۶!ৎ anon ask: Child Reader Fluff! When S/O’s parents are away and the Horsemen babysit S/O, she finally introduces them to her baby brother! He’s the most tiny and frailest human the Horsemen ever seen, making them very cautious and gentle. S/O shows them a special trick her mother taught her: allowing her baby brother to grasp her pinky! The others try it and they feel a special sense of love and warmth from just a tiny action, thus their protectiveness to S/O extends to the baby brother.
Children are the fruitful gifts that keep on giving. They are the sole benefit of a parent's livelihood. For each and every birth there is something special about that first time holding the newborn in a mother's embrace, the very cord that binds them the perfect length so she may hold her child unimpeded by restraint.
Little wonders are what they are. The gift worth the pain.
Taymus, merely the age of one, sleeps soundly in his cot of warm furs and cotton drapes. Your mother and father had adorned themselves in their travelling wear, needing to be away for a few days and they entrusted your safety in their capable hands. After a farewell and bidding to you to be good for them, they were off.
"Come, come!" your small voice implores with the sun's brightest warmth. You beckon in the Horsemen into the hut, your form so small compared to their towering statures as you hop and prance about their feet.
"Meet my baby bwother. He in here and- oh, shhh... he is sleeping..." Your little finger rests atop your mouth in gesture for them to be as quiet as possible and they each give a nod of understanding, Strife even coming to mimic your action.
Backwards you weave past any obstructs as you lead them to the nursery.
How can something be... so small? So fragile? When you sense a strange aura of hesitance, you urge them with a whispered, "You can't meet him from ova dere."
You near the cot and your small hands rest against the fur trimming, sighing and hushing the small coo of your sleeping brother, his body once bundled up snuggly now wriggling. You offer a look towards the Horsemen and the sun that dances through the curtains makes you look angelic, a flurry of particles dancing in the light like a halo had shattered into a tiny million stars overhead.
All four of them manage to squeeze themselves closer in some way or another with Strife crouched down behind you, his own hand coming to rest over the cot's side. Fury remained closer to the back, her hands on her hips as her gaze was angled down to take in the sleeping babe, but something in her hardened gaze softened as his nose wrinkled and his mouth parted to let out a softened coo again.
Death stood by the cot's other side and War remained at the foot of it.
"Watch this..."
You scoop your pinky finger forward and Taymus' tiny fingers grab hold, clutching in his grip. It was a marvel to their eyes to see every little roll and detail of skin that curled around yours, squeezing a little as he stirred awake.
With a giggle, you pull away and Taymus lets go and you glance at War. "Mama taught me... twy it, Wawr." Without a second's hesitation you were already bringing the large gauntlet of his hand forward despite his attempt to refuse.
War's hand rests like a mountain's shadow over the crib, over Taymus, before his own pinky is taken hold of. He feels his breath become locked in his chest, a sound hitches in his throat. Taymus opens his eyes and a low, sleepy coo greets the red rider, and a tiny smile so much like yours... he can hardly believe it.
Taymus muses and brushes his palm over the form of War's outstretched hand, curiously curling his grip around the steel fingers of the warrior and yet all he could feel was a constant warmth, one that Taymus was drawn to. A process of imprinting.
Soon enough the others joined in, allowing themselves to link their pinkies with, even Fury could not refrain the odd and light scoff, "He is... hmm... something I can be fond for."
Strife huffs. "Whoa-ho! Is the fearsome Horseman known as Fury going soft? I thought I'd be old and white before I saw the day."
Try as she might behind the gritted sneer of bared teeth, the tone of her voice betrayed her already leeching fondness for the baby, the tethers of attachment already weaving their way around each of their hearts. Imprinting.
The cold print of Death's fingers that mused to flick aside some wayward hair from Taymus' eyes is contrasted by the blanket of warmth coming from War's hand, his tiny hands now take to holding both his pinky and thumb as he babbles and squeals.
You let out a soft sigh with a smile, your chin laid against your arms that rest against the crib, watching on as your siblings bond and basking in the security of your true and unique family.
Sullivan looked through the coroner's documents, inspecting photos, lab results and printouts of multiple types of imaging. Another folder from his colleagues, all the ongoing investigation had produced so far, lay open on a table with a few pages removed - those detailing the deceased's identification which could by now be considered confirmed despite the evidence being inconclusive, and their known history.
Kadingir had been holding on to those pages since they had left the sterile autopsy room for the coroner's office. He had barely said a word for a long time, and when Sullivan next threw him a glance, his eyes were still intently fixed on the most recent known photo of the deceased next to one of the mysterious body's face.
