Hell Gate by Andrew P. Weston

The Angel Grislington is dead, effaced from existence during an epic battle with Daemon Grim that destroyed a Zion forged blade and one of Satan’s premier palaces in the process.

Chopin and Tesla have gone to ground. So much so, that they might as well be six feet under helping to push up hell-daisies.

Even Erra and the Sibitti, his living weapons of vengeance and destruction, seem reticent to show their faces.

Rioting sweeps the length and breadth of the underworld. Yet the halls of the Mortuary lie vacant, for someone is stealing soul-essence, the very means by which Satan condemns sinners to everlasting torment.

But who would do such a thing? And how does the hush that descends upon the dirty streets of latterday hell tie into ancient prophecy relating to the Reaper’s destiny?

It’s often calmest before the storm.

Just imagine how bad things will get with the apocalypse approaching.

Unlive – Die – Repeat.
Hell, the edge of all your tomorrows.