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corvusalbus93 · 2 months

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Unrest

Author's Note: A short, taking place near the end of the Nephilim crusades. It’s basically about how the Horsemen (or two of them anyway) found together, before offering their services to the Council. Here, Death learns Strife no longer supports their campaign of conquests, as the two talk, after the Nephilim take another world. Strife POV.)

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It had been some hours since nightfall, yet it was far from dark. Fires still burned all over town, some eating away at the ruins, while around others the celebrating Nephilim had gathered, to drink and feast. Their howls and laughter echoed through the otherwise lifeless streets to be heard far and wide. Strife tried to pay them no mind. Until recently he would have happily participated, but tonight he had snuck away and returned to the ruins.

It had taken him some time to find the house he’d been looking for. He remembered kicking down the door earlier that day, when the Nephilim army had taken the town. He remembered raising his guns only to find himself staring at helpless civilians. Two parents huddling in a corner, their small child between them, shielded by their arms. The look of horror in their eyes.

Strife tensed at that memory.

He’d stood there, fingers on the triggers, and for the first time in his life, been unable to pull them. And so he’d remained frozen in place, until one of his brethren had stormed in, pushed him aside and done what he could not. He had not fired a single shot today.

Now he’d come back, using the curved shard of some pot to dig up the little garden beside the house. Usually, he didn’t like getting his gear dirty, but currently he couldn’t care less that he was kneeling in the dirt. By the time he'd dug out a shallow hole, Strife heard footsteps approaching him. He didn’t turn around, as out of the corner of his eye he could see a figure emerging from the shadows, one of the Firstborn.

“Is it not a little late for looting?”

Strife’s eyes narrowed and he turned his gaze back to the hole. “Maybe I like the ambiance.”

“Careful. Remember who you are speaking to.” Strife was about to make some snide remark, but for once in his life managed to hold his tongue. That guy wouldn’t get it; after all, what could he expect from one, whose name literally meant ‘Death’. Still, the older Nephilim stepped closer, perhaps only now making sense of the hole’s shape. “A grave? I’m unaware of any losses.”

“It’s not for one of us, okay?”

“A native?”

“...a family.”

There was an uncomfortably long pause, before the Firstborn spoke again, the faintest hint of curiosity lingering in his voice. “Why would you care about them?”

Strife stopped digging. “Why?”

“That’s what I asked.”

“No. Why did we take this realm?” Strife got up to his feet and turned to Death, tossing his improvised shovel aside. “We defeated what few warriors they could muster, when we first arrived, but today was senseless slaughter. So, before I answer you, I want to know why.” This was bold, even for him. However, a growing number of nagging questions were keeping him up each night now. And his last job...no, he didn’t want to think about that right now.

The older Nephilim frowned. “It’s but another world along our path. We take what we need, what we want and move on, as we always have.”

“But what’s the fucking point?!” Strife snapped. “World after world put to the torch and for what?!”

He had seen them, realms and civilizations before the invasion, when he went on jobs between conquests. He’d seen thriving cultures, walked across the lush fields, been on words teeming with life. Until the Nephilim came to burn it all down and replace it with nothing. Nothing but ash and rubble.

It had taken him way too long to start asking why, and it troubled him that he had found no good answer.

“Are we just gonna keep doing this until there is nothing left?! Until all of creation is destroyed?!” It was the first time he uttered such questions out loud, and briefly he wondered, if shouting them into a Firstborn’s face was going to be his last mistake. It didn’t matter. Strife gestured to the house behind him. “These were civilians, parents, children...we had no reason to slaughter them!”

Death, if anything, seemed unimpressed. “You never cared before. And now you are trying to do right by them, pay your last respect to this family?” He sighed. “That won’t change a thing.”

“It’s something.”

“It’s meaningless,” the older Nephilim insisted. “Their souls are in the Kingdom of the Dead and won’t know about this. You did this to ease your own mind.”

“So it’s selfish. Is that what you are saying? That is still something.” Strife clenched his fists. “Now what? I’m gonna get punished?”

For a moment it seemed as if Death was sizing him up. “Tell me; what if there was an alternative to our crusades, another path our people could take?”

“I think it depends on what that entails. Are there new plans?”

“Considerations. What do you know of the Balance?”

Strife shrugged. “Not much. Know about the war between Heaven and Hell, laying waste to realms before some council stepped in.”

“Yes; before they could destroy all of creation.”

“Yeah, something like that." He put on a bitter smile. "Why? Are they pissed we’re now doing such a great job at continuing that legacy?”

