Oneshot 2 (which can technically be considered a prequel to this one)
“Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.”
(Image taken from Pinterest)
Egads! You were such a sap!
The Apocalypse had both given you and made you into many things. A swordsman, a sniper, nightmare-prone. Some new friends, many enemies and a crippling fear of being alone. These things could be expected, sure enough, given the nature of such an event. But you certainly never expected to find - oh, dare you say it? Love. That’s what you found. With an angel no less.
Your love for this man turned you into a sentimental fool with glittery mush for guts. Why else would you be using a colourful set of inks you scrounged from the ruins of an art shop to painstakingly copy up and illustrate the lyrics of a love song? Not just any love song but an old one in your native language, illustrated using your country's traditional art style.
You really had gone all out. You had written up a translation and even toyed with the idea of translating it into Angelic. After two months of drafting and redrafting it was almost complete.
Gods, you were so excited to present it to him during your next trip to the White City. The mere thought made your heart feel as if it was going to burst. It had to be as close to perfect as you could get it, after all, Azrael deserved the best of the best.
Ah, Azrael. It wasn’t just about the song. To you it was a milestone. An extension of trust. For the longest time you had always done your best to dodge and deflect his questions about Humans and Earth. The way he phrased them made you feel like a science project or a zoo exhibit and, in light of recent events, such a topic made you feel miserable as you contemplated all that was lost.
But soon things would be different. It was time to open up and what better place to start than with your own culture? Your mind raced with all the things you could tell him, all the pathways to explore. Hopefully you won't cry too much.
You were jolted out of your lovestruck state when a hand clapped down on your shoulder. It was so unexpected that you panicked and began to reach for a weapon before remembering where you were. Of course, in this new world of constant vigilance and paranoia, no threat would be able to get within 3 miles of the Bastion without the alarm being raised. It was a nice kernel of safety to cling to.
The hand belonged to Sabine, your apocalyptically bestowed best friend and decidedly not a threat. You offered an apologetic smile and she snickered but didn’t acknowledge your fright. There was no point really. Not a day went by where someone wasn’t startled by a loud noise or unexpected touch. Not a night went by where the solemn silence of the sleeping quarters wasn’t shattered by the screams, wails and sobs of those haunted by the most blood-curdling memories. If every instance of this was acknowledged then no one would talk about anything else.
Once Sabine saw that you had recovered from your scare she cheerfully pointed finger guns at you and said, “you’re up!” She fired each imaginary gun in turn, complete with sound effects and all.
You knew exactly what she was referring to - watch duty. A task in which all adults of sound-ish physical and mental health were obliged to participate. Each day was divided into six hour shifts and everyone listed on the rota had to complete at least one per day. It was a very tedious and mentally labourious task, at times it was difficult to stay alert for the full duration of the shift.
For the next six hours you would do nothing but stare into the middle-distance while occasionally patrolling the perimeter.
Joy.
So much to look forward to.
You bade farewell to Sabine, who was already stretched out on the bedroll you had just vacated, and trudged along the long, echoing halls of the Bastion to your assigned post.
The Bastion, despite its fancy name, was an old secondary school that you and the other survivors had been living in for around a year. It was only called such because it sounded a bit better than “the school” or “camp”.
In a similar vein the fence that surrounded the school had been dubbed “the Bulwark”. It had been fortified within an inch of its existence, complete with a walkway and watchtowers all along the perimeter.
Your position today was above the main gate. You arrived and greeted your shift partner - a grim and grizzled man named Joshua. He grunted into his silver whiskers in response. You liked Joshua but you were never concrete sure if he returned the sentiment. The both of you had very little in common and most attempts to draw him into conversation failed. So it had been quite the surprise when you and Sabine had had some small success at getting him to play D&D as a way to pass the time.
For the next two hours time turned to sludge, Joshua broke the silence only once to tell you that a demon nest had been discovered in the charred remains of the next town over. You were a little disturbed to realise that a thrill of excitement ran through you in response to the news.
