Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/Abaddon, Zeruch(War)/OC
Warnings: AU, Disturbing Imagery
Chapter: 64
Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me
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"Azrael." Laylah cared nothing for the battle still raging, rushing to her son's side, leaving the others to cover them both. As she struggled to undo the damage the possession and desperate purge had caused him, the Nephilim were forced to shelter behind the other angels. Even at this distance, the holy fire that wreathed the youngest of them hurt the half-demonic beings. No doubt he was hurting himself as well, exacerbating the rage fuelling him.
"Rahab, can you do something about his connection to the Well!?" Metatron demanded of his brother, by now having erected a shield to safeguard the Nephilim from the holy fire.
"I… I can only try." The silver-clad warrior raised his hands, closing his eyes as he struggled to find the connection he had long passed on to his son.
"Anything we can do?" Death demanded sharply, feeling the life of the form at his feet ebb away even now. It seemed the damage was beyond Laylah's skill as a healer.
"Mop up what's left?" Strife suggested. Zeruch was tearing into his opponent, the holy fire burning the flesh even after the claws had already left it. In the end, the fury of the transformed Nephilim might not be what gave the death-stroke, but the fire that followed it.
The stone they were on trembled, the last of the Corruption burning away. It left nothing of the shape of Absalom, though it was impossible to tell if it was Zeruch's doing or simply the natural reaction of the Avatar being destroyed.
The massive burning figure turned towards the group, trembling as it closed in. The fire burned away, slowly flickering out until Zeruch's normal form stumbled close.
"He needs to get to the healers of the White City." Laylah murmured. "Rahab, can you do this on your own?"
"No." The warrior-angel was tense. "The Well is a mess, and I have to fight Azrael's supremacy over it. I need you here." He turned to his grandson. "Can you take Azrael? If the Riders have to carry him home, there is no way to deny the depth of the mess here."
Zeruch looked from his grandfather to his father, then his sibling. "I think I can manage." He was trembling as he bend to lift Azrael's unmoving form.
"We'll have to return to the Charred Council." Death softly added. "No doubt they'll have plenty of questions about our disappearance."
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Abaddon was in the barracks, where he had spend most of the time since his break with Azrael. Currently he was overseeing the training of the newest batch of recruits, glowering at them like he was judging their very souls.
"Wing down!" Someone screamed. It was a warning for when an angel had lost their ability to fly, for whatever reason.
His head snapped upward and he saw the form plummeting. Cursing, the General took wing. The form was large, perhaps one of his Champions and there were few that could stop one of those once in motion. He actually teleported, needing as much height to slow them down as he could possibly get.
His massive wings strained against the fall, the wind rushing in his ears. In the end, he did not manage to slow them down quite enough, his landing cracking the marble of the training-grounds.
"My Lord!" Several of the warriors rushed to them, landing beside the tangle.
"Warn the healers!" Heaven's greatest General barked, carefully lowering the form in his arms to the ground. "Now!" He was breathing heavily, checking on the unconscious angel. His heart stopped when recognizing the personalized armour. "Zeruch..."
He grew terrified when noticing hair below where his son had it. It took him quite some of his strength to pry open the locked arms. The Nephilim was clinging to who-ever it was in his arms.
Abaddon paled when recognizing the luxurious emerald robes tainted with blood and other fluids he dared not consider. The scholar's face was pale like in death and his lifeforce was barely noticable. He pulled the limp form into his arms.
His blood was rushing in his ears by this point, shaking himself awake. "Watch my son!" He had not time to wait for the healers. Azrael would not last that long and whatever may lay between them, the Gatekeeper was too valuable to lose.
He took to the sky, rushing for the nearest healers, Azrael's long wings and robes hanging down.