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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.
Someone put in my ask box something about War having a set of sexy ass and thighs (a very correct opinion ngl), and I like AUs. I thought I'd toss my love for blue collar men into the mix and thus we have War as a construction worker hauling around a steel beam.
art and process below the cut! (it's not done, but i'm running out of time to work on it until next weekend) vvv
I really want to go back to live streaming my art so you guys can see the process behind it, but things are not stable enough here at home for that.
I still need to figure out his arm situation too, and mechanical things aren't my strong suit. lots of parallel lines (my personal enemy fr).
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Cw: mentions of food, guns and flashing lights on the GIF.
Summary: The horsemen experiencing the culture of their human companion. (Can be read as romantic).
A/n: Alright peeps strap in for the culture train!. Brought to you by your dear host and their lovely country! (I'll make more for other cultures, If you want yours just shoot me an ask. I will send a DM to weed out incorrect information or to ask for clarification! I want everything to be accurate!)
A/n2: Lyrics translated at the end.
Humans and their cultures,there were so Many. Uncountable for other beings and mortals themselves,but amongst the things they shared was a love and passion for food.
Recipies passed from generation to generation. Keeping the traditions And cultures alive by making sure everyone knew how to make a snack or a meal. It was a bonding experience between families or Friends or lovers. Only humans understood the importance of food.
Ceatures who need not of sustenance,didnt get the uniqueness And importance.
The Horsemen rarely paid attention,seeing food as an indulgence rather than a need.
Until they picked up a human along their trek.
Death:
He got the sweet toothed human,because of course his luck is rotten.
This human had a love,or an obssesion,with sugar and treats of the sort. The horseman had figured it was a need,as he understood sugar was one of the components that gave humans energy,so at first he didnt think too much of It. He saw this human like a little puppy who couldnt keep up with the relentlessness of a nephilim.
--Its not that I'm living off of sugar. -- the human had told him as they made a dough. It smells citrus-like and a little sweet. They are Rolling it against a hard,metal table sized for a mortal.
To the horseman's chagrin,the Makers had taken a love for human food so now they had created a human sized home for they to stay when the reaper came visiting.
--Certainly seems like it-- The pale rider answered,watching from the corner of the room. He seems unbothered but hes curious. He always is.
--Sugar doesnt give everything us humans need. We have an elaborate diet-- the mortal explained,cutting the dough up into smaller balls and going to flatten them with a wooden roll of wood.
Their cooking was not that affected because of the ingredints. It took time to make it taste fully human-made but their kind was exhasperatingly perseverent.
--Your species is needlessly complicated.
--Said the half Angel half demon dude-- They quipped,not looking away as they Grab a Knife and cut the flattened dough into strips.
Death doesnt answer and rolls his eyes,his bone mask moving with his expression like its made of calcified flesh. He watches intently as the human folded the stripes in the shape of this ribbon,the Lower ends of the stripe meet at the center,Forming an arch of sorts.
They do this a few times, and as they do they begin to sing under their breath. Its not the first time they've done this infront of him but its always an interesting thing to witness. Hes yet to understand the language they speak,the council never bothered to give him the abilities of a polyglot.
And his human companion always joked how funny it was he spoke english. He never understood exactly what this "English" is.
--Tal vez
de tanto usar el gris
te ciegues con el sol...
¡pero eso tiene fin!
¡Después verás todo el color,
amor, quedémonos aquí!-- the human sang. It was for themself, and they had left it clear that the reaper would just have to put up with it. They wouldnt allow yet another creature to take away their culture.
--¡Amor, asómate a la flor
y entiende la verdad que llaman corazón!
¡Deja el pasado acobardado en el fangal
que aquí podemos comenzar!
He wondered what the song is about. The sounds of the human's language are so foreign.
The way they breath in their sounds with the letter S,giving words the look of having an H between syllables.
The soft sh sounds when words had a Y or a double L at the start.
