Mavobella: The Angel Of Death

Chapter 4

The weight of the so-called Wade crashed onto the two-seater couch in the parlor as the lady offloaded him with a grunt. He uttered a word of his own creation before sinking into a deep sleep, his snoring filling the air like a discordant melody.

“Idiot,” the lady cursed through gritted teeth, her frustration palpable.

“Couch or attic?” she asked, her gaze fixed on me, brow furrowed—a gesture I couldn't quite decipher. It felt like a riddle, one I was expected to solve immediately.

“What?” I quizzed, doing little to hide my confusion at her vague words.

“Where do you wanna sleep?” she repeated, impatience lacing her tone.

“Master bedroom.” Of course, I wouldn't mind a night of luxury, erasing every remnant of the monsters I'd encountered with a single nap. A soft bed, maybe some fairy lights, anything but this madness.

“Wrong answer,” she replied, her tone laced with mock annoyance. It worked; I felt the irritation clawing at my insides, but I kept my mouth shut.

After patching her bleeding arm up, she gave me an appliance to rub on the hand that had accidentally met with the monster's venom. She then turned on her heel and headed off—presumably to the kitchen—without another word, leaving me to ponder the two options she’d given. 

The sounds of sizzling and the vibrant aroma of onions soon wafted in from the kitchen, drawing my attention. My stomach rumbled, reminding me just how hungry I was after the chaos of the day.

“Where am I?” I asked quietly, certain she heard me. The good thing about angels was that you didn’t have to shout over the kitchen counter to get a simple answer.

She fell silent, as if my question had dropped into an abyss. The sizzling continued, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans.

I was about to clear my throat to remind her that my question lingered when she finally answered. “You are in Anubistopia, darling.”

I must have heard that wrong. I definitely had. “What?!”

“You heard me right,” she clarified, her voice steady, as if she were announcing the weather.

Her words echoed in my mind, disbelief melting into a cold realization. Anubistopia—the very name a twisted tribute to death, with a fancy suffix tucked on to soften the harsh reality: a prison.

Home to the brutal and deadly. A land where the term peace did not exist in the vocabulary. Flames and blood painted this town. A good day was when demons and angels forgot to break their previous record of killing each other.

The prison was infamous for its cold-blooded murders and the relentless rivalry between angels and demons. One would think that the fact that the Imperium could make it work between angels and demons in the castle, the world's were safe but on the ground things were different. And places like this could attest to that—-places where those unfit for society were tossed. No rules, no leadership, no peace, no world—it was like a post-apocalyptic island deliberately built by the Imperium to send psychotic angels and demons to die.

I wondered how I couldn't tell from the elite zombies’ attack. Call me a coward, but this place was honored to buy my fear.

The aching questions that gnawed at me were: why? What had I done wrong? What made them bring me here? Them, him, her—whoever was responsible for luring my ass across the seven seas—including the Pacific, and boy is that level hard in Call Of Duty: Warfare.