Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/Abaddon
Warnings: AU, Disturbing Imagery
Chapter:21
Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me
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A month later Abaddon returned to the City, only to find a note on his desk requesting his presence at Azrael's home at his earliest convenience. As he had not been crashed into trees by overly enthusiastic recruits, this meant after a nice bath and quick meal. He knew how much his friend hated the smell of training-camp.
"You hollered?" Entering like he owned the place, the General was stopped from saying more by a small form colliding with his legs. Zeruch was hugging him. "Well, hello there." He lifted the boy onto his hip, walking over to the scholar sitting behind his desk.
"No trees this time?" Azrael got up, looking his friend over. "That's a surprise."
"Hardihar…" The warrior rolled his eyes. "What did you need me for this soon?"
"I'm gonna get wings!" Came the loud proclamation from his side. Zeruch was beaming, a wide grin on his shining face.
The Gatekeeper nodded in agreement. "I have finished the necessary spells. But as it involves shifting and forming… flesh and bone, I require someone to hold Zeruch still as I work my magics." The scholar's slender hand settled on the boy's silk-covered back. "He wants to see it as his - 'name-earning-test' was it? – but still: him distracting me could be disastrous. And considering you are already in the know…"
"I see." Looking at the child he was holding, it seemed that Azrael had told the boy at some earlier point already that the General knew. "Of course I'll help." Inwardly, he winced. If the thought of cutting off wings made his skin crawl, the thought of growing them was hardly better. "Are you certain this will work?"
"No." The mystic lead the way upstairs, opening the door to his own bedroom. "But it is the only option to allow him proper flight and thus, a proper life here." Sitting down on the plush blankets, he patted the white silk in front of him.
Setting the child down, Abaddon sat down cross-legged with his back against the footrest. The young promptly clambered into his lap. "Wrap your arms around my neck." The bulkier angel whispered, briefly caressing the white hair in front of his face. He couldn't quite hide the small smirk at the strong grip the little Nephilim had. Oh yes, come Hell or high water, he was going to enroll him in warrior-training!
Azrael reached forward, using his fingers to push open the wing-holes of the deep-red tunic. "Ready?"
Wrapping his arms around the small child, Abaddon nodded briefly. "Yes."
Taking a deep breath, Azrael closed his eyes and started to chant. The warrior could not even try to follow the interwoven spells filling the room around them.
He was interrupted in his attempt to follow the mystic's enchantments by the child in his arms tensing. Small hands became fists and he could see the child bite down on his lip to keep from crying out.
"Easy there." The warrior soothed the boy, carefully caressing his hair. "You can do it." A choked sob was his answer as the little Nephilim burrowed into the soft fur draped over his shoulders.
He could see Azrael tense before closing his eyes to the child's suffering... literally.
Keeping up his soothing whispers, it broke the old warrior's heart to hear the boy whimper as his friend worked his elaborate magics. He was starting to wonder if it might be better to postpone this as he was beginning to doubt that Zeruch would be able to handle the pain.
An outcry of pain shocked him into tensing his arms. Which was a good thing as the child was nearly trashing in his hold. It seemed that his ability to bear the pain had come to an end.
White eyes widened at what he suddenly saw near Azrael's fingers. The olive-toned skin of Zeruch's back was parting, though there was no blood. Instead, something else seemed to come out from the openings. Creator...
Bone was sprouting, forming the skeletal basis of a future set of wings. Holding the child tightly to keep him from moving too much, Abaddon couldn't stop his mouth from falling open at the sight. Azrael was actually managing to give the boy wings!
His eyes flicked to his old friend. The scholar's brow was furrowed and his jaw tense. He could practically feel the guilt roll of the other angel at the pain he was causing.
The warrior's eyes narrowed though when seeing the beading perspiration on the other's forehead. If he was this exhausted already, would he have enough strength left to finish it? He dared not imagine what would happen should the spells fail while Zeruch had only the wing-bones with nothing to hold them together. Would they just fall down!?
Wrapping his arms a bit tighter around the whimpering form in his lap, he hesitantly pressed a chaste kiss to the wet forehead. "You are doing wonderfully, Zeruch, just hold on a bit longer." The screams had stopped at least, but it was clear the boy could not take much more.
And Azrael was still only at the stage of forming the bones! Biting his lip, Abaddon resisted the urge to demand the mystic hurry up already. It'd be no use anyway and he might well risk breaking the scholar's concentration to the point that the entire spell failed.