Its a beautiful,sing-songy accent. The few times hes heard them speak their mother tongue,it felt like there was a slight dancing in the sounds like they were singing the words rather than speaking.
Deep down he feels sad he doesnt understand how human languages work,he'd Like to know what makes the accent so unique.
The reaper's thoughts are cut when he hears the sizzling of oil. He watches as the human sets a batch of the dough ribbons in a pan with bubbling liquid. He then sees them pour some alcohol on it and his eyes quirk with Curiosity.
--Isnt this "Rubbing Alcohol" flammable?
--Yes,but it evaporates with the heat-- The human answered with a shrug-- Helps the Moñitos with turning out greasy because of the oil.
--The what?
The human rolled their eyes,knowing the reaper hadnt paid attention when they began telling him about the snack a few hours prior.
--Thats the name of the snack,Moñitos. In english its called Little Bows.
He hummed with acknowledgement-- You humans make the oddest of concotions.
--We can give makers a run for their money-- The mortal half joked with a smirk.
Internally,Death raised a brow and amusement. He taps his pointer finger on his bicep as he watches them stirr the dough in the pan-- Perhaps. Dont let them hear it, they'll become even more insufferable.
--Hah! As if...-- The mortal then quieted,looking at the snacks slowly Cook in the pan-- I got this recipe from my mother,you know?
--You told me humans passes tradition through generations.
--Yeah,we do-- they scoffed fondly-- I remember the first time I tasted them they were sweet and lemony, and I always paid attention to the recipe. Im glad it stuck to my head.
The reaper nodded with acknowledgement and didnt say much else. He looks at the ground and simply waits for time to pass by.
Meanwhile, the human slowly begins to fish out each little bow that was cooked and ready to be eaten. They set it in a strainer and let it cool off.
Like that they eventually Cook the whole batch and once they are lukewarm they put them all in a bowl and throw a hefty dose of sugar on them.
Their reaper companion seems to return to the earth as they take off their apron and Grab the bowl walk out of their kitchen into the livingroom
--Death! Im all done. Do you feel like making tea?
He blinks at them for a second. Theyre so odd. They always asked about his feelings,if he felt up to doing something for them. Theyve never pushed,never prodded aside from natural Curiosity.
There was a tenderness he wasnt sure he deserved.
--You spent two hours making those things.-- He answered,returning to his feet-- I imagine that took a lot of energy from your...human body.
--It did,but I can make it if youre not up to it.
He shook his head slightly,a micromovement but perceptible-- You'll strain yourself and the makers Will be breathing down my neck. Go sit,Human.
They raised a brow-- Alright Mr.Grumpy. I do have a name you know?
--Dont call me that-- He bit-- And I'm well aware.
--Alright then,just checking. You rarely use it.
He didnt feel worthy of speaking their name.
--Its easier to just call you human.-- He replied.
--Right,sure-- They look so amused,he hates it-- Is it like not putting a name on a dog you dont plan to Keep just so you dont get attached?
Death rolled his eyes and dismisses them with his hand. They chuckle and leave for the comfy couch,he then goes to turn on the metal oven and put some water to boil.
The air smelled of citrus and sweetness mixed with the slight scent of oil. The naturey- Sticky smell hes grown used to. The kitchen always felt so dead when they werent around.
Hes seen them in it so Many times that it doesnt feel right when they arent there.
Apparently,humans used food and cooking as a way to bond. Hes done that with his siblings before,but he didnt expect to grow so close to another species.
It did take him by surprise,he didnt help out of respect. But spending time with them,simply being around and making conversation (which is "The human talks to Death and sometimes Death answers"), had managed to make him grow a Bond and an attachment.
What was that about avoiding putting a name to rescued dogs?.
The kettle sings its whistling tune and he makes two cups. He drank his by himself but he made it just to Keep the human company.
He comes into the livingroom with the two mugs and sets them on the coffee table with the bowl. They havent touched even a single one of those bowls.
--What were you waiting for?--He asked,a little concerned.
