, a massive barricade that surrounded
an entire region and extended hundreds of feet upward. The things that guarded the openings varied
from nearly microscopic parasites that drilled into the body in search of vital organs to massive
dragon-like beasts with teeth as tall as three-story buildings. Then there were the squads of vicious,
eyeless Silas demons that patrolled the ramparts, killing intruders to add to the skulls lining the walls.
Next, they’d have rivers of lava, dead forests full of pain-feeding monsters, and an entire region
dedicated to torture devices to navigate before reaching Satan’s territory.
From there, Reaver would be on his own. Their group would draw too much attention, so the plan
was for him to sneak in to Satan’s torture complex, grab Harvester, and meet up with Tavin, Matt, and
Calder for