Abaddon could barely hear the angel anymore. She was a distant sound, as was every other, all noises becoming warped and confused. He felt detached from his body, and perhaps he was; he had no means of checking. All he was able to do was feel.
Images flashed through his mind, millions of flickering images of anguish and pain that he had been directly responsible for. The images seemed to eventually take on a life of their own and turned to him, accusing eyes and directed screams. Unlike before, Abaddon actually felt their pain. He derived no joy from it, only pain.
*"A mutamur."* A voice repeated over and over, through the warped nothingness. *A clean slate*. He understood now. To be forgiven was to suffer and understand and be reborn.
Abaddon smiled as the light disappeared and he dropped to the ground, dazed and exhausted but, at the same time, feeling anew.