--You -- the human answered like it was obvious. Their voice is soft,gentle. A tenderness that he craved yet it felt like sandpaper.
--You shouldnt have bothered.
--Food tastes better when you share it-- They scoot closer and reach for one of the little bows. The set one on his Open palm-- you get the first bite I wont look.
He blinks at them like a deer in headlights-- You made them. You should-
They set their hand on his armored forearm-- No,you can have it. Let me know if I did a good job or not.
"You always do" came a voice from the deepest part of the riders conciousness.
--Youre stubborn-- He says instead.-- The sugar wont do anything for me.
--Its not about the energy it can give you,Its about indulging in flavor and sweetness.
He breathes out under his breath,they can see how his chest falls and how his eyes close for a second with defeat.
This is the third time theyve won an argument. Hes losing his sharp edges.
Death gestures for them to cover their face and they do. They even turn away from him and he lifts his mask up to swallow the whole thing in one bite. It wasnt particularly big for a being his size.
But the flavor does Keep up with his senses,he can taste the lemon and sugar,the dough's lightness thanks to the way it was cooked.
His companion had joked about how their secret ingredient was love. He only scoffed with disbelief at such cheesy piece of information.
Yet he gets it now. Its made with care,like a well sharpened blade, a well crafted amulet. Its about how much care and attention you pay whatever you made.
--Indeed,your kind has out-done the makers-- he answered,fixing his mask-- You learnt well. Turn around.
The human meets his firey gaze with the whole milky way in their eyes. Such wonder and joy. This is the first time hes agreed to eat what they made.
--Im so happy you like it!!--They screeched with a grin.
He doesnt answer but he does set the bowl on their lap and grabs one of the snacks,leaving it there in his grasp for them to Grab.
They dont doubt it and lunge for the doughy thing before taking a bite out of it. He sees their eyes fill with light and they have this big grin as they chewed.
Its endearing,he almost chuckles.
--The song you were singing--Death began,looking away as hes a little shy about asking-- What is it about? You humans always weave meaning into everything.
Was that an insult or a compliment? Who really knows when its the reaper saying it.
--Its about a man asking his partner to stay with him and forget the bitterness of the past-- They answered, grabbing the mug thats still a bit too big for them. Makers have yet to grasp human sizes and measurements-- Its called "Quedemonos aqui", Lets Stay Here, and it was made by two men called Homero Expósito and Hector Stamponi.
He grows quiet for a moment. And they continue.
--Its Tango,An Argentine genre of music-- they explained,taking a Long sip of their tea. Nobody made warm Drinks like the reaper-- And this song is a kind of Tango called Tango Lloron, a sad style kind of melancholic and sometimes tragic.
--Why sing such song? I believe you have had your fill of tragedy.
--Its good to just let things out sometimes,the good and the bad. I'd like to stay here until humanity rebuilds itself.
--All alone?
--No. Not alone-- the human meets the rider's gaze that looks uncertain of not....a little scared-- But death's a wandering spirit. So maybe it'll be the makers and me..
Death scoffed-- I dont trust them taking care of you...--their eyes widen as they hear him say their name. The Real, human name.
All they do,is set their head against their Sinewy bicep. Too much attention might make the Pale rider unconfortable, so they contain their excitement.
Hes aware of his slip up and sighs,letting them touch him. Perhaps hes growing blunt, soft. But perhaps those sweet treats and the human's company are compensation enough.
Fury:
Fury had never had a taste for cakes and sweetness. Caramels and fluffy treats were rare in her life.
The human she rescued planned on changing that.
Her human companion decided to make a very specific kind of cake,one they have refined the recipe of for months, And Fury was their body guard so they could Hoard the kitchen in the maker tree.
--So this is called a chocotorta...-- The human told her as they grabbed these chocolate cookies from this bowl with chocolate Milk. The treat seems softer now,a little soggy-- Its originally a treat made with a specific brand of cookies. It took me a few tries but ive managed to make it taste as close as I could.
