I wanna write fluff. Like... Just plotless fluff. Sign me up.
Unfortunately, that won't be happening in this fic til much later. I've already got it planned out too, its gonna be great.
Y'all can request one/two shots though. Or just throw ideas at me. I'm down for that.
I'm also down for this post I saw on tumblr talking about the Horsemen doing the horse click when they need people to move because I can confirm that's a thing horse people do. My best friend is a horse person and she literally clicks at me and then gets super embarrassed, its adorable.
And, yes. I'm aware I have a type.
I hope everyone is super stoked for Ruin and has a fantastic day! ! Happy (early) New Years!
"Advisor." War greets, practically covered head to toe in blood. There's an aura about him that makes you feel uncomfortable, and it only takes a second for you to realize its the second Chosen's heart.
It had taken him hours to get everything finished, even with you yelling instructions when he was nearby enough. In the downtime you head made quite a bit of headway with your light, to the point you could zap a few of the bugs that came nearby. Granted, it just stunned them for a few seconds rather than outright killing them, but it gave you enough time to shoot em all down. You could've used your halberd, you know, but the idea of allowing dog sized bugs that close grosses you out.
It was boring to be honest. But you know it's for the best if you want to stay alive. The Stygian will probably require you to be a little more hands on though, and you're totally looking forward to that.
Not to mention Ruin.
You smile at the thought, glancing up at War excitedly. "Horseman."
He simply raises an eyebrow. "You do not usually use my title."
"Exactly." You hold your arms out expectantly. "Come on! We gotta go! First talk to Ulthane and then Samael and then we're going to the Ashlands and I should probably put on some better clothes because its gonna be all ashy and..."
You ramble on and on as War places you on his back and begins the trek back to the surface. Most of which is just half-asleep plans for the future and trying to tell him about Ruin without actually telling him.
He's not much for keeping the conversation going though, and eventually your exhaustion gets the better of you. You're pretty sure it's sometime between the main clock area and the final growth wall before the end.
You're only disturbed once, hearing a loud crash that has you blearily trying to open your eyes, but War's usual slightly angered voice lulls you back into slumber. You're pretty sure at one point War sets your down, and you whine about being "uncomfy" too.
All you know for sure is that someone is touching your hands when you wake up which you do not like, and War uses your name to calm you down. You relax again after a moment, blinking awake. War is off to one side, near enough to set you at ease at least, and Ulthane is the one messing with your hands. He looks to be comparing your ring fingers to a claw of some kind and...
"Oh!" You squeak, glancing around for your backpack. Fury will definitely want a picture of this. "Thank you so much."
Your hands are already half covered in armor, seemingly perfectly shaped to your forearm with room to maneuver, and the smooth material separating your skin and the metal isn't anything to scoff at either. You do notice that's it an off white rather than black like War's. And Uriel's, you suppose.
War seems to understand the puppy dog eyes you're sending him after a moment, and begrudgingly clicks a picture of your hands. He handles the camera with surprising gentleness, and you have to wonder if that's for your benefit or because he doesn't want to be the one to face Fury's wrath if its broken. Either one is endearing.
"So..." You start, glancing the Old One.
"Yer Horseman said you wanted some claws an I figure anything your size makin it through the Griever's Lair deserves at least that." He shrugs.
"I didn't really do much aside from dodge and complain." You laugh, yawning. "Geez. How long was I out?" You try stretching out your back without moving your hands too much, the loud cracking noise making both the Maker and Horsemen flinch. You snicker.
War looks downright perturbed, while Ulthane just grunts, "Doesn't that hurt?"
"'Course not. It's just, like, air bubbles between the joints popping or something." You shrug and Ulthane sends you a glare for moving. "Sorry."
"Stop movin." He replies. "I'm almost done."
You glance at War, who's still mildly disgusted with your human back-cracking. "You know, I think Strife thought I was dying the first time I cracked my neck. Never heard Death laugh so hard, to be honest."
This grants you a tiny smile, and a boisterous laugh from Ulthane. "Those Horsemen don't get out much, eh?"
"Only when murder is involved." You shrug. "Strife hangs with humanity sometimes. He thinks they're cute or something, the patronizing frick. Death is gonna be spending some time on Earth soon though. He's gotta collect a staff or something. Rod of Arafef or something. I don't know."
"Arafel." The Maker corrects with a snort. "It's angelic. They never do keep good track of their toys."
"Arafef is a much better name." You hum, glancing around the workshop. "Did you know... That the Maker's forge is up and running again?"
His fingers falter a bit. "Can't say I did. What of it?"
"Just thought I'd inform you. Death opened it back up. He's gonna kill the Corruption, too." You respond airily. "Or, kill it again I suppose."
"Not even a Horseman can kill corruption, little one." Ulthane sighs, clicking your claws into place. After a few more adjustments he lets you flex your fingers out and you nearly squeal in excitement.
"Fuck yeah." You laugh, curling your fingers experimentally. The joints spike out when you do so, and making a fist just became lethal. You can punch em in the face and cut them.