It’s just that no one had seen hair or hide of any kind of threat in nearly two months since the warriors of the Bastion had systematically destroyed any gatherings of any anythings. With the relative safety of the Bastion and the surrounding area secured, primordial monkey brain began to relax…just a little.
Although it was nice not to feel so wound up all the time, you were worried that you would become lazy and complacent without hypervigilance and throat-choking fear to keep you humble.
Watch duty wasn’t always such a drag. Until recently you would spend the whole six hours with your heart lodged firmly in the back of your throat. Your brain liked to taunt you too, conjuring faint noises and flickering shadows that left you reaching for your rifle everytime. But nothing had crawled out of the ashen grey gloom in a while.
Therefore, it came as quite a surprise when there was a sudden flash of soft golden light and a tall angel appeared across the street from the main gate.
There was a great roar of dismay all along the front-facing wall of the Bulwark as its stationed sentinels all leapt to their feet, reaching for weapons and screaming warnings to those further back. You did too, slinging your rifle off your shoulder.
The angel, not expecting such an explosive reaction, flared his wings in alarm.
You blinked.
Wait…you knew those wings! You knew that angel!
Your angel! Azrael!
“Wait! Hold your fire!”, you bellowed.
The voices began to quieten and people hesitantly lowered their weapons.
“Hold your fire”, you repeated, “I know him, he isn’t a threat.”
Weapons were lowered all the way as your fellows turned to look at you. You withered under their gaze.
Azrael, seeing the commotion he had caused begin to die down, took a tentative step towards the gate. Weapons began to creep up again and he hastily returned to his previous position.
Now that the shock of Azrael’s sudden manifestation had worn off, some began to cast apologetic glances at you, guilty of daring to threaten the sole occupier of the Bastion’s ‘Do Not Kill’ list. But you were guilty of the same crime. You shuddered to think of what might have happened if you didn’t recognise him in time. The mere thought made you nauseous. It was impossible to imagine even a single reason for wanting to hurt Azrael. It would have to be something truly awful.
Azrael’s voice drifted up to you, “Please, I must speak with you”. His expression was…solemn. You offered him a nod and half a smile in response.
Things had calmed down considerably and the Bastion’s guardian’s returned to their posts. However Azrael’s ‘Do Not Kill’ list privileges started and ended with ‘will not be shot on sight’, there was no way on Earth the main gate would be opened to let him in…or you out. Undeterred you attached a rope to the wall and clambered down before running to Azrael.
Joshua’s gruff voice followed you, “You be careful, ye hear?”
He glared at Azrael suspiciously as he added, “Don’t go too far and holler if you need help, ye hear?”
You smiled and gave him a thumbs up before grabbing Azrael by the hand and towing him away from the Bulwark. He stayed silent as you walked along the sideroad the former school sat by.
The feeling of many eyes piercing your skin had long since faded but spidery unease tickled your spine and made you feel all jittery-like. You frowned. Why was that? You stared down at the giant hand in your grasp. Then up the arm it was attached to.
Azrael was…tense. Very tense. Enough to make your skin itch. You let go of his hand as the main road came into view, whatever feeling that swirled around him felt like the stifling humid heat of a slow, sludgey summer afternoon. It was unbearable.
You tried to clear the air a little, “What’s the matter Az? You have a face as long as a wet week, has somebody died?”
Your admittedly shitty attempt at humour failed miserably, your words laying crumpled on the ground between you like a corpse.
For all you knew someone really could have died and you were just making things worse. Azrael did not answer your question but instead stared mournfully down the main road, a long strip of cracked and dilapidated tarmac that streaked down a steep hill. At the bottom lay the burnt out ruins of the town that once existed there.
His pearly eyes hovered here as he finally spoke, “Long have I wished to gaze upon the Kingdom of Man. Many told me that my interests should be directed elsewhere. That Earth was not a subject worthy of study, that no glory was to be found here. I yearned to one day see Earth with my own eyes and walk among its people…to see the wonders of this world for myself…but now it is destroyed and it-”.