--Why soak them in milk?
--Helps them be softer. Eat from one of the cookies in that tray-- They point at a metal baking sheet off to the side--Theyre crunchy but the cakes better when its soft.
Fury complies since shes bored and had little to do. Being a horsewoman was like being a deterrent for other humans trying to take up space in the kitchen. Nifty little fun fact.
The cookie tastes like raw chocolate, sweet and earthy. Its good.
--Ah,i see. -- she mused-- Shame this "Brand" doesnt exist anymore. Perhaps you'll replace it in humanity's rebirth.
Her mortal friend laughed-- it would be a little funny--They began to layer the cookies on this square container of metal with a thin paper cover to separate the food from the actual bowl.
Then,they layer this thick,light brown caramel ontop of it and then add more cookies. They do a few layers as they talk-- My cousin gave me the tip for softening up the cookies. But I learnt the recipe from a friend.
--What is that brown thing between the cookies?
--This is dulce the leche,or Milk caramel-- They answered-- Hand made! The best kind. -- they grab a spoon and give the rider a hefty scoop-- Taste it.
--Just like that?
--A lot of people I knew Ate it like that. Its a common occurance.
Fury sighs,wondering why she puts up with these situations. She feels a little silly,Like shes a kid stealing the first bite of the meal Death had cooked. Some old habits just never die.
She eats the caramel,and her eyes widen slightly. The sweetness mixed with the earthy,nut flavor is a bit of a surprise to her. It melts it her mouth and she kind of has to bite on it.
--It would be easier to swallow if I didnt make it that thick. I can make a lighter batch later.
--you humans are so clever-- She said between bites of the chewy caramel-- A maker would be jealous.
--Thats one hell of a compliment.
--A well earnt one-- She insisted-- Where did you learn the recipe?
--A close friend. Best I can put it is a family friend of sorts,the actual relationship is a bit more complicated. She made some Dulce de leche for a birthday cake she wanted to gift me.
Fury nodded-- Humans are the only species that gift eachother food,others would hoard it.
The human shrugged,setting down the caramel as they are done with it. They add the final layer of cookies and Grab the metal container. Its a bit heavy but nothing they couldnt manage.
--Cultures made cooking and making food a way to bond. Even you,keeping me company,is an off shoot of one. --They Gently set the bowl on her hands-- I need it to be cool. Can you use that hollow of yours?
Fury looked amused-- Will I get the credit for helping?
--Always.
She chuckled and reached for the Stasis Hollow. It starts as a prickle in her skin,a biting chill that slowly spreads across her hands to the thing shes holding.
Her hair turns that beautiful blue,Like deep ice. Just as cold and just as gorgeous.
--There. Should be enough-- She handed back the container.
--Cooli-o! Lemme just...-- the mortal uses the baking paper to pull out the cake and set it on a Plate. They cut two squares out of the treat and as they do they sing lowly,mindlessly.
Fury never grows tired of listening to them sing. Shes heard the language of so Many beings,shes always found them boring,but she cares for human speech. And the accent is so particular.
She listens Keenly as the Stasis Hollow is dismissed and that warm magenta returns with her usual body heat.
--Mamichula, por vos me hago bueno, me hago malo
Por vos pierdo, por vos gano, mami, en esa estamo'
Ojalá entendieras que sos la única y primera
Así que vengan lo' que quieran, lo' de afuera son de palo, mai-- this style of singing is odd. Her human companion is making sure to speak the words yet add a rythm to it.
--I havent heard you sing like that before.
A little flustered,they answer--Its not singing,its rapping. Im...okay at it.
--Huh...--the black rider hummed-- And what is that song?
--Solo por vos,Only for you,by this an urban singer called Trueno.
--Urban?
--Technically hip-hop...--The human stops anf sighs with exhaustion-- Tell you later.-- They offer a Plate with a fork-- eat,let me know what you think.
--Are you sure?
--Yeah,yeah,cmon-- they set the Plate in her hands and looks up at her expectantly.
