Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Darksiders franchise.

I have gone for far too long without giving a shout out to another writer: SirenOmega (go look her up, I'll wait...) Check out "Choices we Make" and the sequel "Death We Have a Small Problem" which I'm in love with. This girl writes the best Darksiders yaoi I've read, her stories make you care about the characters deeply, shinning a whole new light on them. Their interactions are so well done, I swear she gets you right in the feels every time. Also, without her encouragement this story would never have happened ;)

So, on to a more lively chapter than last. Hope you enjoy, I had lots of fun writing this :)

Chapter 4

The downdraft of wings lifted dust and dead leaves around them, heralding the arrival of the three corrupted angels, halberds at the ready. Their black wings by far the more disconcerting sight, at least for the archangel who stared up at them. Feathers disheveled and laced with webs of corruption it was only by some dark purpose that they stayed aloft at all. Death quickly surveyed the situation, deciding which one he would strike first when a fourth heavier angel joined the fray, a corrupted champion. The Horseman glanced out of the corner of his eye to estimate by Azrael's movement which way he would go first and so coordinate the attack, but Azrael was not moving. With both surprise and aggravation he realized the angel was still staring with dread at the incoming threat.

With a rasped out groan, an agile leap set Death in front of the archangel and facing the formation of enemies. He dropped to a low crouch, every muscle ready to spring, steadying his arms to the side, crossing the scythe blades behind his back, ready to swing outward in lethal arches. He had only the briefest of seconds to wonder what Azrael would read in his defensive gesture and if it had been wise to jump in like that. Then he was forced to act and the thought slipped his mind. (*)

Had they been normal, healthy angels, they would have lunged in formation for their enemy. Their strikes perfectly timed to ensure they gave the nephilim the least chance of dodging all blows. Death had seen this strategy countless times, press the foe so that even if he managed to block or parry the first two attacks, the third one would invariably land. Had they been normal, healthy angels however, a group this small was still woefully little threat to the Horseman's swiftness, no matter how synchronized.

As it was, an ordered formation was too complex for these basic minds, clouded as they were by corruption. As the corrupted champion held back to assess his target, one of the corrupted angels lunged for Death, too eager for bloodshed. A second angel followed two wing beats behind, not standing the idea of not getting a blow in himself. It was simplicity itself for Death to deal with the staggered attack, and he was already on the move sprinting towards the attackers. He parried the first angelic blade with one scythe, spinning to allow the angel to fly past behind him, then catching him with a back handed swing of the other scythe that severed wings and the spinal column in an explosion of red. Death was still spinning when the second angel reached him, and used the same momentum to hook the angel's blade upward with one half of Harvester to prevent him from blocking the actual strike that came once again from the second scythe. It embedded itself deep in the corrupted angel's chest, who coughed up its last blood ridden spit even before the body of the first angel finished skidding on the floor.

Thinking better of attacking the pale skinned dervish with the twin blades, the corrupted champion dove instead for the white winged angel, only to come to a grinding halt but a couple of paces away from his prey. Impeded by an invisible force he could not wade through even his arm came to a complete stop where he raised it for a swing. Azrael stood before him seemingly unfazed by the threat, palm outstretched holding him in place with his magics.

Sensing the one remaining corrupted angel coming up fast behind him, Azrael turned and shifted half his concentration to stop him in much the same way. Forcing his will power upon the corrupted angel, he forced the arms down and his grip to open so the sword he held fell clattering to the floor. The enraged angel struggled, arms held fast to his sides, but for all his efforts Azrael only tightened the grip until it seemed the captive would bend himself out of shape in his desperation to be free.

Seeking to alleviate Azrael's concentration of at least one foe, Death dashed for the immobilized champion. He let Harvester assume its innate form and let the single scythe fly out ahead of him. It was useless. And it was a good thing the legendary sharpness of the Horseman's reflexes were not an exaggeration. No one but Death could have reacted fast enough to catch Harvester as it suddenly flew back to him in a skewed spin, having rebounded off some sort of shield encasing the champion. It materialized all around the captive as if light and smoke had suddenly condensed themselves to withstand a blow from the nephilim weapon, with an ear piercing clang and a flash of light.

