Ugh... I am very, very sorry to those whom I kept waiting for this newest chapter. My schedule for work was insane and all of my free time went into painting and moving into my new bedroom. Thankfully, I finally made some time to sit down and start typing again. I'm looking forward to the outcome of this story, and I hope everyone else is, too. I must tell everyone, though, as I wasn't sure if I specified this in the author's notes for my last chapter that this story might be a little different. I found that in Darksiders II, the story is not as linear as that of the first and is quite flexible. As such, I am taking certain liberties with this story (mainly the environment). The story will still take Death where he has to go, just a little bit more involved than with the game. That being said, I do hope that you all enjoy this story. ^^

Also in this chapter, I happily present to you our OC for this story, the beautiful and ever brave and feisty Eleyna.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of either Darksiders or Darksiders II. Both the games and their contents belong to the games' original creators and developers.

Chapter One: The Sprite in the Wood

'There is a stranger here.' whispered the forest all around.

Her pale brow furrowed in concentration. Talking to her did not make this process easier- not in the least. With a heavy exhalation, she continued her work. To her satisfaction, the bark on this particular birch no longer appeared to be sickly. Unfortunately, this problem was more than bark-deep. If there were a way to solve it, it would be at the roots, but she couldn't take out Corruption without killing the tree with it.

Many would call this a lost cause- an impasse. Eleyna had long ago called it a challenge; but even she was beginning to notice a lost cause when she saw one. Wiping tendrils of copper-colored hair from her sweaty brow, she stood back and gazed up at the tree.

Many would find the quiet eerie after realizing that all of the animals had left in fear of the spreading force Corruption had become. Eleyna, however, was never alone...

Death came to as he felt the presence of another near him. Opening his eyes, he was met with the sight of a large frame, squinty eyes and full white, ornately braided beard. A Maker...

"Be still, Horseman." the old Maker ordered with a wise, thunderous voice. He reached for the shards embedded into the mentioned being's shoulder. "You are wounded." Although the Old One was trying to help, he found neither warm reception from the amulet shards- which sparked with an evil burst of green energy as his finger neared them- nor from the Horseman, who picked himself up rapidly and moved away.

"Don't touch me!" Death growled. If the Maker Elder was affronted by such behavior, he did not show it. Instead, he turned away from the Horseman, toward the solitary idol of the hollow in which the Nephilim had awoken.

"Your arrival here is a bad omen." he murmured gravely. He stroked his long beard- no doubt a nervous habit. "Yes... troubles me greatly."

"Old One-" Death addressed impatiently, "there's more trouble ahead if you don't start making sense. Where is the Tree of Life?" The Elder paused and turned back to him.

"Life?" he echoed with no small amount of incredulity, before he let loose a low, morose laugh. "This world is dying, lad. Choking on chaos and Corruption. We can do little to stop it." He looked off to the side almost sadly. "Soon, the great tree too shall perish and, with it, the last of my people. Is that not what brought you here, Pale Rider?"

"I seek the Tree." Death answered simply. "Your 'chaos and corruption' don't concern me." No sooner had he said those words, a black essence sprang from the ground, weaving amongst stone as a construct was made, and then another, and all of them raced at Death. Meeting the challenge, he ran at them, with scythes at the ready.

The Elder watched as the Horseman struck and then weaved amongst the constructs, rather impressed that such blows could carry through stone. "It seems they do concern you." he corrected under his breath.

Death eyed the strange bludgeoning weapon that one of the constructs was carrying- a cylinder of stone attached to a smaller handle. After he disposed of its wielder, he picked it up. It was heavy, yet it seemed all the more effective, especially when he tested it against another construct. The resulting crash of rock against rock left Death feeling very satisfied with his little experiment.

As the dust settled from Death's tangle with the constructs, he gazed back at the Elder. "You fight well." the Old One noted. "But this Corruption can't be beaten with a blade. Seek out the Forge Sister. Ask her about the Fire of the Mountain. Help her, and she will help you reach the Tree. As for me," he stated as he began to walk off, "I must return to my work."