Fury takes a portion out of the cake with the fork and eats it. The flavors of the chocolate and the caramel mix with the mildness of the milk soaked cookies. She humms and says-- Your work has paid off...
--Yay! Im super happy you like it!--They grinned--C'mon! Lets go share. Food always tastes better when you share it.
The horsewoman is dragged along with plates and cutlery,and the humans huddle together to eat the cake. Fury watches contently and eats her piece of the treat,obssessed with the sweet caramel.
In the morning,the rider's human companion would find their whole stash of Dulce De Leche gone and a very guilty looking she-horseman.
War:
You'd expect such a behemoth to have an apetite. But he doesnt really need to eat,hunger is a known feeling but mild and brief.
However,he soon realized he quite liked eating meat.
After beating the Destroyer,his loyal human companion took him back to Ulthane's lair for what they called a Barbaque. His human friend had insisted to make a meal.
War watched confused as they brought a Fire to life under a grid with all the food theyve gotten. --I could have just set Fire to that coal...-- he pointed out.
He sees his human companion turn a little sheepish-- Ah,right. Yeah...--They giggled,face a little red-- You can move the coal if you'd like
Carefully he lumbers over to the grill and he Gently begins to nudge the Burning coal under the grill. -- Why..are you doing this?--He asked.
--My culture likes to throw barbaques for celebrations, and well..this is something worth celebrating!--They gestured at the food with this grandiose flare-- I think you'd like it.
He nodded slowly,and watched them work away at the grill. They told him about how grilling was a more masculine thing,a Man's activity. After the rider pointed out how silly that is,his human friend laughed and agreed.
Its been a while since hes seen them smile and laugh like that. He can give them this moment of joy,as brief as it is.
Plus,already the food smells quite good.
As they get the food out ot the grill,they sing softly. A mindless activity had to be fought with some soft of fun.
--Nada como ir juntos a la par
Y caminos desandar
El honor no lo perdí
Es el héroe que hay en mí
Nada como ir juntos a la par
He understood why angels sang, it was all about praising the creator. But humans sang to tell their stories,to show their legacy and culture- And their voice,the way the words move and sound.
Its the first species hes found that have such thing as accents. And he liked theirs so much.
--What are you singing?--He asked as they sat on this picnic mat. They settle all the food,all the sauces they have made. He sees bell pepper and onion, celery and garlic.
There is so much to taste.
--Its a song from my culture. Its a love song.
--And what does it say?
He sees them think as they translate the words-- "nothing like going hand in hand,and trek the path,I didnt lose my honor, its the warrior that lives in me,nothing Like going hand in hand".
War Hummed pensively. Its a sweet song,he can get behind the lyrics. -- There is a lot of human culture i'm not aware of...its so intricate-- He gestures at the sauces-- what are the name of these...condiments?
The human tells him all about it, the kinds of meat they have,the condiments and the snacks. They've never imagined telling a Horseman Of The Apocalypse what fries were,but here they are.
Everything seems to slowly click,And with each bite of food his eyes widen and fill with joy just a little bit more.
--These condiments burn my mouth...-- He commented,not particularly put off.
--Thats kind of the idea.
--I..Like it..--His heart flutters as they grin.
--Oh! Thats great to hear!--they exclaimed-- Barbaques Like these,we call them Asados, were a way of celebrating! You'd invite Friends and family,it could also be an excuse to just get together.
He nodded-- No other species is so...tight knit.
--Youre part of the culture now!
--What?
Hes taken aback,genuienly. He can only watch them and forget about the chirping birds or the rushing water. The smell of dying smoke or the smell of wet sand.
The only thing in his mind is his human companion,who grabs something from their pocket and pin it to his cowl.
Its a pin of some sort with blue,white and yellow lace. His head tilts adorably and he feels quite confused. Its a flag of some kind,hes aware of that at least.
--Its the flag of Argentina. I made it myself.--The human explained-- Youre an honorary Argentine!