Ulthane laughs. "I take it yer satisfied then?"
"Of course! Gosh, thank you so much!" You cheer, barely able to contain yourself. "Wait, wait, I gotta make sure..." You start, grabbing your halberd off the ground. It's a little harder to get a grip at first, but Ulthane instructs you on the proper way to hold it when you slip. It's not harder. Just not what you're used to.
War remains quiet while you relearn to hold your halberd, only mentioning leaving once. He's actually a fairly patient person, although you're sure the leeway would disappear if you were ever to mention it.
At one point Ulthane asks about your halberd too, and you simply raise your eyebrows in confusion.
"That's an old nephilim weapon, ain't it? Too big for you at that. Where'd someone like you get it?" He elaborates, and it hums in irritation. You assume it takes offense to being called too big. Sure, it's taller than you are, but its yours.
"Death gave it to me." You say slowly, "Why do you ask?"
He shrugs, apparently satisfied with that answer. "Saint's Wing." He says matter-of-factly, eyes still on your weapon.
"What?" Is all you can manage, thoroughly confused.
He seems to think its awfully amusing, laughing as he explains, "That's what it's called. It's right there. Probably made to kill angels. Those nephilim had a... Strange sense of irony."
It's not a big leap to say 'strange' is used to replace 'weird as fuck'.
You look at War for confirmation, but he's too busy scowling at Ulthane. The Maker simply continues eyeing your weapon, as if he's mentally resizing it to properly fit your proportions.
"I don't like it." You finally say, your voice cutting through the silence. It's actually a very pretty name but... It's not yours. "I'm gonna pick my own name, for my weapon." You add, the tiniest bit petulant.
It might be a nephilim made weapon, but you're the one wielding it and the only human to do so.
And... You sort of planned on picking a name anyway. You've narrowed it down quite a lot since you first asked War about, but nonetheless. You're rather fond of two word names apparently.
"I'm sure you'll have time to figure it out, after you and yer horseman get off my property." Ulthane says, bringing you back from your thoughts.
You roll your eyes in response. "Oh, god, not you too." He's not my Horseman, he's his own Horseman.
And he'll be a free one, at that, if all goes according to plan.
Fuck the Council.
"Whatever you want to tell yourself." Ulthane responds, making shooing motions. If it were anyone else, you would probably say they looked super uncool. But it's Ulthane, and somehow he makes it seem vaguely threatening. "Now get out."
Snorting, you pluck your bag off the ground and put your halberd onto your back. "We'll come and see you soon, don't worry." You hum, looking at War and holding out your hand.
He narrows his eyes in response, "Don't make such promises, Advisor. He has a part in this."
You blink, simply waiting with your arm outstretched. You assume he debates leaving you to walk on your own as the seconds tick by, but he does eventually scoop you up.
"Thank you." You murmur, one arm snaking around his neck before you rest your head against his less spike-y pauldron. Honestly, you and Fury had planned on you doing a lot more running than this. Not that you'll complain. War's usual half-jog is probably faster than your run anyway. Dude is freaken huge.
"He sorta fucked up, but he's useful later, you know." You say as soon as the door slams behind the two of you. You're momentarily distracted by the waterfalls surrounding the Maker's home, eyes wide in amazement.
Then War lifts his brand new gun and you say, "Don't you dare shoot one of those birds, War, I swear to god." Okay, maybe god isn't the scariest thing to a nephilim, but the point stands.
He glances at you curiously. "You're fond of crows too?"
"No, I'm fond of birds in general. They're feathery and cute and occasionally terrifying. What's not to love?" You stretch out and pull his arm down (which you know you wouldn't have been able to do without War's cooperation), huffing loudly. "Freakin Horsemen."
War doesn't respond, and you pout irritably until you reach one of the gates and he's forced to set you down to open it. You continue the rest of the way to Vulgrim on foot, flexing your new claws all the while. They feel nice, at least. And having them gives you a greater sense of confidence. No lower demon is going to get the jump on you, no siree. Not like when you first arrived.
The memory makes you pause, trying to remember what your first words with Strife were. Something about War, you know, complete with the Strife typical cursing.
It's quite the shock to realize you've already started to forget semi-important things like that, and your eyes go wide. What were you doing before being thrown in here anyway?
It's getting hazier, to be perfectly honest. Good thing you keep a journal for the future, you suppose.
And speaking of the future... War is almost halfway there, right? Huh. You consider what's next on the list, and mentally go through your clothing selection for what would be best for the Ashlands. Getting covered in the ashes of your slaughtered kind doesn't sound like a fun time, despite its inevitability.
"Advisor?" War suddenly asks.
You glance at him sharply, "What?"
He motions to the portal to the Serpent Paths, one side of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile.
Oh, goodness, is that cute. It takes you a moment to respond, and Vulgrim is cackling in the background. "Oh. Yeah!" You agree. "Sorry, I was... Trying to... Never mind."
War, at least, doesn't pry, while Vulgrim is drumming his fingers excitedly when you glance over at him. "Something you'd like to share, human?" He hums.