"And who are you to command a Rider?" Death asked. He was slightly remiss as to why he was being put to do this when all he really had to do was walk to the Tree and be on his way.

"I am a Maker." the Elder answered firmly. "Older than even the Charred Council. These hands have laid the foundations for many worlds. But that was long ago. And now, they but hardly know the touch of stone."

Death paused in deliberation. "Are you not curious as to why I seek the tree?"

"I would not presume to question one of the Four... but yes, tell me." At this, Death was mildly surprised, but to show it would be entirely uncharacteristic of him.

"I must restore Humanity- to redeem War." he answered.

"Heaven and Hell battle upon the shattered Earth. All Creation trembles... and at the center of it all stands your brother." At this, Death's eyes narrowed and one hand went for the handle of his scythe.

"He is innocent." he stated.

"I never said he wasn't." the Old One began with a sigh. "The Tree holds power over life and death. If you would resurrect Humanity, then you are headed in the right direction. But be warned- a dark presence dwells now within the Tree, and the path is barred by Corruption."

Death took note of this warning before he heard a sharp cry from Dust. The bird was now perched over the entrance to a tunnel that led away from the hollow. Death departed down the tunnel, taking in the sound of water falling at the sides, reverberating off of the walls.

Crossing over a deep ridge through a hollowed-out tree he came into a wide, open village of stone- built into the twin mountains, it seemed. Connecting them was a strong bridge of stone. On the far mountain rose a great, palatial structure. The carving over the door was a great face, aged and wise in appearance- like that of the Elder that he met back in the clearing. There rang over the valley a metallic clang; there was a forge nearby. The air was pungent with sweat and sulfur- typical of the Makers. This world was brought to life by them, made for their benefit. So why were there not more?

Death was brought from his pensive thoughts as he heard a harsh, guttural battle cry- almost mistaking it for his younger brother, War. 'He will not be found here.' he thought to himself with a pang of guilt. Silently did he quell his guilty thoughts for fear that they would cause the spirits now within to feed off of them. Again did he chastise himself for such nonsense, but not without some degree of pain.

Instead, he was met with the sight of another Maker- a warrior from the look of him, dressed head to foot in armor and wielding an axe- the blade of which was about as big as the Horseman was tall. It took a second before the warrior's beady eyes fell upon the Horseman and he stood up at his full height, spitting to the side as he surveyed the newcomer.

"Hmph." he scoffed. "The Reaper. It's about time you came." he growled. To the Horseman's perplexed glare, he nodded towards the structure built into the mountain. "The Makers are dying, and our realm." Those beady eyes returned to Death. "We few are all that remain."

"A warrior's life is never easy, old one." replied Death nonchalantly.

"Aye." the old warrior conceded, "Not easy, but simple. I always saw my end with blade in hand, a field of enemy dead before me."

The Nephilim's orange eyes shifted to the rather large, yet simplistic gate atop stairs, past the gargantuan Maker- warrior- consisting of a round carved stone that looked like it had to be pushed aside to be opened. "And what glorious end awaits you, hiding behind these gates?" he challenged.

The warrior heaved a mix of a sigh and a growl and shook his head. "You cannot fight Corruption, nor can you harm it. You can only kill those it has claimed. Every blow I strike against Corruption... is a blow against my own people. Muse on that, rider, before you mark me as a coward."

Death lightly considered these words, questioning the existence of this... Corruption as he turned away, crossing the bridge. As he neared the structure, the path split in opposite directions, ascending up stairs into twin atriums. The clanging he had noted earlier came from the atrium at his left and he trudged his way up.

This forge he approached was very... makeshift, he noted. There were tables piled with metal work, a central anvil- where another Maker was toiling away, a mask covering his face to protect from flying embers. There was another in the forge- a female with wild red hair tied back with many braids. She seemed to be monitoring the work with a careful eye. Death could only hope that this was indeed the 'Forge Sister' he was supposed to speak to.