--I...dont even know your language.
They laughed and prodded his Plate closer-- Well I can teach you some now,you have nowhere else to be.
He smiled just a little,Like sun breaking through the clouds of a gloomy day andHis voice Carrying that hopeful warmth that came with peeking sunlight. --No,i do not..
Strife:
He was down to try anything and everything at least once. It guaranteed Him great and horrible experiences, self discovery and a shit ton of funny stories to tell.
As the spirit of eternal unrest,he wasnt lacking on the energy department.
But he does get bored.
A lot.
So he waits by the shadow of a tree,Death would reach him by the end of the afternoon and they'd leave their human companion with the makers for good measure.
Speaking of...
--Well you look awfully sad-- The human said,their hair a little bit of a mess and their eyes groggy. They Carry with them this maker-made thermos,a bag slung over their shoulder and some sort of gourd with a metal straw.
--You can thank my brother for that--He grumbled as his friend sat with him on the cool shade.
--Walking corpse, "Rattle me bones" one?
--That one.
The human chuckled,happy Strife indulges in their human culture and internet humor. They take a long,if not a little loud, slurp of the warm drink.
It catches the horseman's attention and turns to them. Hes seen them drink whatever that was before,he just never got around to ask.
--What are you drinking?
They got that beautiful little glint in their eyes,excitement and joy. -- Mate.
Yeah,the name didnt make things any clearer.
--Okay,and whats that?
--Right,right-- they pour water into the gourd they were holding. He sees these tightly packed herbs of light,yellowish grin. -- Its an Argentine drink,you can share it with Friends but only one person brews the drink. Try it.
He looks hesitant as he holds the gourd,its a bit small in his gloved hands. He looks and sounds like hes catching up with the world.
--You...want to share a straw with me? Saliva and all?
--you just drink out of it. Ive shared it with strangers just how different could it be? --They shrugged,fixing their hair as the summery breeze dances tentively across their skin.
--Well im no human.
--Except for that one time-
--That one time,yeah-- He agreed--It wont put you off? You can wipe it off-
--Strife please-- the human chided with an exhasperated look on their face.
--Okay,okay.-- he relented, his hand Is about to touch the metal straw and his friend lunges at him to stop him-- WOAH! Dont do that!
--Dont touch it!--They screeched-- It messes with the filtering of the water! Only the brewer can move it.
He sighed and nodded-- odd rules but I guess that makes sense...
--You have no grounds to call my culture odd, Mr.Horseman of the apocalypse!
Strife chuckled and nodded--Okay,fine,fair.-- He lifts his helmet a little and he drinks from the straw. He feels the warmth of the metal against his lips,and the taste of the drink rushes in.
Its strongly bitter,hits harder than a kick from Ruin. Deeply earthy,but a quite unpleseant as it settles on his tongue like heavy lead.
He spits it out and he soon finds his friend laughing a hyena's howl. --What kind of hellish drink is that!
--Give it here,ill add sugar you whimp-- They Grab the gourd and from their bag they Grab a pouch of sugar. They make a little hole around the straw and set the sugary powder there.
--Whimp?! -- He screeched,the taste lingering horribly-- Youre sick for drinking that fuckin' thing! S'too bitter!
--The horsemen of the apocalypse cant handle bitterness! Who knew.?--The human joked as the water got poured back into the gourd.
--You tell anyone about this and ill actually kill you.
--All bark, no bite-- They hand the gourd back to him-- Drink up.
Hesitantly,he tries again and this time its pleaseant. The sweetness tempers the bitter and he can taste the fresh,earthy flavor better. And the warmth of the water is a nice comfort in his exhasperation.
--See? This is way better,-- he handed back the round container.
--Mhm,mhm,whimp-- They kept teasing as he rolled his eyes fondly.
For the Next few hours,His human tells him about all the little habits and details this drink has. How in summer some would drink it with juice,or how it was common to see people from their culture Carry it everywhere.