"Did you find anything?" she asked quietly, still unsure to what extent being spoken to would disrupt his psionic focus.
He finally blinked and audibly exhaled, shifting from the posture he must've been holding for a good twenty minutes. Holding up the decedent's last photo, he met her eyes. "That cadaver may have this person's face and build, but I'm certain this is not their body."
Across the room, the coroner's brows dropped in a deep frown. "Explain."
Kadingir fully faced the coroner. "People's bodies, and by extension their remains, retain impressions of their memories and emotions for a surprisingly long time after their verifiable brain death. They radiate them like lingering heat to anyone who can perceive them - that is, psychics like myself, which is why Dr. Sullivan asked me to accompany her." He paused.
"I could find no such thing in this cadaver. You already discovered that this is not a deceased human being, and I believe I can confirm that."
"Then what on earth is it?" the coroner asked, jaw clenched. "Something like a shapeshifter who happened to die in human form?"
Kadingir only smirked. "I've seen more outlandish things in two thousand years, and what you would call a shapeshifter was not one of them. No, I believe this may be something that once happened to me, too. Let me illustrate..."
While the coroner only grew more confused, Kadingir commandeered the whiteboard on one wall by first drawing a straight, horizontal line with a black felt pen.
"Consider a vampire's existence as this timeline, and their turning as a moment of irreversible change which grants them a variety of powers to survive what a mortal never could. Their body is no longer subject to its own physiology, but also to their mind. Meaning that if a vampire with sufficient willpower doesn't want to die, they simply won't."
He added a short vertical line to divide it.
"However, if their turning takes place close enough in time to what would've killed their mortal self, or even is one and the same..."
With a red pen, he drew a second, much shorter horizontal line branching off from the first. The coroner's expression lit up. "They split in two?"
"In a manner of speaking. A copy - something we refer to as a pareidolon, a false corpse - is created. The moment the otherwise foreign vampiric power becomes their own, any threat to the newly turned vampire's life is... violently rejected. Now, take this with a substantial grain of salt, but my theory is that the pareidolon may be a manifestation of the vampire's own grief for their mortal self, making it tangible as something for them - or their loved ones - to find closure with, hence it only being their spitting image on the surface while the rest of the body may as well be drawing anatomy from memory."
The coroner nodded slowly. "I see. Something to say goodbye to, because all this doesn't sound too different from death to me as far as those left behind are concerned."
"Rather confusingly, though, there have been at least two known cases of this still happening while anyone who would otherwise mourn the vampire's death was fully aware of their turning... so there certainly is more to be discovered there, as there is with our case here." Kadingir placed the pens back where they had been, stepping back from the whiteboard.
"I believe this unusual cadaver of yours is a pareidolon left behind by a vampire who was turned where the body was found and had a life-threatening injury or medical condition that led to its manifestation."
The coroner threw a glance at Sullivan, who nodded. "I don't see anything obviously to the contrary. You know, Occam's razor."
"I'm going to have a chat with the chief investigator on this case. Without their cooperation, there won't be much we can do, at least not by the book."
۶!ৎ anon ask: Child Reader Fluff! Strife is teaching S/O new tricks on using a dagger. War can’t do anything but stand guard for any intruders bc even though he wants to help train S/O, she’s not a level to use a large sword. And Strife can tell bc he knows they’ll have time to teach her to use a knife but not a sword bc it takes a long time and after their Lucifer mission, they need to send S/O home. S/O gets a idea and tries using a heavy stick to swing as sword training. War helps her then with a smile.
۶!ৎ anon ask: Child Reader S/O with War and Strife humor fluff! After some close calls, both decide to teach S/O to at least defend herself. No War, S/O can't wield Chaoseater! A gun? Not bad, but-aaaand she just accidentally shot Strife in the foot. It won't kill him, but OWWWWW! A dagger? A bit heavy but still ok. Strife, why would your first exercise have S/O attack a small weak demon with the dagger? She attacks, misses, and gets a punch to the nose in return. Looks like that demon's dying painfully.
The time has come for you to finally undergo some training. You see, every Nephiling around your age has to know how to fight, and so, that same logic should work well enough for you... although you are not Nephilim.
Now, you're much too small to wield Chaoseater, so other weapons will have to be taken into account.
"Alright, now aim at the target..." Strife is standing beside you as you use all your might and strength to lift up Mercy, your arms trembling from the hefty weight it holds. With a whine, you let the barrel drop and your finger pinches with a tight curl on the trigger and Strife is like a cat jumping out of his skin.