You only manage a scowl before War is pulling your through the portal and out of his sight. "He is not worth your time." The Horseman chides.
"You are not about to scold me for starting fights," You deadpan.
"I wouldn't call it scolding." He responds, too smug than justifiable.
You lapse into silence as the two of you make your way to Samael's prison, only to be greeted with, "Did you enjoy yourself? War and the Blachammer, 'plucking pigeons'. I heard even the human helped out."
He turns his gaze to you briefly, sizing you up. You're beginning to wonder if he's just a little too interested in you, honestly. Maybe it's just the novelty aspect. Nonetheless, you click your new claws together (which could probably be interpreted as a mild threat) and move closer to War. The Watcher does the same, although you're not quite sure why.
"You see a great many things from inside a prison, Samael." War responds flatly.
"There is little you can keep from me, Horseman, once I have a mind to know it." The demon claims, stomping towards your little group.
"And what do you know of Uriel?" War asks as Samael takes the heart from him. You're thankful to be rid of that horrible thing.
At least Samael doesn't look at you as he laughs, "Oh, I thought the Horsemen were above such... Earthly pursuits."
"I'm not." You argue lightly, unimpressed by his less than original suggestion. As if War is really the type.
There's a beat of silence, broken by Samael's grating laughter. "Of course you aren't." He responds.
"But she's sorta accusing War of killing Abbadon so..." You prompt.
Samael gets back to the main point of this conversation fairly quick, turning his eyes on War and explaining, "The Hellguard worshipped their fallen leader and lord. And Uriel... Some say her admiration was less than professional."
You roll your eyes, although none of your companions pay it any mind.
"And she will stop at nothing to punish the one responsible." Samael warns, glancing over at you. Remembering the Death Oath you spoke of, most likely. You shrug in return. Not quite yet.
"I fought the demon that killed Abbadon, and he will be punished." War states it like a fact, completely sure of himself.
You can't help but wonder what that kind of self confidence is like. Must be pretty rad, you figure. Here you are, second guessing your every move and constantly worrying about dying or messing up the timeline, while War is just... Totally sure that he can do this.
"Straga is the strongest of the Chosen. No doubt you'll face him again, he draws power from the spire and won't stand to be away from it for long." Samael says, rehashing things you've known forever. "With all that I've taught you, you might even survive the encounter."
War scoffs at that, but at least he doesn't try to pick a fight. "What heart will you have, demon?"
"The Stygian is king of the ancient worms that now plague the Ashlands. It won't be easy, the worms grow well in such fertile ground." Samael continues, as if vague warnings would dissuade War.
"Fertile?" The Horseman repeats.
"All the humans are fucking dead, War, and they're feeding off them." You say, trying and failing to reign in your bitterness. It's so gross.
Samael snorts, "I could not have worded it better myself, human. However, you may be in luck. It seems some fool demons have taken to capturing the worms for sport. And they hunt... Other creatures."
You feel a smile appear, and you nudge War meaningfully. He glances down at you with one eyebrow raised.
"The strongest are made to fight in cruel arenas. The demons seek to tame the Stygian, not knowing that within the creature beats the black Heart of a Chosen." Samael appears undaunted by your interruption, dead set on explaining everything.
War tears his gaze away from you, asking, "How do the demons avoid the Ashworms?"
"You know of the Chronospheres?" Samael responds.
"A gift of The Old Ones. It is said to master the Chronosphere is to master time itself. One could stop time, or even move it forward or back." War replies, his eyes narrowing.
You almost add 'like Death', but you figure that would mean a lot of explaining and admitting that you never finished Death's storyline. That would be embarrassing.
"Indeed. None of the Old master's exist, but the demons have learned to use them to a lesser degree." Samael confirms.
"Hacked." You mumble, taking a few steps away from War. Instead you stand by Shadow, who has been weirdly quiet during this conversation. It seems pretty interested, just not... Talkative.
"I can grant you a basic understanding of Chronospheres. It won't be much. Perhaps just enough to avoid the worms." He says, doing just that. The bright blue makes you glance away, hissing about wanting to keep your eyesight.
"Is magic just naturally glowy?" You ask out loud, not really expecting an answer.
"It varies from type to type." Shadow says.
You nod in acknowledgement, wondering if it's going to continue. It glances at you curiously when you do so, tilting its head. That, at least, is familiar. The other Watcher's used to do that too.
"Certain races can do different types of magic, but most focus on one group. The Horsemen's were amplified by the Council." It explains, only to pause. "Humans are not supposed to be able to do any."
There's really not anything you can say that's not sassy in return, so you just shrug. Its right, after all.
War taps your shoulder on his way out of the prison, apparently having used up his allowed words per day. You follow him nonetheless, and cheer, "Are you ready, Horseman?"
There's a pause, and you think he's not going to answer only for him prove you wrong with, "Don't you need rest?"
"Nah. I slept pretty good while Ulthane got my claws all set up. I think I'm good to go. And..." You smile brilliantly. "We've kept him waiting long enough, don't you think?"