Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/Abaddon, Zeruch(War)/OC
Warnings: AU, Disturbing Imagery
Chapter: 63
Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me
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His frustration was steadily growing. He knew – rationally – that Azrael was dead. Even then, he didn't want to be the only to actually kill the angel's body. Zeruch would understand, naturally, but that would make it simply worse.
"Stop hiding behind the bird!" He snarled it, trying to get past the debatably-living angel to get to his actual target.
"Stop going easy." Absalom chuckled darkly, his massive axe clearing Azrael's head and embedding itself where Death had been standing. A surge of corrupted fire followed, singeing some of the Nephilim's hair.
Steeling himself, he rolled to a stop at a moderately save distance. He would have to stop considering Azrael anything more than a meaty shield, no matter how upset people would be.
What a way to thank him for saving Zeruch…
Transforming Harvester into a spear, he launched it. It hit the angel in the shoulder, disrupting his flight and making him stagger in mid-air. Calling it back, he used the opening to rush at his former leader.
The scythe bit into corrupted flesh, tearing a deep wound on the arm. The flat of Absolution slapped him away, smashing him against the low edge of the platform.
Azrael had by now recovered, fire washing over the Nephilim like a roiling wave. He hissed, even he not being able to just ignore the outer layer of his skin being burned away.
Again the infernal blade of Absalom's axe sailed through the air, being on a collision-course with the recovering Rider. It would not hit.
The sword that once nearly taken his arm, now came to his rescue, blocking the thrown weapon. The massive angel that was the youngest surviving Nephilim snarled like the demons he shared his blood with. His fury and discipline was such that he did not comment on his father's body being used as a living shield.
Perhaps it would have gone well, had they not found that Azrael was not yet dead. The Gatekeeper had managed to keep some of his mind save, it seemed. At the prospect of attacking his only child, that burst free, challenging the Corruption that held it in its' grip.
The scholar screamed with such force that the stones floating in the Well quivered, him falling like a star cast from the heavens.
Absalom was disoriented, having assumed his control absolute. Death used this, rushing forward, ignoring the stings of his still healing wounds. Zeruch hurried to the side of the convulsing angel, fear for his father now evident on his face.
"Father." He dared not touch the trashing male, afraid that he would do more harm than good that way.
Azrael curled in on himself, bloody tears streaming down his cheeks. He yanked down the bulkier male, clinging to the decorative fur. "Free me..."
"I..." Zeruch felt like the small terrified child he had been long ago. He had no idea how to break Absalom's hold on his father and seeing him like this was horrifying.
"Kill me." A new flood of bloody tears ran down the scholar's cheeks. "I can't… can't hold… please."
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Death was faring marginally better now that he didn't need to deal with Azrael being interposed in front of him. Then things went rather pearshaped.
"Release him!" The voice was familiar, yet far more demonic than he had ever heard it. Death couldn't help but wheel around at the voice and the wave of pain that followed it.
"Creator." Ever since finding his youngest sibling blending in with the angels, he had figured that there was simply not enough demon left for him to access much of the abilities that came with his Nephilim-side. He now saw that he had figured wrong.
Zeruch was crouching over his unmoving parent, now being a hulking brute with vast wings covered in white fire. Holy fire fueled by the young male's rage at the state his father was in. And he was rushing them.
For once, Death decided that he didn't mind someone stealing his kill and jumped out of the way. He hissed at the pain of holy fire passing so close to him.
"I'll..." Deciding that absence was the measure of valour right now, he dashed towards Azrael. The scholar wasn't moving, resting in a pool of Corruption and blood. Looking up, he saw the others rushing in and actually felt bad about the looks of horror on the angels' faces.