The Firstborn folded his arms. “We’ve fought forces of both Heaven and Hell before. It’s only a matter of time before we demand their full attention. And that of the Charred Council.”

"That can’t end well for us. So what? We’re gonna make peace, settle down?” He had trouble picturing Death using his scythe on crops rather than people. He had trouble picturing what he himself would do. Strife was a killer, through and through. While his views on their crusades had changed, the urge to fight and kill was still there, probably always would be. Death seemed to think much the same.

“I doubt peace would agree with us. But you are right in one respect; as it is now, we’re just blindly destroying everything in our path. That needs to change.”

Strife recalled hearing him argue with others of the Firstborn weeks ago, though hadn’t caught enough to know about what. Was Death of all people, honestly sharing his doubts? And agreeing with him? It was nice and all, but it wouldn’t matter much, unless...

“Does Absalom see it the same way?”

Death’s eyes twitched ever so slightly, but the younger Nephilim caught it, nonetheless. “Not yet. He’s as stubborn as the rest of us. At least you and I aren’t the only ones, who are...dissatisfied.”

There were others? Somehow this revelation made Strife feel a little lighter. It wasn’t just him going crazy, or maybe there were others just as crazy as him. He was happy with either. “So, what now?”

“I’m looking into a few options. Ways we might end this.” Death looked over his shoulders to the fires, around which their brethren were still feasting, before he gave Strife a nod. “I’ll be in touch.”

With that he departed, disappearing back into the shadows. For a while Strife looked after him, listening, until he could no longer hear any footsteps. What options was he talking about? Strife somehow doubted Absalom would want to end their crusades any time soon, no matter what arguments the Firstborn had. The original Nephilim feared neither Heaven nor Hell, and probably not some council, no matter their authority.

In that case, how far would Death go? A coup? If he found enough supporters, it was certainly an option, though it would mean Nephilim fighting Nephilim.

Strife walked into the house. The bodies were still how he’d left them, huddled together in the corner, though the blood had long dried. He began to untangle them, carefully so, as if trying not to cause further harm.

How far was he himself willing to go?

Frankly, he wasn’t sure, but their campaign of conquest had to end, or countless more worlds would burn like this one. Or the Nephilim would eventually meet their match. Heaven, Hell, Makers; if they could make treaties, how long until they decided to put their differences aside just long enough to deal with them? Even if they didn’t, Absalom would eventually try to conquer the two kingdoms, of that he had no doubt. And that was a fight Strife was not sure they could win.

Whatever Death was planning, perhaps it was the better alternative. The smaller evil in the long run.

Finally, he’d untangled the bodies from one another, and one by one he carried them to the shallow grave. The parents were first, placed so they would be facing each other. The child was last. As he walked outside, Strife looked at the small bundle in his arms.

He had no trouble fighting and killing demons, angels, beasts, creatures of the void or any other warrior standing in his way; he enjoyed it, the bloodshed, the thrill. But not this. He’d found his line. Or maybe he had just finally realized that there had to be a line. It made him sick to his stomach to think how often he’d already crossed it, and before he knew it, he was cradling the bundle, as he stepped into the garden.

Gently, as if afraid to hurt it, he placed the child in between the other two bodies, before putting one arm of each parent around it, mimicking their final embrace as best he could. Nephilim didn’t really have funeral rites, not beyond just burning the bodies, which was the most common practice, since everything tended to be already on fire when they were done. But something about burying them this way felt right. The first thing to feel right in some time.

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This had been meant to serve as a flashback in my discontinued Darksiders Pariahs-story, but I thought it works as a standalone too. Hope you enjoyed.

#darksiders #darksiders death #darksiders strife #darksiders nephilim #darksiders pariahs

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darkdemeter · 14 days

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𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯 𝑰𝑵 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬

— 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒙 (𝑭) 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 —

────────────────┘

The Horseman is eager with gauntlet fingers plucking and squeezing at the triggers of his unrested spirit, a whirlwind of timeless spiralling. And by far, the more accepting - or at least resigning - to his fate at the tether of a watcher. He doesn’t exactly let his hesitation be known through the crack whip of his protesting joke, only for the Charred Council to be unamused by his antics.

Upon the moment of linking with you, Strife greeted you with an ounce of fondness, though his expression lay hidden beneath his mask, his tone is the only representation of his mood. And he seemed… happy, and rather amused to meet you.

All you do is blink with utter surprise, eyes aglow with your stun, he rumbles out a faint chuckle, “Not much of a talker, ey?”

