Page 46 of The River of Hatred

Sariel pokes my side. “I’m just trying to distract our poppet. Hop on, sweet cheeks.” He turns his back to me. “I’ll do the legwork for you.”

Sighing with relief, I hop onto the Fallen Express. “I’m gonna miss this when we’re out of here,” I say, nuzzling the side of his face.

“Who says we can’t make this your regular mode of transportation?” he purrs, nuzzling me right back.

“W–well,” I stutter. Does he mean he wants to see me even after we’re done with what we set out to do? “Once our mission is over, we won’t really see each other.” I can’t help the wistful note in my voice.

Great, I’m turning into a stage five clinger and the male hasn’t even fucked me yet.

“Won’t we?” he muses, then begins to whistle a merry tune.

What the Hell is that supposed to mean? But he’s not the only one I’m going to miss after we’re done.

“Itha?” I call for the angel hesitantly.

Yes, dear heart?

I melt into a puddle all over the Fallen’s back. No more water shortage.

I try to form my next question as delicately as possible. I know what we did, being intimate, closed the doors of Heaven for him. And I feel guilty, I do, but I’m also a selfish bitch because I love him and don’t want to say goodbye. I’m clearly not as strong as Sariel was a thousand years ago when he fell rather than acted on his urges.

“Will you stay with me when we’re done? In Purgatory?”

The angel pauses for a moment, like a human missing a step, but Sariel speaks before he can answer me.

“No. He won’t.”

My heart sinks into my stomach. “W–what? Why not?” And why am I stuttering so much all of a sudden?

“You heard me,” Sariel says, his voice unyielding.

“Why are you being like this?” I whisper, not bothering to hide the hurt. I squirm for him to let me go, but he tightens his grip and turns his head to give me a warning glare. It’s only now I realize how much his demeanor has changed over the weeks, how much he warmed up to us.

Let us focus on leaving this place whole and fast. Our path is about to become perilous to navigate.

Once Itha says the words, I start smelling the putrid stench of rot and decay.

“Ugh, what is that?” It’s as bad as the trench of poop.

“We’re in the trench of falsifiers,” Sariel says as if that’s an explanation. When I let my silence speak for itself, he continues. “The sinners here are punished by deteriorating mentally and physically, much like their lies corrupted humanity when they were alive.”

I scrunch my nose. “So, they’re just… rotting away?”

“Let’s just say you’re gonna be glad I’m carrying you in a minute.”

Sariel wasn’t wrong. Soon, the ground is littered with writhing figures, their bodies in various advanced stages of decay, their abused throats emitting agonized rasps as they crawl over each other. The Fallen is hard-pressed to find a clear spot to step on.

“Can you fly up, Itha?” I ask the angel still floating next to us. There’s no point in him enduring this rancid smelly miasma too.

I’m uncertain of the extent of the curse, but rather err on the side of caution and predict the archdemons who created this place wouldn’t allow Celestials to float around in their ethereal form any more than they’d allow flying. Especially if the Celestial in question is an angel.

Fallen angel, I think, but don’t say it out loud. Does Heaven already know they’re one short in their ranks?

Why would he give up an eternity of living in the light to muck among the corpses with us? He didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, but, surely, he must? Surely it wasn’t just lust? Ugh, I hate my inner doubts.Shut up, you nasty cow, I tell the voice that’s always criticizing me, always raining on my parade.

I’m distracted by the sinners’ screams as they claw at their own flesh, causing the boils covering it to erupt in rancid pus. Some of the bodies are swollen and bloated, and I dread witnessing them burst, seeing what comes out, or worse, smelling it.

My nose twitches and itches. In fact, everything is starting to burn a bit. I squirm against Sariel’s back, trying to scratch the spreading itch.

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