The female's eyes widened when she noted their visitor. "Maker's beard," she murmured, "the rumors are true. A Horseman in the Forge Lands!" After she took a moment to calm herself, she continued. "The name's Alya, and that's my brother, Valus. We are the keepers of this forge." Her introduction was cut short when they both turned to the hissing sound as hot metal was plunged into a basin of water. "Tho' I reckon that means less now, than once it did."

"This is a Maker's Forge?" Death asked in disbelief.

"Nay." replied Alya with a shake of her head. "The Maker's Forge is closed to us. Silenced by the hands of Corruption. But in its depths we once crafted the Dark Towers of Hell and the Cities of Heaven."

"Now you make... trinkets?" Death asked. To this Alya laughed morosely.

"And you- one of the four- now seek the aid of makers? I guess we've all fallen from high places."

"I came here seeking the Tree, and your Elder speaks of fire." he countered tersely. "What is it?"

"Aye," Alya began with a knowing nod, "the Fire of the Mountain- the Stonefather's Blood- it once flowed into our Forge as did the tears. Both imbued our craft with incredible power. The Heart and the Soul of Stone. But Corruption has taken them, and now our forge is silent."

"Why does this concern me?" Death countered.

"The way to the tree is lost, barred by Corruption. You can no more leave this place than we. Restore our forge, and the tree can be reached." To this, Death's eyes narrowed.

"I don't follow your reasoning."

"We are Makers, not warriors- but we are not without our weapons. Before the Forge was lost, we crafted a mighty creature of soul and stone... a colossus to fight this Corruption. But, to awaken him requires a Maker's Key- and we need our Forge to craft one. Will you help us?" Death deliberated, but then begrudgingly conceded. After asking what would have to be done, he was directed to go to 'The Cauldron'.

"What is this... Cauldron?" he asked.

"A temple built in the shadow of Stonefather's Peak." she answered. "There the Fire of the Mountain was harnessed and passed into our forge." He was given directions then to ride east, through an area called the Charred Pass and towards the peak.

He turned away, ready to perform his task when he noted the other forge master- the silent Maker wearing the mask, still performing his tasks without a word.

"Man of no words, your brother." he noted.

"Hmmm," replied Alya knowingly, "but hardly silent. His voice is the ring of the hammer, and the roar of the white flame."

"Yes," noted Death, "he works, while you talk."

He was about to retrace his steps to commence with the task at hand when his eyes fell upon the opposite atrium, where a mist enshrouded what stood beneath it. He was not sure whether it was curiosity or something else that compelled him to look into it, but as he finished climbing the steps, he found that the atrium held a ring of raised stone and soil- but with very few greens and a shriveled tree. He also found another female Maker, one dressed in robes of light silvery blue. Her shock of white hair was gracefully tied into a braid dangling down her front and there was a lily sitting atop it in a strange fashion. As he neared her, he noted the stripe of light blue cloth across her eyes; this female was a shaman.

"We've been awaiting your arrival, Horseman." she noted, her voice humming with deep wisdom. "Your shadow has long hovered over this realm."

"Many know the Reaper, old one. But I don't know you."

"Indeed." she murmured. Her next statement was louder. "We are the builders of this world. But Corruption seethes at its heart, and destroys in days what we shaped over eons. Eidard does his best to soothe our pain, but our souls yearn for only one comfort. Death. We are without hope."

"You despair, old one... and yet raise life from the earth." he noted.

"I am a shaman, bound to this task even as our days darken- although I am certainly not the first, nor am I the only." Before Death could question that statement, she continued. "We are as the vines... coming to root, then to flower and then to decay, dropping seeds upon the dust. A circle everlasting. I cannot stop it... nor can I stop you." The shaman's words sank deep within Death, even when one question was still nagging at his mind.

"Tell me, shaman. What is Corruption?" he inquired.

The lady shaman faltered for but a moment, her lips tightening before she spoke again. "I only know what I fear it to be. That Corruption is hate, given life. And that hate does not come from trees or stones. But from ourselves."

"Tell me more of the Tree of Life." Death suggested.