"Motherf-- opoooooogh! That hurt, yep yep that hurt!" He's stumbling around in circles as he walks it off, waving off your questions of concern. War flinches, standing rigidly as the powerful shockwave of the gun blasted through the serenity of the night. He had half the mind to turn and see if he wasn't slightly horrified by the idea of you standing over Strife's body with nothing but a gun. Thankfully the ruckus of Strife pacing around and howling in his pain meant he was still alive.
Turns out his boot fortunately had absorbed most of the damage. Still hurt pretty bad if he has to be honest.
Alright, so guns were off the table.
Knives! Yes, at first you were hesitant due to your parents always telling you to not play around with sharp objects. "Hey, it's alright. You can do it, I won't lead you astray. Now, watch what I do and how I wield the dagger."
Using a knife is no less like brandishing a sword. Strife's own knives are roughly the size of a short blade for you. He uses one of the twin daggers to show you how to properly hold it and you follow suit, though you still struggle with how heavy it is. When you give a sigh of your discouragement, War decides to say something.
"It will take time little one," War calls out from where he stands. "You will get stronger. It comes with practice."
Determination renewed, you give a huff and nod firmly, concentrating on the lesson ahead...
"Hah! Hyah! Take that--Hyaah!"
"Good! That's it. Again now." Strife dodges another swing of the attack you attempt to make. War can't help but watch from the corner of his eye, proud to see you take up a weapon and strive to make an effort. He knew he shouldn't expect too much from you right now, you are still yet a young child and a human no less, your body is not up to par with a Nephiling your age. But perhaps that's what makes the human race so remarkable?
You're able to overcome such obstacles, there is next to nothing that cannot be thrown your way.
Integral to the balance. Fledgling and yet... promising.
It's War's turn to train with you by the next evening. He teaches you with the use of a heavy stick - at your behest - how he uses Chaoseater and you mimic every action he does.
"Huugh!"
"Heegh!"
Another and broader swing of his blade.
"Hhhg!"
And you copy it.
"Hyeh!"
Over the course of a few days, you're taken out into the field and during your mission, Strife notices a little, skittish imp. Hmm... perfect!
War gives a slow shake of his head. "Strife... I don't think this is wise."
Strife, however, believes otherwise.
You raise the dagger high and with a mighty little war cry, you charge the beast! The imp is twitchy and ferret faced, it turns to you and squints with an alarmed hiss.
"Hyeeh--! oof!"
The imp leaps out of the way and you miss, leaving you open to an attack. The imp smacks at you, punching you in the nose to which you fall back and begin to tear up with wails soon bubbling from your throat.
"Aw... Hell no."
The imp, once jeering and boastful in beating you up, freezes under the looming shadows and turns its head to face the wrathful glare of two pissed off Horsemen...
۶!ৎ anon ask: Child Reader fluff! What if War and Strife had to scout ahead somewhere dangerous but they’re not anywhere near a Serpent Hole? They decide to leave their horses near S/O who then cuddles and plays with them until she falls asleep. War and Strife later come back to see an entire area, bloodied and covered with demon corpses and the culprits, a bloodied Ruin and Mayhem guarding and resting against an innocent and clean sleeping S/O?
"You stay here with Mayhem and Ruin. They will look after you until we get back, okay?" Strife takes the last of the special ammunition from the saddle pouch and slips it into the bandolier strapped over his chest.
War is already up ahead, keeping a watch out. They were heading into enemy territory on a skirmish and they needed you safe and out of harms way.
"Okey!" you chirp in reply, arms swinging in sync with each other, your weight shifting to roll back and forth on your feet a few times, the motion amusing and fun and whimsical. With a pat on your head, the glow in Strife's golden eyes flickers, thinning from at the bottom where his cheeks crinkle up into a smile.
"Alright. We'll be back soon, Baby."
After Strife and War descend over the cliffside and down into the basin where the enemy camp is, you feel a force of pressure lean into your back. "Rwuin!"
Your giggle and wiggle your fingers, clenching and unclenching them in motion to grab onto him. His muzzle comes high over you to then push against the crown of your head, huffing gusts of molten breath that covers you like a really warm blanket.
Mayhem too whickers at you with a toss of his head, lips musing at your hands, perhaps searching for food. The horses entertain your time in waiting for the Horsemen to return, games of chasing the other about and just patting them as you talk to them was always a delight.
"huuugh... euugh... hgghh..." Strife pants with each lumbering move he makes to climb back up the steep face of the cliff with War not too far behind.
"Did you see... that ugly mug of that bastard... before I... pumped his face full of lead?"
"Tch... yes."
"Man... you have to wonder... what that ugly son of a bitch--" Strife's voice abruptly cut off from making whatever witty remark he was going to as he stood up on his two feet again. War claws his way over the edge with a gruff decompression from his chest as he hoists his cantankerous weight over.
