Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/War, Strife/Caim
Warnings: AU, Yaoi, Lemon, Mpreg
Chapter: 23
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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To Death, with his sensitivity to souls, whatever it was that Rahab did to his nephew felt sickening. Considering the Horseman did not blink at using Necromancy, that was saying something.
Beside him, Azrael had taken War's hand, clinging to the Rider as much as he could get away with.
Below them, it seemed as if the soul of Michael's son was being torn apart.
"What is he doing?" The Firstborn Nephilim hissed, leaning over to Azrael.
"Putting the soul in Limbo. Unable to ever regain a form with which he can interact, or pass to the Well. A little 'priveledge' of the Well-keepers." The Gatekeeper sighed softly. "Think of it as a permanent banishment from the Well. An Oblivion the person is aware of."
"Do I want to know often that gets handed out?" Fury demanded softly, a hint of terror in her eyes. Such a punishment, without any real oversight.
"Rarely." Azrael assured her, sighing again. "If you think it looks horrible, it is far worse if you are performing it."
That Death could imagine, if the feel from this distance was anything to go by. For angels, who honoured the sanctity of the soul like few other races, doing something like this had to be horrifying.
He watched as the body collapsed, Rahab turning away from it while shaking his hands. A look of utter disgust was on the angel's face, the bronze face pale like in sickness.
Michael closed his wings and tentacles, floating out of the arena and no doubt heading back to his tower to mourn yet another son that had died.
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Caim still felt the aftershocks of firey pain when he woke, laying on his side in a soft and sumptuous bed.
"Good morning, darling." Strife was sitting on the side the angel was facing, arms and legs crossed as he waited for him to wake. "Done hugging dangerous artefacts?"
"Whuh…?" The Fallen's Commander groaned lightly, letting his head fall back the bit he had managed to lift it.
"You used the Rod of Arafel… I have been assured that was a near suicidal thing to do. Am I that bad to be around?"
The fact that Strife was joking around told Caim that it was not nearly as bad as the Rider made it out to be with his other words. Though… why would he have taken the Rod of Arafel of all weapons? Suicidal did barely begin to cover that! Then it hit him, the sight of his falling and – most importantly – mortally wounded mother shooting back to the forefront of his mind.
The sound he makes was a tortured croak, his body not obeying when he demanded it get up.
"I am alright, my son." The soft voice came from a different part of the room and he fell back into bed in relief. The Fallen threw a glance at Strife, who nodded with a light smile. "Though I will agree with your little Rider… the Rod of Arafel is not a thing to be wielded by Fallen. Had Azrael not taken it as well, you would be dead instead of this."
It took his weakened brain a bit to register her words fully. Throwing a questioning frown at Strife, he noted in worry that the Nephilim looked highly uncomfortable. The black-armoured shoulders slumped lightly as the wingless male reached over, briefly caressing his lover's cheek before reaching for a strand of hair and pulling it forward so he could see it.
Caim's brain shut down. Instead of the raven-black it had been for more eons than he cared to count, his hair was pure white. Trembling, he hoisted one wing up, turning a bit so he could see the feathered appendage. It was just as flawlessly white as the wings of any other angel.
"What…?" The trembling grew worse, tears forming in his eye-corners. Promptly, strong arms pulled him up, Strife protectively encasing his angel in his embrace. The now former Fallen started sobbing uncontrollably, the feeling of the pure Heavenly energies flooding his being feeling foreign and wrong after this long time as a Fallen.
It was only after he calmed down a bit that his mother spoke. "The best way I see it – and the others agreed with me – is that the limited conscious of the Rod could not deal with both you and Azrael taking a hold at the same time." She smiled weakly as her eldest peeked over at her, looking more like a terrified child than a powerful Secondborn. "It's been stated how alike you two are… As such, it had the 'knee-jerk' reaction to make the two energies equal. It basically purified you."