Its a deeply social drink,Friends would sit around and catch up while sharing it. Or you could also make Friends with people by offering a Mate.
He always loved how humans were there for eachother, how they cared and Bonded with so Many little things.
The caffeine within the drink was also a nice plus.
As he enjoys his turn of drinking,he breathes in the fresh air and sees the greenery field move with the breeze. The skies are clear blue,and the sun shining bright.
Its peaceful,he so rarely gets to experience this softness. Soon though he hears another sound join the gentle choir of birds,a foreign language he doesnt know and that accent he recognized.
He doesnt turn to face his friend as they sing,but he does listen in quiet contemplation.
--Dice que soy lo mejor de su vida
Que quiere perderse conmigo to' el día
Que por mí apunta, tira y tira
Que ya no le importa cometer un delito por su niña -- the rythm is slow, but theres something about the way they sing the lyrics. This strong presence that goes well with the chill little rythm.
--Y aunque no caigas en la de nadie
Con una mirada puede enamorarte o es parte de su arte
Tiene juego prepara'o para loca dejarte
Sa-auh-ah, uh-uh-uh, uh, uh aunque parezca un ángel es, es, es, e'
He drinks from the straw and passes it over,crossing His arms over his chest.
--Nice song-- He says-- Whats the name?
--Wapo Traketero by Nicky Nicole-- They answered-- best I can translate the title is like...in very,very loose terms, is "Hot criminal"
--Hmm,sounds Like slang.
--It is.
Just as hes about to ask what the song talked about,Death began to approach. Despair's hooves click against the soil leaving a temporary path of dying Grass.
Strife sighs and stands up-- Duty calls, doll.
--Yeah,figures-- he helps them up and though they cant see it, they can hear the smile in his voice.
--Thank you for the drink,and the serenade, but I gotta go. Ill try t'bring ya somethin'
--Ohhh cool. Like a skull?
--Biggest one I can find. I promise-- he makes an X over his heart and they giggle. Thats his favorite sound.
He whistles and soon Mayehem emerges from the ether just as Death catches up with the pair. --The makers are not far behind they'll look after them.
Strife nodded and tipped his fake hat before leaving with his brother.
The human grins and picks up their stuff. They walk to Karn and Thane that wait patiently for them. And as they walk away,Karn looks at the drink and a little worried he asks.
--Doesnt that have caffeine,Lad?
--Uh,yeah?--They answered confused.--Why?
--Did ya share it with Strife?--Thane added.
--Yeah...?
The wizened maker warrior pursed his lips,scratching his brown colored beard-- Ya should thank the creator youre not Death right now.
It clicks then for the human,and their eyes widen like plates-- Oh,hes going to kill me.
Death hasnt dealt with this level of hyperactivity since Strife was a fledgeling nephilim. He sees his brother bounce around like a ball in a pinball machine,laughing maniacally as his guns ring the sound of a life's end.
Hes barely able to Keep up,And he wonders who gave him so much caffeine to begin with.
When he realizes who it was,he Will kill them. But for that he needs to make sure his dumbass brother doesnt kill them both first.
And thats going to take a while.
Lyrics Translation:
Death:
Tal vez//de tanto usar el gris//te ciegues con el sol...//¡pero eso tiene fin!//¡Después verás todo el color,//amor, quedémonos aquí!//¡Amor, asómate a la flor//y entiende la verdad que llaman corazón!//¡Deja el pasado acobardado en el fangal//que aquí podemos comenzar!"
"Maybe//after using so much grey//You may turn blind at the sun//But that has an end!//After all you'll see the color//Love,lets stay here//Love,peek to see the flowers//And understand the truth about what they call a heart//Leave the past hiding in the marsh//Here we can begin" - Quedemonos aquí by Homero Expósito and Hector Stamponi.