Blood. Bodies. Demon bodies everywhere.
"The child--" War surges forward with a sprint just as Strife breaks into a run as well, the two scouring the bodies to find you among the bloodshed, panic rushing through their veins.
"Baby!"
"Little one! Where are you?"
A simple call of Ruin signals the Horsemen over and with their weapons drawn and their blood boiling, they march onward. They come to a halt at the edge of the small, secluded clearing to see their steeds standing there, covered head to hoof in blood and without a shred of remorse in their eyes.
And there between the two counterparts of the Horsemen is you, sleeping like a little snug bug, not a speck of blood or pulverized brain on you.
"Now ain't that the cutest sight you've ever seen?" Strife chuckles, holstering his pistols and leaning his weight on one foot only to grumble when he put a strain on his muscles. War sheathes Chaoseater to his back, a hand held out to pat Ruin's snout.
"If I do say so myself. Good work, Ruin."
"Ha, you too Mayhem." Strife holds his hands out to cradle Mayhem's armoured head, the beast snorting loudly and Strife mimics a snort back into return.
(Platonic!) Vulgrim, Dis, Strife and War x Female Child!Reader
۶!ৎ anon ask: Child Reader Fluff! Vulgrim and Dis are babysitting S/O again and while there occurred, S/O explores the Void by herself. Panic occurs when they all realize S/O is gone. War is close to crushing Vulgrim, Strife and Dis are running around calling out for Baby, and Samael is sipping his wine and enjoying the show bc he knows where S/O is and using his magic to keep her safe. Turns out she got to the Helllhound area and was patting and cuddling and playing with the Hellhounds.
Once again you're left in the care of Dis and Vulgrim. You came to summarize that Strife and War were after yet another thingy-ma-bobby for Vulgrim.
And so you ventured off to explore more around the void, playing around the Serpent hole only for Vulgrim to peer down at you with a twitch in his corpse-glazed eyes to not fool around with the portal. You're pretty sure you heard him mutter something like, "Have you learnt nothing?" as he went back to his cauldron and talismans.
Time in the corner archive saw you reading through a few more books by the greenish hue of candlelight. On occasion you'd hear the odd whispers of the Void try to steer you off the unclear, beaten path... but no no, you won't jump down into the swirling pool of its hungry, soulless maw. Mm mm! You wave your finger and shake your head at that, adamant that you will not do that.
"Siwwy whispwers."
And off you go on your merry way. And that is when the chaos ensued.
"Where is Baby!?"
"Where is SHE!? Tell us where she is, Vulgrim!"
Vulgrim's cries are choked and cracked into wheezed screeches as his throat is under the threat of being snapped like a twig in War's overly large gauntlet. Strife is tearing up the place like a rabid animal and Dis is trying to keep things under control.
Absolute pandemonium.
And what of Samael? Well, he's up on his plateau wearing a smirk as he sips and swirls his goblet of wine, enjoying how the Horsemen are so utterly panicked over you.
You have them wrapped around your little finger and you are so naïve to the fact that these Horsemen would resort back to their old ways for you.
Meanwhile you are happily enjoying playing with the Hellhounds, cuddling them and giving them pats. It's only a little while later that he tells the Horsemen where you are and within a moment they're up there with you.
Once again you're left in the care of Dis and Vulgrim. You came to summarize that Strife and War were after yet another thingy-ma-bobby for Vulgrim.
And so you ventured off to explore more around the void, playing around the Serpent hole only for Vulgrim to peer down at you with a twitch in his corpse-glazed eyes to not fool around with the portal. You're pretty sure you heard him mutter something like, "Have you learnt nothing?" as he went back to his cauldron and talismans.
Time in the corner archive saw you reading through a few more books by the greenish hue of candlelight. On occasion you'd hear the odd whispers of the Void try to steer you off the unclear, beaten path... but no no, you won't jump down into the swirling pool of its hungry, soulless maw. Mm mm! You wave your finger and shake your head at that, adamant that you will not do that.
"Siwwy whispwers."
And off you go on your merry way. And that is when the chaos ensued.
"Where is Baby!?"
"Where is SHE!? Tell us where she is, Vulgrim!"
Vulgrim's cries are choked and cracked into wheezed screeches as his throat is under the threat of being snapped like a twig in War's overly large gauntlet. Strife is tearing up the place like a rabid animal and Dis is trying to keep things under control.
Absolute pandemonium.
And what of Samael? Well, he's up on his plateau wearing a smirk as he sips and swirls his goblet of wine, enjoying how the Horsemen are so utterly panicked over you.