"The forest around the tree has been Corrupted. It hungers. You cannot reach the tree, not with breath still in you." With that, he turned away wordlessly.

He retraced his steps back across the bridge, this time back up the steps. This time the warrior and the Elder awaited him. "Horseman, you'll find naught that way but trouble." claimed the warrior- Thane, Death quickly learned.

"Do what you must for your kin, Old One." Death replied. "For mine, I ride to the Cauldron."

Thane lightly chuckled. "If you fancy your Corruption waist deep, that's as good a place as any. Y'know there's a reason this gate is here. And, if you were a friend, I would nay let you pass. But then, heh," he began with a smirk, "who is friend to Death?"

Death let the jab roll off of him. He had not the time nor now the patience to deal with these people, compromise or not. "Have you any wisdom to share, or was it long since knocked loose in battle?"

"Oh, wisdom ain't like teeth. I've plenty left." Thane retorted. "Enough to stay clear of the Cauldron. The Ancients filled it with right nasty traps. but one so clever as yourself will surely elude them."

Death looked to the Elder as a series of harsh coughs escaped the Maker's lips. How long had he been like this? It could not be said for sure, but the Horseman knew that he would be paying this Maker another visit before long if he ever got out of here. "The fire is more valuable that I, Horseman." the Elder declared. "You should make haste to the temple."

"Fire alone won't save your realm." Death noted. "You speak of the Forge."

"Aye. Without the fire and Tears of the Mountain, without the Forge itself, we have no means to clear the forest and reach the Tree of Life."

"What then?" Death demanded.

"Our power is over creation. Yours, over death and despair. You are nephilim. Lord of Destruction. Perhaps, in that, there is hope."

"Just how old is the forge?"

"It is as ancient as the realm itself... and, perhaps, even older. It is said that the forge was the first thing we makers built. That in its depths... we shaped entire worlds. Yet still... there are things much older."

Death was left to contemplate this as he noted that Thane had already rolled aside the stone dial to grant Death passage. The Horseman left, leaving the Elder to stare after him.

"Death." he murmured. "A bad omen, yet our best hope." His gaze shifted to the sky and he chuckled as an amusing thought crossed his mind.

After traversing past the obstacle provided in a small pocket of water by climbing up to a smaller path around it, Death arrived at the other edge of the gate.

The sight he was met with as he stepped into the enormous valley caused him to halt completely. The valley forked into several different paths, like the roots of a tree. Just ahead, he could see the faint outline of the Tree of Life in the mist. What made him stop, however, was the very obvious roadblock in the form of a spiny, disease-black... thing, growing like a tree itself across the opening to the chasm housing the path onward. It was grotesque, spreading it's tendrils along the wall as if to reassure itself of its grip on the outer wall of rock at all times and search for any sign of life it could take. At the very center was a gleaming green orb, crowned by what looked like an inverting nest of thorns. Without warning, as if it were a head perched on top of someone's neck, the center moved slightly downward and Death noted that the glowing green orb was in fact an eye, with a darkened slit going right down the middle of it- now fixed on him. To anyone else, such a gaze would be chilling; to Death, it merely reminded him that he had a massive annoyance to deal with.

Without warning, the voices started up, whispering threats, uttering unforgiveable names and other obscenities in his mindscape. Clenching his fist seemed to quell such voices, even if for a moment just to allow himself to think.

Veering to his right- toward the east-, he ignored the stare of the monstrous organism across the way, even as it followed him. Instead, Death stepped into a rapid pace, raising his hand as his ghostly mount- a creature so dismal in appearance that the name 'Despair' seemed most appropriate- sprang from the ground. Both mount and Rider disappeared beneath the immense, ornately carved arch and down a winding path amongst another valley.

As he entered the next open area- in which he found more ruins that were built into the very edge of the cliffs- open to the pool of water below, he crossed the old drawbridge over to the other side and paused. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the split in the path; something about this felt off. His thoughts were confirmed when he heard a drawling voice coming from the path to his left.