Fury:
"Mamichula, por vos me hago bueno, me hago malo//Por vos pierdo, por vos gano, mami, en esa estamo'//Ojalá entendieras que sos la única y primera//Así que vengan lo' que quieran, lo' de afuera son de palo, mai"
"Lil mamma for you I turn good,I turn bad//For you i lose,for you I win,mami thats where we're at//I hope you could understand youre the first and only//So whoever may come,the outsiders dont matter" -Solo por vos,by Trueno.
Strife:
"Dice que soy lo mejor de su vida//Que quiere perderse conmigo to' el día//Que por mí apunta, tira y tira//Que ya no le importa cometer un delito por su niña.
Y aunque no caigas en la de nadie//Con una mirada puede enamorarte o es parte de su arte//Tiene juego prepara'o para loca dejarte//Sa-auh-ah, uh-uh-uh, uh, uh aunque parezca un ángel es, es, es, e'"
"He says I'm the best thing in his life//That he wants to waste away his day with me//That for me he aims,shoots and shoots//That he doesn't care anymore about commiting crimes for his girl//And even if you don't fall for anyone's game//With one look he can make you fall in love,its part of his art//He has his game ready to leave you crazy// Even if he looks like an angel, he is,is,is"- Wapo Traketero by nickly nicole.
War:
"Nada como ir juntos a la par//Y caminos desandar//El honor no lo perdí//Es el héroe que hay en mí//Nada como ir juntos a la par"
"Nothing like going together hand in hand//And trek the path//I didnt lose my honor//Its the hero that lives in me//Nothing like going together hand in hand"- Juntos a la par by Pappo
Crying over the names of the legendary boons in Darksiders 1.
》written from the perspective of an eldest sibling《
1)DEATH'S BLESSING.
I know I shouldnt take this so literall,but the Word "blessing" from DEATH. He who holds himself to be the worst of the horseman,the one beyond repentance,The one without "a soul". Even from afar he still cares for his youngest brother,death gives him A BLESSING,his genuine blessing.
How it gives War more souls? More resources to help him? How he can get Harvester? That it works better when you assign that boon to the scythe? Do you think a part of Death's soul,the very thing he claims not to have, lingers in this arcane thing to still Keep his brother safe? How he stil cares so deeply even if he denies it vehemently?
2)STRIFE'S OFFERING.
Just look at genesis,how close they are by the end,how they mourn together and hold eachother up. Do you think war remembers and has seen in detail and maybe with a bit of awe whenever Strife uses Mercy & Redemption? How hes memorized the EXACT pulse and grip his brother uses? This boon gives him profiency with the gun, it makes him more durable to ranged And projectile attacks.
Do you think the true magic is the memories of his brother? How maybe just a bit of Strife's Essence guides his aim, his bullets and takes the hit for him? Not to mention War gets "MERCY".
Do you think he can hear STRIFE'S voice saying "aim higher,remember wind resistance. Breathe. Keep your grip steady,youre not alone. Im still here with you"
3)FURY'S EMBRACE.
Arcane expert extraordinare, badass fighter. This boon gives War more wrath for his abilities,shows him all the treasures. Do you think he can kind of hear the softest ring of fury's voice guiding him to the treasures? Do you think she used to give him trinkets when they were kids and thats why that boon works that way? Do you think he can hear the inflexions of her voice?
Stern when he missed something that was right in his face.
Playful and jovial, so reminiscent of her younger self.
Urgent and,dare I say it, worried and scared when its something that Will heal him or protect him?(Like the abyssal armor)
How beautiful is it that Fury lends whats the center of her personality: Her anger. She shares it with her brother, gives her power to him without hesitation even if time and circumstances has pulled them appart.
Maybe by taking that anger from fury,war can help his sister feel better. How she embraced him and guides him like an elder sister. The memories of their Bond when younger still linger,still tethers them together. Time is passed but their siblinghood prevails.
And the name? EMBRACE. Fury? Hugging war? Dont think so. But it can be a symbolic embrace, Like the one she lives in the end of darksiders 3. She sees her errors and faults and begs Ulthane to help War.
Do you see how fundamentally each one of them cares so deeply for their brother??????