"Wait!" Azrael called to Death, who spun to fix him with an infuriated glare, a gravelly feral sounding growl came from behind his mask. He did not react well to having someone come between him and his kill. -What's the damn angel thinking?!-

"Azrael!"

"A moment..."

"A moment?!" Death spat. How could Azrael even sound so calm? Yet he was powerless to slay any of the enemies while Azrael chose to protect them with this shield. -This is ridiculous!-.

The corrupted angel struggled in the grip of the archangel's magic, his arms stuck fast to his sides shrieking like a madman. He was encased in the bright golden illumination that holy spells usually shone with and began to writhe and scream as corruption bubbled from below his helm, resisting being healed away by the archangel's will. Death did not lower his guard, he didn't like this one bit.

"Stop this! You can't help them!"

"I have to try!"

Not unlike the corruption strands Azrael had cleared from the corridor walls, the corruption invading the captive angel ultimately sizzled and the angered shrieks now turned into wails of pain. It's dark lifeless skin began to revert to the pinkish tone of healthy flesh, the glazed over eyes that were deep pits of tar seemed to clear into the usual shinning white of the angelic race. Azrael smiled, his spirits lifted for the first time. Only to plummet a second later.

The corrupted angel's skin went just as quickly from black to healthy and then to a sickly discolored green, the color of corpses long dead and rotting. It's face sagged, hollowing in on itself around the skull, it's eyes ceased to shine and consumed themselves to leave only empty sockets. The attacker, instead of healing, seemed to waste away. It's constant painful wailing ceased, to leave its mouth agape in a crooked silent scream. It seemed corruption was so much part of these angels now, that cleansing it away from him had left him only the hollow shell of the being he once had been. And all that was left, all that corruption hadn't claimed as its own, did not amount to enough of a being to ensure it could live. The angel finally collapsed in a heap on the floor with the loud clatter of its armor and Azrael could only stare heartbroken at the wrinkled discolored mess of a face gaping up at him.

Sensing the sudden weakness in the magic that held him, the corrupted champion broke free roaring his fury. All he needed to do was swing, Azrael was well within the arc of his sword. The champion's blade left a semi circular trail in the air it moved so fast, but Azrael was thankfully faster, instinctively teleporting a score paces back so that the blade met nothing but air. Death had the distinct feeling of his heart missing a beat before he registered Azrael was safe. Harvester almost quivered, ready in the nephilim's grip to put an end to his master's foe, but Death knew better than to attack the champion where he stood. He recalled the corrupted champions being able to charge a great distance, deceptively fast. He also knew Azrael would not expect that.

"Fly!"

Death had just enough time to shout out to Azrael, voice coarse with command, before the champion unleashed his dash, blade held before him like a ship's prow. Reaching Azrael, his blade again met only the vacated space below his quarry's feet as the archangel took flight with a single powerful down beat of his wings. What did meet the champion however, was the jagged black blade of Harvester, wielded by a cloaked monstrosity of dark hood, hideous wings of bone and an empty void where it's face should have been. The only way Death could flown fast enough to impact with the champion at his target and cleave him neatly in two, from left hip to right shoulder. The final attacker fell apart on the stone floor.

Immediate danger over, Azrael took a moment to force his accelerated heart to quiet down before landing so as to meet the empty gaze of the Reaper who now turned that horrid visage his way. He towered over the angel at least twice his height. The sheer power of Death in this form roiled off him in shadowy tendrils almost visible to the angel's senses. Always had this dark form involuntarily inspired a mixture of awe and fear in Azrael, or any creature of the light for that matter. He struggled to keep it from his face though as he forced himself to stare steadily back into the void and resisted the urge to swallow.