He cut himself off here and you frowned deeply as you worriedly scrutinised his face. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth. Your heart began to beat a little faster although you could not yet pinpoint the reason why. Maybe it was because your mind had helpfully filled in the gaps for the sentence he hadn’t finished and you were not a fan of the end result.
“Azrael…”, you began nervously as you drew near to him again, reaching forward to stroke his wings, “what are you trying to say?”
Azrael did not answer. His feathers, usually so soft and silky, were dry and brittle. Many were ruffled and seemingly bent out of shape, some even fell out as you ran your fingers through them. Someone had not been maintaining his wings very well at all.
Azrael had always been so meticulous about wing-care, he had even roped you into helping a couple of times. Some of your fondest memories with him were the endless hours spent rubbing various substances into each individual feather while music played from your phone - a technological curiosity from a life long long gone.
You wouldn’t let him examine the phone, you rarely answered his questions about the music you played. Perhaps you had not always been the kindest to him.
If he had been neglecting himself then something was clearly very wrong and a tiny voice whispered that maybe it was your fault.
Azrael still hadn’t spoken. You peered up at him. His falcon face was damp with sweat and his wings trembled, feathers rustling like autumnal leaves. You didn’t even know that angels could sweat. You tugged on his sleeve like a little child.
“Azrael, something is wrong, I can feel it”, you said insistently. You tried to meet his gaze but he turned his head away. A flash of irritation splintered through your chest. What on Earth was going on?
“Azrael-”, you began, your voice dagger-sharp.
Whatever you were going to say next died right there in your throat as Azrael’s head whipped around and he gave you the most wild-eyed look you had ever seen. He looked like a cornered animal.
Finally he spoke. Breathlessly. Falteringly. Like every word had to drag itself arm over arm across his tongue.
He spoke your name. Then. “I do not want to do this, but I cannot keep this to myself any longer. You deserve to know this. I must confess…that I have not been entirely...truthful with you.”
You relinquished your hold on him and retreated several steps away. You knew for certain that you were standing on the edge of a tall cliff face, staring out at the dark, dark sea while the wind battered you mercilessly. Whatever was said next was going to send you tumbling into those frothing wild waters below.
You didn’t want to hear it but you might as well jump. Heave ho. Hop.
“What do you mean by that?”, you said while eyeing him warily.
Azrael doesn’t speak. Fucks sake.
“What do you mean by that?!”, you said again, louder this time, your voice cracking.
He flinches, wings flaring. You got the Angel of Death to flinch. So he starts speaking. Oh he starts speaking alright. Horrible, horrible, fetid, cursed, stinking words. The more he speaks the more you wither away, a gaping chasm yawning where your cracked heart used to be. He talks and tells the awful truth and you feel your world crumble around you for a second time.
You listen as the Azrael you loved, adored, thought you knew, swirled down the drain. Though naming names, the only finger he points is at himself, and he was right to do so.
This ‘Abaddon’, blinded by hubris, hatched forth the terrible plan from his venomous mind. This ‘Ulthane’ forged the howling blade poised to end All.
But who wielded the Blade? Who said the Words? Who broke the Seals?
Him.
The Angel of Death. Perhaps the truth had been staring you in the face this whole time.
His words, once so soft and comforting, writhed through the air like insidious vines. “I broke the Seals”, he whispered. At first you raised your hands, stepping back rapidly, as if you could stop his words from reaching you. Now you stood in silence, staring down the main road. The 10 feet between you might as well have been 10 miles. Your eyes wander sightlessly, focusing on nothing in particular. The skeleton of a tree, claw marks in the tarmac, mountains of rubble, the sunless sky.
Everything.
Everywhere.
It’s all his fault. It’s all his fault. He did it.
But-...but-...but-....he’s Azrael.
No one as kind and as warm as Azrael could possibly-
He was supposed to be different from the rest.
He might still be speaking but you can’t hear him over the rush of blood in your ears as you stare numbly at your boots.
The syllables clack together meaninglessly like pebbles in a bucket.
Azrael watched you. There was no sound. There was no movement. He expected tears or rage or both. He deserved that. What he didn’t expect was laughter. Or perhaps laughter but only if someone who was unfamiliar with the concept read a brief description and attempted to emulate it.
