20
With slow, gentle movements, the vines shift Lincoln and I out of the darkness, setting us onto a high stone balcony.
Together, Lincoln and I belly-crawl over to the balcony’s edge, which is a series of tall spindles topped by a wide wooden railing. My shoulder presses against Lincoln’s as we peer through the line of rods. The sight tightens my throat with excitement and terror.
It’s Armageddon’s throne room. We’re really here.
The chamber is long, rectangular and made of shiny black rock. Across the room, a stone staircase rises up to end in a small, square platform and a pair of stout black thrones. On those chairs sit Armageddon and his dead mother, Onyx.
His dead mother? Really? This guy is un-freaking-believable.
Armageddon looks creepy as usual: seven feet tall with gangly l