Thankfully, an instant later had Death reverted back to his usual form, wisps of purple smoke dancing one last time around him before disappearing into the ether. Monstrosity gone however, Azrael found he had to force himself just as hard to meet the angry gaze that the bone mask greeted him with. Burning orbs gone a furious red bore out from underneath the ridges of the eye sockets. He approached his angelic companion with purposeful steps leaving the black blood of the champion to pool behind him. Shoulders tense with suppressed anger he passed the shaft of Harvester behind his back, splitting it once again into the two scythes.

"Can we actually start treating the enemy like the enemy now?" Death rasped out menacingly, his voice low and steely cold. "Thank you" he added sardonically as Azrael dropped his gaze to the floor in defeat. He clipped each half of Harvester back on his belt at his hips with finality, still glaring.

Azrael did his best to ignore that burning gaze. He didn't want to admit to himself that he wasn't so much ignoring it as he was trying to avoid it turning away uncomfortably. Didn't Death see? He had to try. Yes! it had been risky! But if there was a small chance he could have cured the angels of this corruption, somehow brought them back... No, Death was right, he realized grudgingly. It had left him vulnerable to attack. He'd underestimated his foe, and over estimated his own chances of success. Azrael turned away frowning, feeling uncomfortably foolish.

But Death did understand. The words of a Maker warrior came back to him now: "Every blow we strike against Corruption is a blow against our own. Think on that Rider, before you brand me a coward", Thane had admonished him back in Tri-Stone, it seemed like so long ago.

He forced down his anger with a silent sigh. Against demons and the undead, Death had never seen Azrael falter, he hated them with a passion. He was angel through and through in that respect. But these had been the first live angels he had encountered here. Except he didn't understand as Death did, that they were no longer truly alive. And so, with an effort at compassion he would have spared no other in Creation, he softened his tone. Soft as he could manage anyway, and spoke again to Azrael's back.

"Look, I've been here before, I know what lurks here. I'm just trying to prevent you from getting yourself kil..."

"I don't need your protection or your condescension Death!" Azrael actually snarled spinning round, gaze boring into the nephilim's burning eyes. It had still sounded like a reprimand Death realized, but he would never have expected the angel's anger. Not this angel anyway. A few moments of meeting that icy ivory gaze with a little confusion and Death conceded, he backed off raising his hands with a shrug.

Lately it seemed he had tried his hardest to not be his usual indolent self, and so far had gotten only angry responses to his efforts.

-Why is being nice so haaard?- He thought frustrated as Azrael walked past him scowling and on to the grand double doors that led to the Scriptorium in the middle of the terrace. He had only sought to protect him...

-Maybe if you were less of a jerk about it, he might have appreciated the gesture- Death's conscience chided him unbidden. He rasped out a sigh, shaking his head as he skulked after the angel into the building.

"Well, damn it" Death hissed under his breath, the damn angel better appreciate what he was about to do...

"Azrael!" he called, and the archangel, some ten paces ahead, stopped and turned, expression stern. "I'm sorry..." Death bit out grudgingly and Azrael's eyes actually widened. After a pause he added "And, you're right, you had to try."

Azrael blinked, took another moment, perhaps not believing what he was hearing, and the silence grated against Death's pride all the more.

"Well, now I know" Azrael conceded gravely, then after a regretful sigh, "I should have heeded you of course, forgive me"

Death shrugged, eager to just drop the subject all together. He set off walking in the direction Azrael had been just a moment ago, and indicated for the angel to do the same. Another set of double doors swung open before Azrael's silent command and they were in the tall hollow spire of the Scriptorium.

Craning his neck so he could estimate the height of the library, Death absently noted he had failed to take in the sheer size and grandeur of the building last time he was here. But then again, he hadn't been exactly sightseeing. Much like the library of the White City he and War had on occasion visited, the book cases packed with old leather bound tomes stretched from floor to ceiling, up uncountable floors. Ornately brass railed corridors and balconies ran along the circular walls of the spire connected by flights of stairs on many points. Probably for the sole benefit of wingless visitors that may from time to time sojourn here to the Citadel, as any of the angelic scholars or scribes would invariably fly up to whatever level, to whatever section of the library they needed.

As it was none of those scholars or scribes were presently flying around the place, the huge building was completely deserted. The bluish illumination of the place made it all seem strangely serene, if uneasily quiet.

