In response to a private message we received, yes, the idea of allowing the Horsemen to take on a human appearance was indeed inspired by Strife's ability to do so. Additionally, it was influenced by an interview with Joe Madureira, the "father" of the Darksiders franchise. He mentioned that Darksiders 3 could have explored "an idea to do a crazy 'western' type story, where the Horsemen are mortals after the rebirth of Mankind, sort of an alternate future."
While that concept never came to fruition and we didn't keep the western aesthetic, we found it incredibly inspiring—and, honestly, way too fun not to incorporate in our own way! 😊
For those curious, we'll be developing this process a bit further as the story progresses, so keep an eye out for more details later on!
Aisling slowly emerged from sleep, cradled by the high-pitched whistling of the wind and the low rumble of a storm. Yet she felt warm, protected from any oncoming weather. A soft warmth pressed down on her. She struggled to open her eyes, her eyelids still heavy and sticky from deep sleep. The temptation to slip back into unconsciousness was almost irresistible.
When she finally managed to open her eyes, the place she found herself in took a moment to come into focus. It wasn't very large, but it felt oddly welcoming for abandoned ruins. The walls, thick and rough stone that appeared cold, didn't stop the room from exuding an almost cozy atmosphere. In the hearth of a massive fireplace, a fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls in rhythm with the flames.
She glanced down at the sturdy bench she had been lying on, relatively well-preserved despite the weight of the years. When had she closed her eyes? She remembered only the flames of Ruin in the night, the sound of rain pounding against her cloak, and War, against whom she had instinctively nestled for warmth. Uriel had led them through the darkness, a ghostly, almost unreal silhouette in the night. Then, nothing.
Hesitantly, Aisling pushed aside the warm fur. She shivered slightly as the cooler air of the room nipped at her skin. Her eyes swept over the space. Shelves lined the walls, laden with books—some open, others carefully aligned despite their visible age, faded bindings, and yellowed, cracked pages. Everyday objects scattered here and there betrayed recent activity. A chipped mug with a bit of cold liquid still inside, a stool slightly out of place, and some supplies stored in a corner of the room. Someone lived here.
"Oh, you're awake."
Aisling flinched slightly at the soft, familiar voice of Nimue. The little specter emerged from between two tall shelves, floating gracefully. She glided toward Aisling in one fluid motion before settling near her and embracing her without warning. Surprised by the sudden contact, Aisling froze for a moment before returning the hug.
"Are you okay?" Nimue asked, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes, her translucent face twisted with genuine concern.
"Yes… yes, yes." Aisling nodded with a faint smile, but her voice betrayed a slight tremor. "I feel like I'll be having nightmares for the rest of my life, but… I'm fine."
Aisling slowly sat up, shaking off the last remnants of sleep weighing on her limbs. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, regarding Nimue with a mix of curiosity and worry.
"Where's War? And the angel?"
"They're talking a little farther away. Don't worry, they didn't see me."
Aisling stood cautiously, leaning on the heavy wooden bench that had served as her bed. Her bare feet touched the cold stone floor, sending a shiver through her. She let her gaze wander around her.
"Where are we?"
"Somewhere safe, in an old human structure."
Aisling frowned, her eyes tracing the thick stone walls and the flickering light of the flames.
"My ancestors lived here?"
"Oh, not exactly," Nimue squinted slightly, hinting at a smile. "Come, follow me."
Passing through several dark, silent corridors, they eventually emerged into a massive hall, its ceiling so high it seemed to reach the sky. A spectacular glass canopy dominated almost the entire ceiling, and the pale light of the storm filtering through its stained-glass panels cast intricate shadows across the floor. Braziers placed here and there spread a warm, flickering glow, revealing a disorienting architecture as though the design of the rooms had prioritized grandeur over logic.
The walls of the hall were adorned with enormous paintings, some half-erased by the passage of time, others miraculously preserved. White marble sculptures stood here and there, depicting nude human figures frozen in heroic or contemplative poses. The vibrant frescoes on the walls, still brilliant despite their age, seemed to belong to various eras and styles, each telling a story.