Your mouth hung open in what could have been a wide smile but the sound that emerged perfectly matched your hollow, dead-eyed expression.
Fuck, this has got to be a joke. One giant, cosmic joke. All of it. A giant, cosmic joke. Perhaps the Creator had written this in the stars for its own amusement.
During the Apocalypse you had established several truths to live by.
Demons were cruel and should not be trusted.
Angels dripped with disdain and would not hesitate to show that and therefore should be avoided just as much as Hellspawn.
If you ever, by some miracle, found who or what destroyed your home, you were going to kill it yourself.
But Azrael…”I thought you were different”. You are surprised by how calm you sound. Surely you should be incoherent with rage by now. Yet all you felt was the sting of your empty chest, the ghost of your heart beating its war drum beat.
You turn back to Azrael and he freezes under your wolfish stare.
There’s just one thing you can’t quite comprehend.
“You knew”, you hiss, “you knew that the End War would destroy us. You knew, and yet you went ahead anyway”.
Azrael looks like a deer caught in headlights.
“It was not meant to end this way! We were only meant to destroy the Dark Ones!”Azrael steps towards you, hand outstretched, but you recoil away from him.
You still don’t understand.
“But you knew!”, you paused, indignation growing, eating away at your voidish calm, “I thought you cared about us…I thought you were different. You never cared did you? You’re a liar!”
Azrael stepped forward again, enormous wings spread as though to shepherd you into his arms. He longed for your warmth, though he didn’t deserve it. You didn’t want to feel his ever again.
You growl, lips pulled back and teeth glinting, swatting at the encroaching feathers.
He’s wringing his hands now, “That is not true! Of course I care-”
“YOU BROKE THE SEALS YOU LITTLE BITCH”, you roar, repeating his own confession back to him.
Now it’s his turn to recoil.
Breathing heavily you endeavour to reign in your viperous wrath. Contain it. Part of you suspected that he expected and maybe even wanted your rage. You refused to deliver any further.
But that primordial snake writhed in your guts and chewed on your soul. You barely hear him when he stammers, “The seals were reforged! Everyone was meant to believe that Hell had invaded Earth first and that the forces of Heaven were delivering them to justice!”.
The silent grey world around you threatened to swallow you both.
“And look how that turned out”, you spat. You shook your head bitterly. Billions upon billions of lives ended. Thousands upon thousands of years worth of history reduced to ash.
And it wasn’t even on purpose.
The extinction of a race and the destruction of a planet was just collateral damage from a war born out of one man’s awesome display of arrogance and another man’s inability to say no, even in the face of what he knew to be right.
You shoved your hands in your coat pockets out of habit and your hand brushed against something soft. Ah yes. That. You pulled it out.
It was a very small sock, the cartoon characters that danced across the woven fabric were barely visible under the thick layer of dried blood.
Demons weren’t the only ones fond of tormenting those they deemed lesser than themselves.
You couldn’t save her. Maybe that’s why you had kept it. To remind you of your mistakes.
You hear your name. Azrael again. Suddenly you are submerged in calm but there is no simmering anger. All your bones are filled with lead.
“You must believe me when I say that I am truly sorry for what I have done. I never wanted this to happen.”
You’re so tired.
Azrael is trying to touch you again.
The audacious little twat has the gall to place his hands on your shoulders. You can’t summon the energy to push him away. You should have seen this coming.
Do you forgive him? Not at all. You never will. There will be anger and tears. Not now, but soon.
You look up into those iridescent eyes you used to love so much and sigh deeply.
“Your apologies are redundant Azrael. It fixes nothing, it won’t bring back the billions of people you murdered.”
You see moisture collecting at the corners of his eyes and you quickly look away. You refuse to pity him. Refuse to sympathise.
His hands are back at his sides.
“Give me your hand”, you command quietly. He duly does so and into his palm you inter the little bloodstained sock, then you gently fold his fingers over it until it is clenched tightly in his fist.
“I can’t control what you do with this, but let it be a reminder of your greatest mistake”, you say.
