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Prologue Annoth

I have never knownthe freedom of the climb.

I have never known what it is to fly, to move, to see beyond the haze of my own existence. To rise through the heat and over the flames, to feel the rush of smoke against my form, to smell the wretchedness of humanity laid out endlessly beneath me.

For centuries, I have been chained, collared, subdued. Now, I am unleashed and I will fulfill the dark purpose for which I was created.

I will find the human, take hold of his heart and his mind, and bind his very soul to my will. I will not rest until I have sown such terror and despair into the world that it will never wash clean.

I am Annoth’zagoz, Demon of the Seventh Tower, and I am coming for you, Theodore Keating.

1

Theo

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How many days has it been since I showered?

When did I last wash the dishes? Vacuum? Clean the toilet?

Gross, don’t think about that.

I groan and roll over, only to be met by something that feels like needles piercing my chest, followed by a chorus of insistent meows. The cats, demanding I get up and provide their morning meal. I drag my sorry carcass off the couch, step over the empty pizza box on the floor, and stumble to the laundry room. The automatic feeder stopped working weeks ago, but I haven’t had the wherewithal to try and fix it. I can’t find the food scoop, so I just dip my hand into the bin and toss what seems to be the right amount of kibble into their bowls. Virgil and Dante give me suspicious glares, as if I’m underfeeding their fat asses, then start eating. I should probably eat too, but I can’t even remember the last time I went to the store, or ate anything other than dry cereal and delivery pizza. Surely, there’s a slice or two around here that could still be classified as food.

I open the fridge and quickly close it again. Disgusting. How am I still alive? How has my mother not called in a welfare check on me yet? It’s been at least three days since I talked to her. I give up on the pizza and go look for my phone. It’s under the couch, with 3% battery. Five DMs, two emails, and six missed calls from friends. Ten texts from my mother (progressively more unhinged), one from my father (tellingme that I’m breaking my mother’s heart), three from my sister (I’d better get my sorry ass off the couch and call Mom), and…nothing from Ros.

I should stop checking, I know I should, but I can’t help it. She said she’d call me when she had a place for the cats. Her cats. At least, theywereher cats two months ago. Now, it looks like they might be mine, because it’s been radio silence since she packed her stuff and left. I guess I can’t complain too much, because taking care of these furry bastards has been the only thing keeping me going.

I plug my phone in and go to the bathroom, where I’m met by the layer of grime on nearly every surface. The shower door, coated in soap-scum, the towels I haven’t washed. In the mirror, all I see is the beard I can’t bring myself to shave, the hair I haven’t cut, the dull, dry skin and shadowed eyes. I should take a shower, but the task seems too daunting. Too many steps, too much energy, too much effort, and for what? It’s not like I have a girlfriend or a boss to impress anymore.

The only person who sees me on a regular basis anymore is the pizza delivery girl, Marcella. I’m pretty sure I’m paying most of her college tuition with my tips, so I doubt she’s going to stage an intervention on my behalf. My landlord came around looking for the rent last week, but I just slid him a check under the door. He might call the Health Department if he sees the state of my living room. On the foot of my bed is a pizza box with two slices of Hawaiian left in it. The date on the receipt taped to the top lets me know it’s only a day old, so I decide to risk it. If I end up in the hospital, well… .

Dante and Virgil emerge from the laundry room, looking satisfied and ready for a nap they certainly haven’t earned. As soon as they see me standing in the kitchen with my pizza box, their tails go all bottle-brushy, and they start to hiss, backing away slowly.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” I ask them. Do I smell that bad? Is the pizza rotten? Have they decided that my beard and hair make me look like a werewolf?

Then, I feel it. A violent burning sensation in my joints and head, like something inside me is pushing against my bones, straining, ripping me open. My vision goes dark and I stumble backward, hitting the fridge, then my knees give out, so I slide down to the floor and try to breathe through it. Racing heart, shaking, sweating, dry mouth, burning behind my eyes. This doesn’t feel like one of my regular panic attacks. Besides, those are usually triggered by something. Am I having a stroke? A heart attack? An aneurysm? Should I call my mom and tell her I’m sorry for everything? Should I call Ros and tell her to come get her damn cats so they don’t eat my dead body? Before I can even reach for my phone, the feeling subsides as quickly as it came. I can breathe again. Dante and Virgil stand nearby, meowing, but they don’t approach me like they normally do after I’ve had a panic attack.

“I think I need to stop eating so much pizza, you guys,” I laugh weakly. Their meows become more insistent, and I realize they’re the same noises that usually alert me when someone is outside the door. I wait for a full minute, but don’t even hear any footsteps in the hall.

“Quit lying,” I sigh at the cats. “I thought she was coming back for you…or maybe coming back for me.” Two more loud meows, then they go curl up on the couch like a big, fuzzy yin yang: Dante, fluffy and light gray; Virgil, sleek and black, or as sleek as an overweight cat can get. I think they might be eating my leftover pizza while I’m asleep, which can’t be good for their little hearts.

Slowly, I push myself off the floor and put a hand on my forehead. It feels warm, and I’m still a bit shaky, but I manage to wander around the apartment for a few minutes, picking up all my errant pizza boxes. I stack them beside the door, unwilling to actually count how many there are, then go to the pantry for a trash bag. I’m all out. After a brief hunt through the apartment, I find anold garment bag hanging at the back of my closet, stuff it full of pizza boxes, and cautiously open the door. I listen for any voices or footsteps first, but it’s silent, so I poke my head out.

Luckily, most of the people on my floor are at work, but there’s always the possibility that nosy Mrs. Reynolds from downstairs is making her afternoon rounds as the self-appointed ‘neighborhood watch’. I definitely don’t need her seeing me carry my trash to the chute like some kind of depressed cryptid sneaking around in the woods at night. Especially since she and Ros were friendly with each other. I make it to the chute and back to my apartment without encountering anyone, then sink onto the couch beside the cats, exhausted from just that tiny amount of work. They both jump up, hiss at me, and run off.Fine, fuck you too.

I know I should make an effort. I should clean my apartment, and text people back, and look for a new job, but I can’t. I simply…can’t, and I don’t know why. Everything feels so heavy right now, like I’m wearing ankle weights while swimming. The life I thought I would have–the life I wanted, the one that was so close to being in my grasp–was yanked out from under me.

Now, I’m just free falling, waiting to see if there’s a net at the bottom, or if I’ll splatter on the ground.

2

Annoth

What–in the name ofall things dark and unholy–is happening? Am I in possession of a human soul or a tar pit? I am certain they are not meant to feel this way. They are meant to have at least a small amount of strength, resolve, or hope, even in the bleakest of circumstances. It was all too easy to find the young man I had been assigned to possess, Theodore Keating; all too easy to enter his weak, fleshy body. But as I search for some sort of feeling or memory I can latch onto, I find nothing but an empty human shell, tainted by loss and confusion and darkness.

I was told that this man’s poor mental state would make him more susceptible to my influence, that it would make it easier for me to find an emotional foothold. This assignment might prove more challenging than I imagined, but I was not chosen for nothing.I am Annoth’zagoz of the Seventh Tower, and I will fulfill my mission.I summon my strength and send my shadows skittering along his spine, making his body shiver.