Aisling stood still, her mouth slightly open, unsure where to rest her gaze. Every detail seemed to demand her attention, every work of art shared a fragment of a past she had never known.
"Your ancestors came here to be in awe," Nimue said gently, watching the young woman's stunned reaction.
Aisling slowly approached a winged statue, its base partially collapsed. She let her fingers brush against the smooth, cold marble. The figure was majestic despite its ruined state, and she lingered on the intricate details—the flowing drapery of a robe that seemed almost alive, the delicate hands, and the feathers of the wings, some of which had been broken.
"Humans made this?"
"Yes. Mankind has always had a deep love for art. Even in the darkest times, they never stopped creating."
Aisling opened her mouth to ask another question, but a murmur of voices suddenly caught her attention. She lifted her head, her senses sharp. Nimue discreetly motioned in a direction with a slight gesture.
"Over there," the specter murmured.
Aisling moved cautiously, her steps silent on the stone floor. She slipped behind one of the walls to observe discreetly, Nimue floating above her and doing the same. War and Uriel were seated on either side of a brazier. The fire danced between them, casting shifting shadows across their faces. The atmosphere seemed calm, but a palpable tension lingered.
"What makes you think retrieving the Essences of the Elements will change anything?" Uriel asked, her voice sharp.
"Ulthane seems convinced he can help replant the Tree," the Horseman replied in his usual steady, slightly gravelly tone. "He advised us to start with Fire."
The angel let out a furious hiss, shaking her head.
"That traitor… I thought you swore to punish the Destroyer and everyone who aided him."
"That is true. But Ulthane wishes to repay his debt to humanity. I will not take that from him. Besides, Azrael and he have tried to atone for their mistakes."
Aisling glanced up at Nimue, her expression questioning.
"I'll explain later," the small specter whispered.
Uriel fixed War with an intense gaze, her golden eyes glowing with a mixture of incredulity and challenge. Her expression held something probing, almost as if she were trying to see beyond the surface.
"You've changed too, Horseman," she finally remarked, her voice low but cutting. "A century ago, you would have killed them without hesitation. Now, you help humans? You coddle a child? You ask me for help? This isn't like you…"
War remained silent for a moment, his impassive face marked by the shadows cast by the brazier's flames. Then he rumbled, his gravelly voice resonating like thunder.
"I am no longer the Council's tool. That demands… a new perspective."
Uriel narrowed her eyes, still perplexed. She seemed to weigh his words, as if part of her wanted to dismiss them outright, but another part hesitated, troubled by what she saw in him.
"If you're hoping to find forgiveness at the end of this path, you might as well turn back now. There's no such thing for people like us."
"Not forgiveness… Justice… and peace."
These final words left Uriel speechless. She averted her gaze for a moment, staring into the flames as if they held an answer she couldn't find. War, however, continued to watch her, his massive, motionless figure seeming to dominate the space. After a while, he broke the silence.
"And you, Uriel? Is it really death you seek in these ruins?"
The angel slowly turned her head toward him, her expression hard as stone.
"What other choice do I have? I've been cast out, stripped of my soldiers, my honor, my purpose."
War narrowed his eyes slightly, his features still impassive but marked by an intensity that hinted at deep thought.
"The End War is upon us. Angels and demons are meant to clash in their final battle. Isn't that your sacred mission?"
Uriel hesitated. A shadow crossed her face as she seemed to search for her words. Finally, she took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to a massive painting on her right. The artwork depicted an ancient ship lost in a storm.
"The White City hasn't sent its army yet," she said at last, her voice tinged with restrained bitterness. "Only a few legions."
"We've noticed. Why?"
"I don't know… For my double sin, following Abaddon and breaking the last Seal without being commanded to, the gates of the White City are closed to me forever. But… something serious must have happened. Serious enough that the soldiers who've come to Earth refuse to speak of it."
War remained thoughtful, his dark gaze fixed on the brazier's flames.
"Hm… Who leads the legions?"
"Archangel Raguel. He was supposed to conduct negotiations with the demons. Normally, the forces of Heaven and Hell would send their champions to face each other. But… the past century has changed the rules of the game."