Azrael’s fist trembles.
“She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you”, you whisper.
There was a pause.
“Azrael”, you say, louder now. His head snaps back up. Your expression is unreadable and your tone is flat as you unhook your rifle from your shoulder. It dangles limply in your grasp. The bayonet is thin, but long and sharp.
“Should you have the misfortune to cross paths with me again, you may find that I will do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t end well for you”.
You don’t wait for a response, there is nothing more left to say. You return the rifle to your shoulder, turn, and walk away. You become smaller and smaller. Farther and farther away. Then the mist veils you and you are gone.
Thank you so much for reading. If you have coin to spare I implore you to commission my friend who is an amazing artist (and also in the Darksiders fandom). If you like what you see above and have an idea that you want to see written then don't hesitate to check out my own commissions post.
BEHIND THE PICTURE:
Oreo: HELP ME! SHE´S GOING TO KILL ME! I DREW HIM WITHOUT HIS MASK!
OreoclimbsbehindWarsbakcandclingsuntoit
War: THE HELL? Get of me, you crazy cookie!
Oreo: I can´t! You have to protect me from my friend!
So, im finally done after days of wiork - and i don´t mean this slightly: i´m really done! >( This is the last promotion-Artwork for my FF - i swear!
Puuh.... I could say more, but i´m too tired....
Some super rough, unrevised snippets of upcoming fics.
1) Draven/Reader
You watch Draven from afar and he swings his blade with ease, knocking his lackeys on their asses one after the other after the other. You’ve caught yourself making goo goo eyes at him one or two times before, but you’ve yet to notice him making them at you other than the mild flirting comments he’s sent your way. You think he’s just being playful and you play along to marvelous effect. It’s always been a back and forth with the two of you since that day Death left you with him while he spoke to the Lord of Bones.
He catches your stare and sends back a wink as he tosses one of his men who’s just a little too top heavy. Your heart catches in your throat and you take a deep breath, and he saunters over after dismissing the ghosts to their practices.
“Enjoyin’ the view?”
He places a hand on the banister next to where you rest on your elbows and leans in. The coolness of his form sweeps around you and for a moment you shiver at both the thought of him so close and the sudden drop in temperature. You nod and he gives you a lopsided grin while his eyes leer over you, studying your eyes and almost ogling your mouth.
“I think I know a view we both might like.”
You feel your heart stop, you know it has.
“Meet me in the Undercroft after dark. I’ll be waiting.”
______________________
2) Dis/Reader/Strife
Dis holds you in a folded position reclined against her bare breasts, keeping your legs from closing on Strife’s head as he continues to abuse your overstimulated sex.
“Oh yeah! Get it, horseman!”
Dis continues to egg him on as tears stream down your face. You don’t want it to stop, never, but please for the love of the creator, let them give you a break and just fuck each other already!
Ale watched over Death as he slept, well as best she could while blind. All the while making breakfast for them both. As she finished up at last, plating the food easily enough, Death began groaning in his sleep. Gently, Ale stroked his head in hopes that would calm him. Sure enough Death quieted down, Ale then brought the food over. The sound of the plates on the table waking him up. From there he stretches and begins eating the food. Ale beamed as he ate up his breakfast, and was made even more happy when he thanked her.
The two then cleaned up the dishes, among other things around the house. After this Ale began to get ready to go out. Death gets confused at first but Ale explains it to him,
"You suggested we go to the White City right? Why not go now?"
Death grows concerned and quickly says, "Ceise are you sure you want to go now? Sure the Angels were among those fighting in defense of Eden, but that doesn't mean they're fond of me."
"Don't worry Atan, I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll be just fine. I just want to be able to protect you better. The sooner I can achieve this the better off you'll be." Ale states.
"Ceise I know you're worried, but I can take care of myself too you know." Death insists simply.
"I know you can, but as your Mother I cannot go on while blissfully incapable of protecting you. I will be a protector for you, the best I can be in circumstances. At least let me try and find way to do so." Ale pleads with him.
