Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/War, Strife/Caim
Warnings: AU, Yaoi, Lemon, Mpreg
Chapter: 21
Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind
Author's Note: Sequel to Angel of War
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But Laylah had lost her son once; she would not lose him again. Four wings usually cost their owners dexterity and grace, but what few considered was that it allowed them a far faster 'sprint' than two-winged angels. Michael's treacherous son had only two, and was hindered by his need to aim his sword.
He was aiming for a diagonal strike, to kill the Fallen, who hopefully by the momentum of the swing be moved aside to open up Azrael. He had not considered his aunt propelling herself in front of his attack. He tried to redirect it, but failed.
His sword was nearly as fearsome as Abaddon's and his strength nothing to scoff at, his other parent being one of Heaven's finest warrior-Firstborn. She had failed to interpose the Rod of Arafel on time and the Heavenly steel only stopped halfway through her decorative breastplate.
On instinct, Azrael pushed aside his brother, catching the falling female as the Rod fell from her now powerless hands. Caim was in shock, seeing the start of the healing by her bond with his father. Only a fool would believe it would be enough to save her. Anger flooded his being.
His cousin meanwhile was in shock and reacted too slowly to stop the Fallen from going for the only weapon available. It was not his own staff, but it would certainly be enough to at least buy time now that people would have become aware.
But the Fallen had forgotten one thing; he was a Fallen and the weapon he went for was the Rod of Arafel, one of the weapons made by the Firstborn themselves at the beginning of their existence. As such, it was marginally self-aware: it knew the energies of its' wielder and would react accordingly. For example, when Lucien wanted to use it when he was Corrupted, it allowed and assisted the purging of the Ivory Citadel, but 'refused' to be much more than a mere conduit when he battled Death.
"Wait!" Azrael remembered this, grabbing the Rod to pull it from his brother's hands. It might well be what saved his elder brother from death.
When the Fallen took hold of it, the Rod would have burned him to a cinder after sensing its' previous wielder gaining a fatal wound. When Azrael's hand closed around the Rod as well, it became as confused as a weapon could be. The similarities between the two sons of Laylah had been oft commented upon, a common joke back in the day being that had Laylah not born them several centuries apart, even she might have thought they were twins.
Now, the limited conscious of the Rod was forced to deal with two near-identical energies, but one Fallen while the other was Pure. It could not burn, since one hand of its' wielder was Pure. It could not ignore, since the other hand was Fallen.
So it purged.
Holy light flooded the room, pure energy arcing between its' two holders and being drawn to the only active holy spell in the vicinity.
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Nearby, two Horsemen felt that last one. Sheer automatism and Fury's quick reaction allowed Strife to remain on his horse as his entire body felt on fire for a brief moment, while War's right arm felt like he had dipped it in electricity.
Metatron up ahead tore open his own house, the expensive marble raining down as he allowed the horses entry inside.
War wasted little time, following the two bonds he had with Azrael to the scholar. He found him crumbled to the floor, half in the blood-pool of the Firstborn. The Gatekeeper was conscious, moaning as he clutched his right arm. His sleeve had been torn apart by the energy released, leaving a few sad strips hanging from his shoulder.
"Azrael." The Rider rushed to his side.
"Mother…" The angel struggled to get to his feet as Fury sank down to look at the angelic Firstborn and Death closed in on the other angels in the room. Strife had stumbled to Caim, aftershocks of pain still reaching him through the Markbond. Unlike his brother, the Fallen had been knocked out cold, half-draped over the couch he had risen from earlier.
Outside, guards were flocking to the open wall, taking the angels in the room into custody.
"She's healed for the most part." Fury gently lifted the blood-covered female. "Metatron! Where are the nearest healers?"
"I am here." The last male Firstborn dove inside, shortly followed by the rest of his siblings. "Put her here." Rahab followed his sibling, pale as he stood beside his wife. "Iaoel is informing Michael."
"Quick question…" Strife finally spoke up, having manoeuvred his angel into a more comfortable position. "Do Fallen usually bleach when they get knocked out?"
The Rod had purged.