She turned her eyes away briefly, focusing on the brazier's flames, her face marked with a faint bitterness.
"Many among the Lords of Hell insist they've already won. To them, the current state of Earth is proof of their dominance. Meanwhile, the angelic regents claim the true End War hasn't yet begun, that the prophetic conditions haven't been fulfilled. The Charred Council has therefore ordered negotiations. It demands that the two sides reach a compromise to finally start the fighting. It's almost as if they're encouraging it…"
Uriel gave a joyless smile, a grimace tinged with sarcasm.
"How ironic… Normally, it's you and your brethren they would have sent to handle this, Horseman."
War, who had remained still until now, narrowed his eyes, his rumbling voice breaking the silence.
"And what excuses does the Council give to cover its crimes?"
Uriel held his gaze, her expression impassive, though her shoulders tensed slightly.
"There is no proof against them, Horseman…"
War straightened, a dangerous glint flashing in his crimson eyes. Aisling glanced up at Nimue, her gaze filled with worry and confusion.
"I don't think I understand," she murmured hesitantly.
Nimue floated back slightly, gesturing for Aisling to follow her. They quietly moved away from the raised voices continuing to echo between War and Uriel, the tension in the air almost tangible. Once out of immediate earshot, the small specter signaled for Aisling to stop. Nimue appeared to carefully weigh her words, her spectral form glimmering softly in the dim light.
"I'll explain what I know, what my kind learned while serving the Council, and what we discovered afterward…"
She took a deep breath—or mimicked the gesture of one, at least—before continuing.
"It all began with Archangel Abaddon, the former commander of the Hellguard. For centuries, he tried to convince the White City that the demons were a danger that needed to be eradicated. But no one was willing to violate the truce imposed by the Council. A preemptive strike would have been a direct affront to the Balance."
Nimue paused, observing Aisling to see if she was following.
"So Abaddon conspired. Along with Archangel Azrael and Maker Ulthane, he devised a bold plan. They would break six of the seven seals that prevented the End War. This would provoke the arrival of the Lords of Hell on Earth. And then, Abaddon would swiftly eliminate them, dealing a decisive blow before the war could truly begin."
Aisling furrowed her brow as her understanding deepened, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fit together.
"He hoped to win the End War without actually fighting it?"
Nimue nodded with a sad smile.
"Exactly. Once the seals were broken, Ulthane immediately repaired them. Everything appeared intact. After defeating the demons, Abaddon would simply accuse them of invading Earth unprovoked, justifying his actions to the White City."
"But it didn't go as planned…"
"No, not at all. When Abaddon led the Hellguard to Earth to confront the demons, he discovered they were far better prepared than he had imagined. He fell and was corrupted. He became the Destroyer, the leader of Hell's forces on Earth."
"Do you think he was betrayed?" Aisling asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"It's possible, but I can't say for certain. What I do know is that the Council was aware of everything from the beginning. They knew Abaddon had broken the seals and that he was trying to provoke a premature Apocalypse. But..."
Nimue made a vague gesture, her ghostly features twisting in frustration.
"They didn't act. Of course, such an action was a direct affront to their power, but responding themselves without sufficient proof would have weakened their position. To them, sending the Horsemen without solid evidence wouldn't have been a fair execution—it would've been a chaotic massacre. That would've violated the honor of the Horsemen."
Aisling tilted her head slightly, intrigued.
"The stories Fury told the first men of Nimrach speak of this. The Horsemen were accused of treason..."
"They were manipulated. When War was sent to Earth, the Council accused him of causing the premature Apocalypse. But in truth, they knew that War, loyal to his honor, would hunt down those responsible to clear his name. That served their purposes: War would kill everyone involved in the conspiracy and condemn himself in the process. A double victory for the Council, which would eliminate any challenge to its power. They only needed excuses to get rid of Fury and Strife."
"And Death?"
"He had disappeared. That wasn't unusual—he could live in isolation for centuries."
Aisling nodded slowly, her thoughts swirling.
"And Uriel? Where does she fit into all of this?"
Nimue made a gesture of apology.