Death sighs deeply and thinks carefully before saying, "Very well Ceise. We'll get going once I'm ready. Just be aware that again, Heaven may not be happy to see me showing up in their capital."
Ale nods while being very giddy and thankful at Death's support. Waiting patiently as he gets ready. Death meanwhile takes the time to brace himself for all the bullshit he's going to get today. Already getting a headache as he thinks about it. Once finally ready, he grabs a cloak, despite being certain it won't help him hide. But part of him hopes it does, as he doesn't want Ale to get into any potential trouble that may come up in the White City. Finally as they get underway, Death notes Ale's excitement, and can't help but feel at ease. Which is helpful as they get closer to the White City when traveling between realms.
Eventually they do reach an area near the gates, with Death lifting his hood just as they enter the realm. He desummons Despair from there, and begins to lead Ale on foot towards the gate. Only for a group of Angels to approach them once they get to it.
"HALT! You cannot hide from us Horseman! So do not bother trying!"
"I'm trying to avoid confrontation right now. This is the best way for me t-..." Death begins to say.
"Bullshit! You serve the Council! Why should we believe you're here without orders?! You could be attacking us!" The guard in front of him says.
Ale cocks her head at his stupidity before saying, "Hmm, quite the awkward bit of logic there. I'm not in service of the Council, and I'm here with him. So what do you think that means?"
"How should I know? You could be a ploy for all I know." The soldier says with insistence.
Death sighs before saying, "Can you summon your commander perhaps? Or someone in charge at least? One with a brain preferably?"
Ale gives him a concerned look as the Angel makes an angered sound suggesting offense. He does leave though, with a powerful flap of his wings in fact. Death grabs Ale before she gets blown backwards, and Ale shakes her head, "I know he's being ridiculous Atan, but please tone it down with the insults."
"What should I do then? Sit there and take it?" Death asks her.
Ale sighs and shakes her head again. Meanwhile another Angel lands before them. This one having a much more authoritative voice on him, "What business have you here Horseman?"
"I'm just bringing this woman to the Argent Spire to gain some knowledge she seeks. Nothing more." Death states simply.
He makes a hmm noise to himself before saying, "I'll need to speak to Abaddon, as he has asked that I speak with him should any of you arrive. Unless the Council says otherwise in time."
Death makes a note of that last sentence as the Commander leaves to speak with Abaddon. He then groans as he imagines the crap Abaddon may give him. Ale places a hand on his back and asks,
"What is it Atan?"
"Abaddon is the leader of Heaven's best fighting force. And is known for not being fond of the Council as far as I've heard. I just know my brothers have said he's a bit much." Death says rubbing his temple.
Ale then hears a heavy sound of metal landing on the ground. She assumed the Angel in front of them now was Abaddon.
"You have some nerve to arrive here Horseman. Especially if the Council hasn't ordered it."
"I mean no harm Abaddon. I only came to bring this woman to the Argent Spire to learn a few things. That's it." Death states.
"I have a list if you want to confirm this." Ale says revealing it to him.
Abaddon cocks his head but looks over the list anyway. The handwriting is a bit unsteady, but still somewhat legible. After some time he hands back and says to Death,
"You can take her to the Spire, but from there I must ask you leave until this woman is ready to return to her home. I'm not sure why you're helping her, but I imagine the reasons are...your own at least."
Death sighs before accepting the terms. Ale at first protests but Death reassures her it's fine. From there he leads Ale to the Argent Spire. Whilst Abaddon heads there quickly to inform Azreal of Ale's arrival. Azreal isn't entirely pleased that Abaddon isn't allowing Death to remain with her.
"If she is blind, wouldn't it be wiser to let Death remain in the city with her?" Azreal asks Abaddon.
"You know why I do this Azreal. Just trust me on this much. Death has already agreed to do as I asked. So there's nothing to worry about." Abaddon states with conviction.
Azreal shakes his head before saying, "You should've at least considered the woman he was with."
Abaddon sighs and tells him, "I do what I must Azreal. Do what you will, what you consider best, whilst I do the same. Good day."
With that Abaddon flew off, leaving Azreal to think on the matter.
