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'[...] You know what's waiting?'

'I'll know soon enough,' said Barrow. 'I'll just enjoy life while I can.'

Cabal leaned forward. 'I know now,' he said, caution gone. 'One place is run by a bored, disappointed sadist. The other... Spiritual transfiguration, do you know what that means? It means having everything that you ever were stripped away, bars of light, too intense to look upon.' He unconsciously fingered the smoked glasses in his breast pocket. 'Homogeneity incarnate. Can you imagine that? That's what the Heavenly Host is, countless thousands of bars of light, souls burning, all the same. Your personality lost forever. Immortal souls, hah! It's the final death. Sacrificed to a mania for order.' He looked around at the middle distance, his disgust a palpable thing. 'Lambs to the slaughter.'

Barrow put his cup down. 'Why do you hate death so much?'

Cabal seemed to rein himself in. 'I don't hate death. It's not a person. There's no grim skeletal figure with a scythe. I try to avoid hating abstracts, it's a waste of effort.'

The Necromancer (Johannes Cabal #1)
Jonathan L. Howard

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