Abaddon

This is my first attempt at writing a short story. I love reading fantasy and horror and this started out as that. It's no longer so much a horror story and just kind of became its own thing.

• Short story
• Fantasy

								
	It was the locusts that caught my attention. Being in western North Carolina, it wasn't something that you expected to see walking down the street of a mountain city. At first there was one here and there, which seemed a tad odd. But, as I continued down Madison Boulevard, more began to show until it was a literal swarm. I pulled my t-shirt up over my head to attempt to protect my eyes from the beating wings and spindly legs. Sprinting down the street, I ducked into a corner coffee shop to escape the sudden insectoid onslaught.
	"What the hell is going on!?" I blurted out as I quickly shut the glass door behind me. The barista at the counter had his back turned, oblivious to the chaos erupting outside whilst tamping the coffee grounds for an espresso. Startled, he quickly turned to see what the commotion was.
	"Jesus..." he muttered, nearly at a loss for words staring out the bay windows. "It's like some crazy shit from the bible!"
	The locusts outside had now become so numerous that it almost looked like a dark fog, blotting out the sunlight. They seemed to be thicker and congregating upon a particular spot moving slowly down the street. Then, with a sudden flash, a blinding object came streaking down from the sky, crashing into the street roughly a hundred feet from the center of the swarm.
	Even with shielding my eyes, I was temporarily blinded by the flash. As my eyes adjusted, I could see that this was no ordinary object, but what appeared to be a man in some kind of knight's armor. The armor, covered in burn marks and deep scratches, had a white cloth draped over it hanging across the front and back. On this cloth, there was an image of a halo surrounded by feathered wings. The man looked to be at least seven and half feet tall. He was muscular and clean-shaven with a strong jaw. Blonde, almost white hair covered his head. In his left hand he held a long sword, the blade gleaming even in the thick fog of locusts. In his right hand he held a large round shield, ornately carved with what looked to be an image of angels and demons in an endless battle.
	"Abaddon!" the man said with a booming voice that seemed much louder than one would have expected. "Show yourself!"
	The swarm of locusts calmed slightly, as though contemplating its next move. Then, the insects started to disperse from the spot they had centered on. Left standing there was another man, wiry but no less tall and threatening than the knight or whatever he was that stood before him. This man wore a long black trench coat over his skin which did not look like skin at all but like stone with cracks running along his arms and face like a spider web. The cracks glowed red with an otherworldly hue. On his head, splitting the long black hair, two horns twist their way towards the sky.
	"Michael, I was hoping you would show up," Abaddon replied with a voice like slithering snakes. "You being here will make executing my plans easier.”
	“The only thing that will happen with my presence is your demise,” said Michael.
	“Oh, Michael,” Abaddon says, “I don’t think that will be happening today.”
	With that said, Abaddon is once again enveloped in a cloud of locusts. With an incredible, inhuman amount of speed, the insect cloudbursts in Michael’s direction. Michael dodges to the left, swinging his great shining sword as he does so. The blade cleaves through the air, connecting with nothing.
	The cloud of locusts appears behind Michael, pulsing to the rhythm of Abaddon’s words.
	“You think your little toy is going to hurt me? I have become stronger, far superior since we last fought.”
	A tendril of insects furiously snakes its way from the swarm like a chitinous tentacle, connecting with Michael’s chest plate. The force of the blow cracks like lightening, knocking the angel into a car parked in the makeshift battlefield. The sedan crumples in as if it was just t-boned by a Mack truck. Michael crawls from the wreckage and stands. The cloth draped over his armor was shredded, but the divine being seemed otherwise unharmed.

	“Damn!” cries the barista. “How can that dude still be standing after that?”
	“I don’t think physics applies to this fight,” I say. “I also think we are not safe here.”
	“I can’t just leave!” he says. “I’d lose my job!”
	“Really?! There’s literally what appears to be a fight between an angel and demon outside your shop window and that’s your concern?!” I yell back at him.
	“Hey, not everyone has a cushy job that they can afford fancy things like a college education and savings account!” he spits back. “I can’t go back to my family’s farm in Texas. You know how bad cow shit smells in a hundred and ten degree heat? I need this!”
	Shaking my head, I turn back to watch the fight through the window. Like standing near a freight train barreling towards an eighteen wheeler stuck in a crossing, I can’t bear to look away despite the danger. Damn my hypocrisy.

	Michael dashes towards Abaddon, his gigantic shield held in front and his gleaming sword pointed to the side. His shoulder cocked, ready to deliver a blow. Abaddon’s face contorts into an evil grin. He appears unfazed as Michael quickly closes the gap between the two.
	Leaping, the angel slashes downward attempting to split the demon’s head in two. Abaddon once again disappears into a swarm of insects. Michael’s sword only connects with a few straggling locusts, leaving insect guts splattered on the shining blade. Abaddon seems too fast for Michael to land a blow. Rolling as he lands to absorb the momentum, the building frustration is visible on Michael’s face. He quickly recovers and stands to search the street for where Abaddon has gone.
	Michael’s blue eyes begin to glow, his rage and impatience growing. Abaddon reappears, standing in front of a restaurant patio, taunting the angel.

	The barista has now moved to the window next to me, leaving his false safe haven of the coffee shops counter.
	“The angel dude looks pissed” he says. I glance down and get a look at his name tag. Printed on it is the moniker “Chad”. Fantastic, of all the people to witness an apocalyptic battle with, it has to be a Chad.
	“Abaddon seems to be toying with him,” I say.
	“Abaddon? What kind of weird name is that?”
	“Biblical” I respond. “You know, ‘crazy shit from the bible’ as you so eloquently put it.”
	The realization of what is going on slowly creeps in to his head. “Wait, are you saying that this is a fight between an angel and a demon?”
	“There’s an eight-foot tall man with a glowing sword and shield battling it out with another man that has horns and can transform into a swarm of locusts, what did you think we were watching?” I reply with a genuine look of astonishment on my face.
	“I don't know,” he says, “I dropped acid before I clocked in this morning and just thought it was a freaky-ass trip.”
	“I think you should have stayed on the farm.” I say back to him just before another loud boom is heard outside.

	Turning back, we can see that Michael, in a fit of rage, has crashed into the restaurant creating a large hole in the brick wall. He must have carelessly made a mad dash to Abaddon and plowed into the building sending chairs, tables, and parasols flying from the patio. A furious howl sounds out just before the angel comes stumbling from the wreckage. A golden fluid is slowly streaming from his left nostril. Breathing heavily, Michael makes his way back to the street. The swarm coalesces into Abaddon’s bodily form, standing about ten feet from the angel.

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