"Over here." it stated. Death's eyes narrowed and he dismounted Despair, trudging up the path he looked over the pool of water. From an intricately carved stone in the ground rose up a floating figure with various bottles and scrolls attached to the various clothes dangling around its withered body. If the sight of its face- with glowing eyes and fangs protruding from a lipless mouth- wasn't enough of an indicator, the horns and mangled wings indicated this was a demon- one Death was more than familiar with. "Greetings, Horseman. And welcome... I've been expecting you."

"Vulgrim..." he growled tersely, "what brings you crawling out of the shadows?"

The demon merchant in question laughed mischievously. "I wouldn't want to lose my most valuable customer. Not to what lurks at the edge of shadows... So here I am, to offer my wares."

"What do you know that I don't?" the Horseman demanded. "I'm not here by choice, demon."

"I merely followed the trail of carnage." the demon insisted in a feeble attempt to sound innocent. "Your blades are as sharp as ever. Even still, I may be able to help you. I carry things others would... frown upon." The Nephilim knew that the Demon was trying to work to however little curiosity he possessed. It was how Vulgrim attracted his customers. "Go on. Take a look. You won't be disappointed." Death deliberated, but firmly pulled away.

"Another time, demon." he growled. With that, he pulled away and rejoined with his mount.

The second path took Death through another valley, arriving in a clearing in a wide forest. At another split in the path, marked by a set of ruined stone steps, he rushed Despair further east, past the constructs bursting from the ground. Those wandering around were subjected to a swung scythe and broken apart easily.

He passed under another archway. Just beyond this, the ground went out a few meters and then dropped off into a great canyon. In the distance, he could see a great volcano and he knew he was going in the right direction. But he stopped when he realized that where the ledge had likely continued on, there was now nothing of the sort, as if that part had been cut off clean by some enormous force. Death knew there was no way he could jump it, and the wall to his right was sloping- no good for scaling. He scanned the area and found a rather tall, but very sick looking tree. He approached the tree and touched a hand to it.

One swipe of each scythe half was all it took before it fell. Using the ghostly hands he could summon at will, Death meticulously placed the tree so that it could properly support his weight.

As he was about to step on the trunk of the fallen tree, however, several things happened at once. First, there was the snap of a twig, and then a sharp pain at the back of his head. He turned around, his blades flourished, but stopped. Standing there was not a Maker, like he had expected, but a girl who looked to be the size of a human. She could not have been more than eighteen or so from the look of her- with skin the color of buttermilk, clothed in simple garments. Eyes the color of a leaf filtering in afternoon sunlight glared back at him and wavy hair the color of autumn leaves billowed in the wind gusting between them. He looked to his feet and did not have to put two and two together that the good-sized rock that had hit the back of his head had come from her. Shifting his gaze back up at here, he noted with some puzzlement that something about this girl felt strange, though he knew not what, and he was sure it was more than just the question of what a girl of such a short and seemingly fragile appearance was doing amongst the Makers.

"I know that I am not the most well-liked being in this universe," he drawled, "but was the rock truly necessary?"

"Oh," the girl replied, "so the fact that ye just killed a tree bothers ye not?" she replied boldly. Before he could respond, she continued. "I suppose it did not occur to you that even trees possess souls. How could it? They cannae speak or truly defend themselves, right?"

"There was no other way across." he retorted. "Besides, the tree was dying."

"I was mending it!" she replied.

"So you're a druid." he concluded. "Strange that the Makers never mentioned you. I rest my case, however." He turned back to the tree, ready to cross.

"Oi! I'm not finished with you, yet!" she cried. Death felt a smirk grow beneath his mask. If there were time he could have spared, he would indulge this young Druid in a game of wits. Already he had barely talked to her but a few moments and she seemed like she could hold her own against him, to his amusement. "Kinslayer!" she cried out. He paused as he stepped toward the middle of the makeshift bridge.