Speaking of alone, Death was silently thankful Jamareah appeared to not be here any longer. Azrael had probably known him well, as he knew each and every single scholar and scribe that worked in the White City. Death could only imagine the angel's reaction at seeing the Head Scribe of the Scriptorium in the state he was last, when corruption festered in him, to say nothing of the state he was in after Death was done with him. He wondered where the Scribe was if not here, but dismissed the thought, quite probably he simply died of his wounds and he was not about to bring up the subject with Azrael.

The archangel seemed not to even notice the mess of tomes and scrolls strewn about the floor, nor the strained silence. He headed for the closest flight of stairs and started to climb. Death noted the gesture silently, and followed. He knew Azrael unhindered by his presence here, would have simply flown up to whatever section of bookcases he needed, if he decided to walk it was solely for his benefit.

Death wondered if they were indeed climbing to the very top, warily eyeing the top most levels. -This will take a while...- In the mean time, a wing of angels could be arriving from the White City at any moment, having got word of the final resting place of the re-forged Rod of Arafel. He was wasting time here he knew, but neither would he get another chance like this. Everything suggested that the Charred Council had sent him here only to get him out of the way, keeping him in the dark while they developed their schemes further.

Well the Council didn't expect he would meet Azrael here. It was now imperative he find out exactly why War had said the Council couldn't be trusted. Death had to know if the Horsemen, his brothers and sister, were at any risk or danger from the Council. He had to make the most of this opportunity. He had no doubt Azrael would aid him in this. The Rod of Arafel would just have to wait. This was far more important.

Besides, it wasn't often enough he could just speak to Azrael alone. Death found he enjoyed the conversation of the one other being in Creation he considered intelligent enough to hold his attention, even if he did let his angelic heritage get the better of him from time to time. -I guess nobody's perfect, not even archangels- Death shrugged mentally and continued climbing the stairs after the angel.

Level after level they climbed, mostly in silence. Azrael glanced at the shelves as he passed, but made no attempt to order anything, or even pick up any of the books on the floor, choosing instead to just carefully step over them.

"You really are interested only in your private collection aren't you?" Death said doing his best to also step over the tomes and scrolls. He knew that Azrael's obsession with order, especially when it came to the upkeep of libraries, bordered on the compulsive "How you are resisting the urge to put everything back in its proper place, is beyond me"

"You've no idea how complex the cataloging system is here"

"I'm sure"

"More so than the system used at the White City" Azrael glanced back at Death, but just rolled his eyes at seeing that the import of the matter was lost on him, peering over the brass railing at the long drop. Or was it that he just chose to pay no attention? "We'd be here a lot longer if I chose to archive these books back on their shelves. I figured you would not have the patience"

"So very kind of you" Death said absently, noting that they had finally come to the top most floor of the spire, no further staircases went up. Yet these sections of shelves looked no different than the millions they had already passed. If this priceless collection was here, it wasn't making itself known. "So, where to now?"

"Follow me" Azrael said unfazed, not even pausing. He was back to his usual semblance of calm diplomacy.

Death was surprised to realize this was not in fact the top most level of the spire. The main library, yes, but as he followed the angel through a short off-shooting corridor in between bookshelves, he suddenly found they were outside the building, only stone balconies ran along the outside of the spire now, leaving one unhindered to admire the view of...

-Absolutely nothing but endless clouds- Death could not help but think, aggravated as the strong winds of this altitude tousled his long black hair every which way. A short flight of stone steps carried them one level higher still and onto another set of double doors that led back inside the building. So this is where they had been heading? An entire section of the library effectively sectioned off from the rest, above the entire library complex.

Azrael paused before entering those heavy doors, instead taking the time to lean on the stone balcony and gaze out over the even layer of golden clouds stretching out as far as the eye could see. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Death could not help but note he looked very serene, if slightly melancholy, but then that was usual in Azrael. He gazed calmly upon the angel, and was also reminded of how handsome he was...