"I don't know everything. By the time her fate was decided, I had already fled the Council's dominion. But here's what I believe: after Abaddon's presumed death at the start of the war, Uriel took command of the Hellguard. Then, a century later, War defeated the Destroyer, and she broke the final seal. After that, I suppose she took responsibility for her predecessor's mistakes. The Council likely banished her for that and for bringing the Horsemen into the conflict, something it had tried to avoid at all costs."
"She doesn't seem particularly happy to see War… Do you think she regrets that choice?"
"I couldn't say… though it doesn't seem like it, unless they've managed to finish killing each other while we were talking."
Aisling averted her gaze, eyes fixed on a distant point as she became lost in thought. She gestured for Nimue to follow her back to eavesdrop on the conversations between War and Uriel, which seemed to have escalated into disputes. When they leaned in again, the two stood face to face, their furious expressions inches apart, the angel's wings flaring with frustration.
Uriel stared at War with an impenetrable expression. Finally, she shook her head, her tone icy, as she turned away to prevent the situation from spiraling further.
"Once again, Horseman… you have no proof."
War growled but did not respond immediately. The flames of the brazier crackled, as if underscoring the silence stretching between them. He furrowed his brow slightly, his deep voice resonating in the hall.
"And yet, the Council itself sent the Destroyer to hunt down the last humans after Fury confronted it. And it was the Council's decision to exile you, the noblest champion of the Heavens, the last honor of the White City. Isn't that proof enough that they seek to eliminate anyone who knows the truth?"
Uriel lowered her head, her shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his words. Her face became more closed off, her lips pressed tightly together as if holding back a torrent of conflicting emotions.
"This war cannot be fought alone, Horseman," she murmured at last, almost reluctantly, as she sank heavily into a seat.
War regarded her for a long moment, then knelt before her. The unexpected gesture brought them to the same level. He gently placed his massive hands on Uriel's shoulders, his touch firm but devoid of threat.
"I told you," he said in a quieter, almost soothing voice. "I won't be alone. And neither should you be. I know how much you've lost, Uriel, and I have no demands to make of you. But… I need your help, once again."
The angel kept her eyes lowered, her wings trailing behind her like a cloak.
"The seed… Do you truly believe that replanting the Tree of Life will be enough to undo all of this?"
War did not waver under the question. His crimson gaze remained fixed on her, brimming with unyielding intensity.
"The Council accuses the Horsemen of causing humanity's fall. What better proof to counter them than to restore the Balance by giving humanity a new chance?"
Aisling, hidden behind the wall, furrowed her brow slightly as she heard this. She shouldn't have been surprised: from the beginning, the Horsemen had made it clear that they took no sides, that their role was only to maintain the Balance. But still… did they care about humans, even a little? She shook her head, pushing aside those thoughts to focus on the conversation, but a bitter taste lingered on her tongue.
Uriel finally lifted her head, locking eyes with War. For a long moment, silence stretched between them—not a void of words, but something deeper: a tacit understanding, a fragile bond formed through adversity.
The tension broke as Uriel stood abruptly. She brushed War's hands away with controlled firmness, straightening to her full height.
"Very well," she said, her voice regaining a sharp edge. "I can scout ahead for information about the Element of Fire while your human rests. But don't think this means I owe you anything. I make no promises, Horseman."
War rose slowly, imposing and impassive.
"She's not my human… One more thing… Have you heard anything about humans captured by angels or demons?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The world where Fury had hidden the humans was attacked. Most of them were taken by one side or the other."
"What would we do with human prisoners? That makes no sense."
"I know."
The angel said nothing, visibly unsettled by the Horseman's words. After a long moment, she simply gave a brief nod.
"Thank you, Uriel."
The Nephilim and the angel exchanged a final glance—a complex mix of defiance, respect, and something else, more fragile. Nimue tapped Aisling's shoulder, signaling it was time to leave. The young human hurried back to her makeshift room, and when War came to check on her, she carefully pretended to be asleep. She realized she didn't feel like talking to him, the sour taste still lingering, like bitterness.
When he closed the door behind him, she couldn't shake the unpleasant feeling that there were still many things being kept from them. Far too many.