spattered across the walls and floor; Thorn helpless to intervene. His own charge had killed them, but not at Thorn’s request. If only the other demons had heard his whispers. If they’d realized that Thorn had been trying to stop Jed rather than spur him on, Thorn might have had the pleasure of being dead now.
Instead, Thorn was forced to live, haunted by the specters of his many victims, still vivid in his memory. He feared he would never redeem himself for the shootings, nor for the countless other deaths of innocents he’d caused throughout history. No, he would have to live with all that death, and with the burgeoning realization that he’d been on the wrong side of the battle since the beginning of time. Thorn still loathed the Enemy for what He’d done to demonkind, but he also hated demonkind for the pain and carnage they continuously inflicted on themselves, and on humanity. Where does a demon go who is caught in the middle?
Thorn had gone to the angels’ quarantine zone in northwest Atlanta. Vastly outnumbered by demons, the few remaining cherubim were content to stay in the quarantine zones into which demons had forced them long ago, after the war. In the wake of the Christmas Eve shooting, Thorn had gone to Atlanta’s zone to defect, to admit his newfound desire to be good ; but instead of solace or rejection, Thorn had found… something else. Some evidence of a grave secret. He had found Xeres, the great demon he’d followed for centuries, who had died in the early 1540s. Only now, somehow, Xeres was a full-fledged angel, complete with majestic wings and a white robe. He’d pretended not to know Thorn, then when Thorn had recognized him, he’d fled.
Thorn had floated there, dumbfounded, trying to make sense of what he had seen. A whole universe of questions had opened up before him. Common knowledge said that a demon’s sin was permanent, that none could defect. It was one of the cornerstones that had driven demon actions for billions of years. Despite having somehow become an angel, Xeres himself had stressed the impossibility of defection when Thorn had asked for help. Thorn had raved about conspiracies and lies, kicking and screaming as the angels drove him into the ground beneath their warehouse, yet even after months of searching for clues, of clandestinely petitioning the angels for audience, he still had no new knowledge of what he had seen.
But he had a guess.
In 1540, Xeres had left his territory in what would one day become Georgia to enter a Sanctuary. Created by the Enemy as testing grounds for humans, Sanctuaries had a reputation as dangerous, mysterious places. A demon could earn great prestige by journeying to a Sanctuary and killing the humans there, but the risk was so great that only one in a hundred thousand demons had ever attempted it. Of those, perhaps half had returned. And almost all of those had gone in groups. To enter a Sanctuary alone was nearly tantamount to suicide, so Xeres’s boldness had been lauded throughout the demon world at the time.
Xeres had returned from his Sanctuary as many demons did: quiet and glum. Like a neutered dog, he wandered and pondered, licking whatever emotional wounds he’d sustained. He claimed to have successfully killed the Sanctuary’s humans, but he avoided all humans upon his return, refusing to tempt anyone. He was killed by his own kind for it. Thorn had seen the body.
When Xeres was killed, Thorn had been too concerned with his own attempts to succeed him to think through the circumstances of his death. But ever since he had seen Xeres as an angel two and a half months ago, Thorn had been turning those past events over and over in his mind. He had tried to recollect everything he’d ever learned about Sanctuaries, too.
The demons who returned from Sanctuaries in groups would brag excessively, but their tales were all the same: they had murdered people, depriving entire lives of their future purposes. Some would entertain with
Instead, Thorn was forced to live, haunted by the specters of his many victims, still vivid in his memory. He feared he would never redeem himself for the shootings, nor for the countless other deaths of innocents he’d caused throughout history. No, he would have to live with all that death, and with the burgeoning realization that he’d been on the wrong side of the battle since the beginning of time. Thorn still loathed the Enemy for what He’d done to demonkind, but he also hated demonkind for the pain and carnage they continuously inflicted on themselves, and on humanity. Where does a demon go who is caught in the middle?
Thorn had gone to the angels’ quarantine zone in northwest Atlanta. Vastly outnumbered by demons, the few remaining cherubim were content to stay in the quarantine zones into which demons had forced them long ago, after the war. In the wake of the Christmas Eve shooting, Thorn had gone to Atlanta’s zone to defect, to admit his newfound desire to be good ; but instead of solace or rejection, Thorn had found… something else. Some evidence of a grave secret. He had found Xeres, the great demon he’d followed for centuries, who had died in the early 1540s. Only now, somehow, Xeres was a full-fledged angel, complete with majestic wings and a white robe. He’d pretended not to know Thorn, then when Thorn had recognized him, he’d fled.
Thorn had floated there, dumbfounded, trying to make sense of what he had seen. A whole universe of questions had opened up before him. Common knowledge said that a demon’s sin was permanent, that none could defect. It was one of the cornerstones that had driven demon actions for billions of years. Despite having somehow become an angel, Xeres himself had stressed the impossibility of defection when Thorn had asked for help. Thorn had raved about conspiracies and lies, kicking and screaming as the angels drove him into the ground beneath their warehouse, yet even after months of searching for clues, of clandestinely petitioning the angels for audience, he still had no new knowledge of what he had seen.
But he had a guess.
In 1540, Xeres had left his territory in what would one day become Georgia to enter a Sanctuary. Created by the Enemy as testing grounds for humans, Sanctuaries had a reputation as dangerous, mysterious places. A demon could earn great prestige by journeying to a Sanctuary and killing the humans there, but the risk was so great that only one in a hundred thousand demons had ever attempted it. Of those, perhaps half had returned. And almost all of those had gone in groups. To enter a Sanctuary alone was nearly tantamount to suicide, so Xeres’s boldness had been lauded throughout the demon world at the time.
Xeres had returned from his Sanctuary as many demons did: quiet and glum. Like a neutered dog, he wandered and pondered, licking whatever emotional wounds he’d sustained. He claimed to have successfully killed the Sanctuary’s humans, but he avoided all humans upon his return, refusing to tempt anyone. He was killed by his own kind for it. Thorn had seen the body.
When Xeres was killed, Thorn had been too concerned with his own attempts to succeed him to think through the circumstances of his death. But ever since he had seen Xeres as an angel two and a half months ago, Thorn had been turning those past events over and over in his mind. He had tried to recollect everything he’d ever learned about Sanctuaries, too.
The demons who returned from Sanctuaries in groups would brag excessively, but their tales were all the same: they had murdered people, depriving entire lives of their future purposes. Some would entertain with
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