-Focus...-

"Have you been to the White City since? Where do the angels stand now, after all this?" Death asked casually, clearing his throat. He wondered if all of Creation had truly erupted in conflict as the Charred Council had told him when he had been summoned. So far he had seen no demonic incursions anywhere.

"I was there only briefly, to witness Abaddon's public burning at the stake" Azrael sounded so bland it took a moment longer for Death to register what he said.

"And while there did you... what? Burning at the stake?!"

To burn Abaddon's corpse in public humiliation? Was that the great General's ultimate fate? And in his own beloved city. Death could scarcely give credit to what he heard.

"I fear my people have been spurred once again to their irrational hatred and zealotry of ages past." Azrael explained sounding regretful "Uriel is acting General of the White City now. Under her leadership, and with the Sacred Pacts broken, I can only see us descending into the dark ages that were the centuries of the war between Above and Below. Before the Charred Council ever came to power."

Death recalled the story Azrael himself had told him long ago of the disproportionate punishment the angels of the White City deemed fit to bestow upon one Raciel for her 'crime' of pursuing a love interest with her direct superior. This had happened at that moment in history, and had ultimately sparked the Abomination Crisis. Azrael's people did have a record of mercilessness at their worst times. But these were not those times. Angels had come far since then, or so he would have thought.

"Uriel has always been hot tempered. But, such hatred? For one of her own...?" Death tried to reconcile in his head, his recollection of the honor bound Commander of the Hellguard he had seen on Earth, with this new image of a zealot leader. But then, she had not known Abaddon was the Destroyer when last he spoke to her, Death reflected.

"When I arrived at the scene of your brother's battle with the Destroyer, the Hellguard were making ready to take Abaddon's body to the White City. War had already left the tower to go in search of you on the ground bellow. I tried to reason with Uriel to give him a proper burial, to pay the due honors to the man he was. If not to the man he died. Abaddon served the White City for thousands of years, he upheld the glory of the Light all his life, ...ever since I knew him. He was an honorable warrior if nothing else, the greatest champion the White City has ever known."

"My request was denied, of course. His remains were mounted on a stake and burned for all the White City to see and mock." Azrael's eyes seemed to focus on nothingness "Uriel's heart has filled with hatred. She feels betrayed by the one she, loved." He paused awkwardly on the word. "If she truly loved him, she would not have allowed this lapse, however great, to cloud all of the past. Would never have allowed such a shameful..." Azrael checked himself, he was raising his voice. "But then, their love was very young at that."

"She felt Abaddon should absolutely not be honored." the angel continued, back to his usual serene explanatory tone, "Said that if he was truly so noble a warrior, he would not have allowed himself to fall so low, to have been tempted by the Darkness. He would not have... betrayed his own people."

"I can't say I disagree with her point." Death commented flatly "Although the burning at the stake was perhaps a bit much" he added quickly, mentally grimacing at catching the flash of pain that crossed Azrael's eyes.

If Azrael had one flaw, in Death's opinion, it was compassion. And while not uncommon in angels, it had always seemed to him that Azrael gave in too easily to forgive and show mercy to foes that anyone else would deem undeserving. Justice, when it was harsh, had always distressed him somehow. But then, they weren't talking about just any betraying angel. In Abaddon's case, Death fully understood Azrael's apprehension, yes, even his pain.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that, Azrael" Death said in earnest. Azrael only shrugged, his eyes still fixed on some point in the distance. He was playing it down, but Death could see what it cost the angel to keep a straight face.

"I know you and Abaddon were together for a very long time..." Death continued softly, and then at the look he suddenly got from the angel, "You needn't look so surprised, it was kind of obvious" he shrugged.

Silence. Endless seconds of shocked ivory eyes staring into burning amber ones.

"Millennia" Azrael finally said when he could manage words again, and turned once more to look off into the distance and those ever present clouds. A troubled look in his face he no longer bothered to conceal. No point denying it. It had been so long ago, it scarcely mattered anymore, did it?