In what seemed to be a fraction of a second, the girl took a blow to the torso and gasped for air as she found the wind knocked out of her and her back to the slope of the hill, pinned between it and an extremely incensed Nephilim. His eyes blazed as they gazed directly into hers, the sharpened blades of his scythes dangerously close to her thin neck. "I relented on the rock, druid," he rasped irately, "because I have witnessed many a time where anger has driven one to do something foolish. What I do not tolerate, however, is that name. Call me by such a name again and you shall not live to see another leaf fall. You know me by my work, and thus you know that I make no such thing as idle threats." He expected the girl to recoil from the threat of his scythes; what he was met with instead was a harsh glare back from those luminescent eyes.

"Go ahead then." she replied. "I'm not afraid of you." To his surprise, he found her to be right; there was not one ounce of fear in her eyes. He pulled away from her and wordlessly returned to the path he had started on.

'Do not attack the girl for seeing you as you are.' cried a voice in his head

'Traitor!' cried a second voice.

'Coward!'

'Killer!" chorused a third and a fourth voice. Death struggled against these callous voices, gritting his teeth to force them out of his mind yet again. On the wind, he almost heard what sounded like a light sob. Had he been his usual self, he wouldn't have turned. He questioned it in his mind as to why he did. What he saw was the girl kneeling before the stump left of the tree. Even from such a distance, he saw the tear drop from her cheek to the remains of the great tree.

As if she could feel his eyes upon her, she turned, their gazes meeting for but a moment before she turned away so rapidly and dashed back the way he had come from. He turned back with a shake of his head and then summoned his mount to continue along the path.

The air was hazy and unbearable as Death neared the mountain fortress. His eyes were careful and alert; already he and Despair had nearly been the unsuspecting targets of flying molten rock that shot off from the open top of the mountain. The confined space of the narrow pass he was now traversing did nothing for the integrity of cover from such projectiles.

Finally when the heat became more than unbearable and the choking smell of sulfur lingered in the air, he heard the cries of effort and the crash of stone against stone. He quickly dismissed Despair and dashed in, hands itching for the twin halves of his scythe.

There was another Maker fighting the constructs, bald and wearing little in the way of armor. If the unwrinkled face didn't give away evidence of his youth and inexperience, his clumsy, unskilled fighting style with a smaller hammer did. With a sigh to himself, Death ran in, scythes ready to disassemble. If the young one had any objections about the Nephilim joining him in battle, he did not voice them. It seemed in fact that the young Maker was glad for the help.

The Constructs were rendered to stone in very short time. When the dust settled, the young one grinned at Death before giving a hearty laugh. "The tales be true! A rider has come to the realm!" he cried.

"Not another one." the Nephilim groaned under his breath.

"You're the nephilim... the one they call Death. How did you get here?"

"Took a wrong turn." Death replied nonchalantly. "It appears I'm stranded here with the rest of you." The young Maker took no insult- or if he did, it rolled right off.

"If you seek the Cauldron, you should know that it fell to Corruption fair long ago. I can still feel the fire itself running deep in the earth."

"I'll take my chances." Death replied. He gazed at this new face. "You're different than the others. Less pleasant on the eyes, for one." To this, the young Maker barked a sharp laugh.

"I could say no less for you. Folks around town call me pup or lad. But I prefer my own name... Karn."

"'Pup' it is, then." To this, Karn shrugged.

"As you will... matters not to me."

"Why not restore the fire yourself?" Death asked.

"I came here just for that purpose-" Karn replied, "figured I'd pop the cork, so to speak- be the hero. But the Cauldron is locked up well and tight, and the way through swallowed by fire. You look capable enough- perhaps you can find a way. I'll wait here and guard the entrance."

Death's eyes nearly narrowed, but he suppressed it as he waited and watched Karn lower the bridge over the river of magma beneath them.

Phew! Alright, we've met all of the Makers- even Vulgrim- and Eleyna. I do hope that in the parts not included in the game I did Death justice. Like I said, he's kinda tricky personality-wise. I hope you also enjoyed the brief glimpse of Eleyna. There will be much more of her down the road, I assure you. Until next time, ^^.