You have them wrapped around your little finger and you are so naïve to the fact that these Horsemen would resort back to their old ways for you.
Meanwhile you are happily enjoying playing with the Hellhounds, cuddling them and giving them pats. It's only a little while later that he tells the Horsemen where you are and within a moment they're up there with you.
۶!ৎ anon ask: Child S/O fluff! When fighting demons, Strife and War discover S/O casting magic, like at least 2 small fireballs before being essentially MP exhausted. She tells them Samael taught her a bit and later, he tells the Horsemen she needs to learn to defend for herself and that a lore reason why so few humans don’t use magic isn’t bc of lack of potential but bc magic originated from demonic origins and the angels persuade humans not to use magic, so there’s some religious themes going on.
The first time that Strife and War encounter this is a huge surprise. Was that... a fireball?
The band of demons and their hounds continue coming in droves and War and Strife fight off the brunt of the attack, you merely acting as a supportive mage for them. Before long though, they notice you're drained, understandably exhausted of magicka.
When the fight is over, they pull you aside to ask you about it, how you came to learn magic.
"Sammeal taught me," you answer then honestly.
The two brothers share a look that says "of course he did". Who else would have willingly taught you magic? What did that demon lord have to gain from this...
When they next return to the void they're immediately going to Samael and demanding answers from the demon who sits pompously on a rocky formation like it's his throne. He strokes at his chin and a blaring heat sizzles in his eyes like a hot furnace being given life.
He's stoked the flames.
Samael goes on to explain,
"The humans of Eden were intended for more. So much more. Magicka is in their property, however, its roots stem from the origin of demons. And that..."
Samael's pause gives way to a deep and throaty chuckle. It makes both the Horsemen stiffen in their place and their scowls deepen.
Samael continues. "... Is something the Angels did not care for. Envious of their inferiority to their divine Creator's true motivations, they interfered. They claimed that using this magic was dangerous... demonic. The Angels connived their way into making Humanity believe that they were born with a stain. A stain they must conceal. Thus, their potential now dwindles..."
This is a lot for the Horsemen to process. The Creator, the Angels, Humanity's place in all this- a big convoluted puzzle that had far too many pieces missing or turned the wrong way.
Nobody, and they doubted heavily that even Samael, knew of the "Creator's" intent. A creator of all existence and yet a principle that had neigh to return and take a stand in setting everything right. What was according to right. Was this great being harbouring in secret exile? Was there even a Creator to begin with?
Too many puzzle pieces missing.
But if what Samael told was true, as the Horsemen turn to watch you happily play with your crystal ball on the ground, then you as a generation of Eden hold potential for a great purpose that demons and angels alike vied for...
۶!ৎ anon ask: Child S/O fluff! One time, Strife and War notice S/O being too quiet, not as playful or joyful, and her movements slow and sluggish. They realize she’s really sick with a high fever and panic since they don’t know how to cure a human. They thought putting her in cold water and feeding her healing herbs would do but it didn’t. They bring her back to the Void. Vulgrim gives her medicine, Dis gives her a warm bath, fresh clothes, and puts her to bed before scolding the Horsemen, which they deserve.
Finding out that you had fallen ill with a high fever was never a good start to any parenting-like journey. This would have occurred around the beginning before Strife and War had a more attuned grasp on how to take care of you.
You were slumped against a tree coughing and throwing up a little. Strife and War both were in a panic! Sitting you in a shallow part of the river didn't do any good nor did a wet rag to your forehead. Strife would have found any and all herbs he knew of that had healing properties.
Yet still nothing seemed to work absolutely in curing you, just easing the symptoms slightly. It's only by taking you back to Dis and Vulgrim that they finally get a better idea of how to exactly care for a child...
Dis is scolding them as she takes you from them like she's ripping their hearts out of their chests. Vulgrim, although grumbling to himself, gives you some medicine and Dis then gives you a hot bath and change of clothes before nestling you in a makeshift bed. You'll recover in time and this brings relieving wave of assurance over the Horsemen.
It's a crash course that she goes through with them, telling them the major (and really common sense) points of the do's and don'ts. But otherwise it's just a learning curve these two Horsemen have to deal with.
Taking care of a child is not easy. They weren't meant for this, they weren't trained for this, and Nephilim rearing... is very much different than humans. The stuttered instinct just needs a hard reboot and they'll be fine. Dis also offered them a basic kid-kit to help them along the way and with a jab at War's chest, she told them to put this advice to use in their brains and not their biceps.
She knows they're capable of doing right by you. But they just have to give themselves the opportunity to.