Death grimaced inside. He regretted what he had to ask next, what with Azrael already thoroughly unsettled, it was probably not the best time to change the subject from an uncomfortable one to another just as awkward. But just as one had to pull off a dry bandage caked to the wound quickly, he guessed he might just as well get the questions done with. Already he had dallied here for too long putting his true mission on hold. He allowed Azrael another moment of silence, then asked in a voice as soft as he could muster.

"What really happened in the White City, Azrael? War said the angels had set this off, that Abaddon had conspired with demons. How was Armageddon unleashed? How was War falsely summoned to the Earth if the Seals were not broken?"

This time Azrael visibly flinched, there was no mistaking it Death thought. He could hardly believe the disciplined scholar was having a hard time guarding his emotions, but that's certainly what it seemed like. He looked as uncomfortable as he'd ever seen him, he wringed his hands tightly in front of him. Death couldn't help but note the angel was deliberately not meeting his eyes, staring instead at the stone railing in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, and quickly closed it again, apparently deciding against it. Just as quickly he turned and opened the double doors next to him, and entered the corridor that led back inside the library building.

An uncomfortable mixture of annoyance and concern battled inside the Horseman. What was it going to take for the damn angel to just spit it out? On the other hand, seeing the imperturbable Azrael like this was unsettling to say the least. What was he hiding that had him in such a state?

-Patience- he counseled himself -You've never gained anything from Azrael with threats-

He forced his ire down, and followed. Two long strides had him caught up to the scholar, who seemed to have composed himself somewhat, though he still stared resolutely at the ground, as he headed for the other set of doors at the far end of the corridor. Death decided he would gently press the subject.

"The day may not be far off when I am ordered to serve justice upon you" Well, gently enough coming from Death... "I would like to hear firsthand what happened. I'd like to hear your side of the story."

"So that when you are ordered to kill me, the Executioner may know his victim's crimes?"

"My brother seemed to think you were not entirely guilty." Death explained "I would like to know so that when the order is issued, I will have something to say in your defense."

Azrael's eyes snapped to his companion beside him, taken aback. He never imagined the Horseman was prepared to do such a thing for him. Put himself on the line in front of the Charred Council? For him?

"While, I appreciate, the gesture, to be sure Death" he began hesitantly, "Speaking for me will not be necessary. I would not have you incur the Council's wrath on my behalf."

"So you will not tell me?"

"Oh, I'll tell you" the angel sighed heavily "If only so you may see for yourself, my transgressions are not worth speaking up for."

"There is something to be said for your honor if War of all people was convinced he could trust you." Death argued.

"Regardless of honor, I doubt my sins will inspire any leniency."Azrael snorted a laugh.

Death halted mid stride, dragging the story out of the angel was becoming truly tiresome, and he had never been known for his patience. He knew Azrael could be dramatic at times, but this was ridiculous.

"Azrael, what did you do!?"

Three steps further down the corridor, the angel also halted. He squared his shoulders, and schooled his features. He would not pity himself, this had been his choice and he had told himself he would bear the consequences, embrace his judgment when it came. He allowed himself a last silent sigh before he turned to face Death, looked him in the eyes and spoke with a solemn voice.

"I broke the Seals of the Apocalypse."

Death's mask did nothing to hide his wide eyed stare, though thankfully it was just enough to hide the fact that he gawped. He actually blinked a couple of times, and then slowly blinked again, searching Azrael's stern, determined expression, as if to make sure this wasn't some kind of tasteless joke.

After what must have seemed like an eternity Death finally spoke.

"...Come again?"

...

End of Chapter 4.

I promise I will do my best to keep Death away from Azrael's throat! :s

I make no promises tho, he's a quick temper that one...

Next chapter will in all probability take me a long time to write, cos the following dialogue is complex to say the least :o
But hang in there, it will be worth it :D

(*) Can I just say that Azrael would have gotten the most incredible view of Death's back muscles flexing with tension from this position? ...*hot*...
I point it out here because Azrael insists he was preoccupied with more important thoughts at the time and that it would be in poor taste to mention it in the text...

...if his blush is anything to go by though, I don't believe he didn't notice ;)