Thus begins your journey across the realms of the universe with the gunslinging Horseman, his travels taking him far and wide within the stretch of a shortened window of time. Thankful that your bindings allow you to slink into the chasm of his vessel, you however, find it a little saddening that you miss out on so much.

For a Horseman who rides heavily on the winds, chasing adventure and anything that strikes his fancy, he also entertains your fascination and soon enough, he slows a little in his travels so that you may actually take in the surroundings.

A youngling amongst the watchers that far exceed your age and experience, you’re very keen to inspect every crook and cranny of whatever world you inhabit. You had thought that he’d hold so little time and tolerance for your curious nature; but you’re proven wrong when he too takes the time to explore with you. From turning up every rock to find what lies under it, to becoming mesmerised to the fluttery fields of flowery pastures and intriguing bugs that dance in the dark sky like stars. Not only have the many sights been a joyous experience, no less with the Horseman to grant you nothing less than equitable and uplifting company, but the massing of collected trinkets is something of a newly-formed tradition.

His siblings, in their scrutiny and judgement of this odd habit, find a level of distaste within it. The many collected odds and bits and bobs a tidal wave of obsession that they can’t fathom who started. But it matters little to the trigger happy brother. “What? It’s our thing!” he’ll claim loudly and without shame, only for you to hide behind him and away from their casted glares. “Aw, now look, you guys are scaring her!”

An impressive and still growing collection to this day, you now begin to find more personalised and thoughtful gifts to present to your rider, ones that you wish for him to hold onto. At first, he didn’t understand and would add them to your other found treasures, only for you to rapidly shake your head and gesture to him, holding your gift in hand, you move about like a frenzied ghost.

Laughing, he questions, “What’re you saying, little Watcher?... you want me to hold onto it?” With a far enthusiastic nod, he laughs and agrees to keep your small artefacts on him at all times. Pleased with this, he takes notice of the shy glimmer that thins the dark lids of your eyes, how your darkened shaped head will bow and your hands curl in together aggressively. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume you had a little crush on him.

Not too soon after, you are presented with small presents of his own. Ones he’s gathered in some far corner of the desolated chamber you’re investigating together, or a funny shaped piece that in your eyes, is a prized possession; and what’s more, it comes from your rider. He takes great pride, his chest puffed out and helmed chin held high when he sees how these small gifts entrance you, and you gesture in thanks with a smile unmade with a mouth.

Your silence, however, irks him greatly. He loses focus and rest over it, it drives him that mad. Dealing with the edge of his siblings can be a trouble all its own, all he wants is to talk to someone, to hold a conversation. His disappointment is more noticeable than it was upon your first meeting him, seeing that you are indeed not a talker; much to his masked grimace.

He tries everything to get you to talk. Just one word. That’s all he wants from you. And then he promises himself he’ll be satisfied. For some time…

Not that you’re distant and cold and quick to brush off his jokes and witty banter with a scoff or furrowed brow. You actually appear to be consumed with a heightened level of interest in what he says, the stories he tells you when taking short respites.

From the wide, unblinking gaze your eyes hold to him, he sees you hang to every word and he cherishes that. In fact, he does tend to over-dramatise his stories just a little - if only to see the wonderment flutter in your eyes. For a face void of many features that are reminiscent of his own, he can only count on the motion of your eyes and the glow they have when something excites or scares you.

And Heaven and Hell forbid if anything scares you, because that is a day of reckoning. Be it any fiend or beast, he’ll slay it. He goes above and beyond to keep you, his little watcher, safe and out of harm’s reach. When something makes you excited, Strife is one to note it down and repeat it later, and if that pattern continues then he’ll continue.

Each time he catches your gaze on him, silent, yet eyes pooled in your amazement for his prowess on the battlefield, he smirks under the protection of his mask. He feels empowered when you look at him like that. It imbues him with the strength and mindset that he can accomplish anything, though he already knows this, it’s different when it’s you who watches him.

Still making one-sided conversation, he eventually tries his luck again with another joke. “Alright, alright, little Watcher. Why is my brother, War, so serious all the time?”

With a kitten-like tilt of your head, you remain silent though he sees the cogs in your mind toil the answer. With a bow of your chin, you give in.

“Because he has no funny bone!” Strife finds himself in awe of the sound that emanates from you. A chorus of reverberating giggles and after what feels like an eternity, he cherishes the angelic hue and bounce of your voice.

“You’re so funny…”

#female reader #darksiders fanfiction #strife #darksiders #nephilim #darksiders 2 #darksiders strife #darksiders strife x reader #x reader #fanfiction #darksiders genesis #darksiders 3 #darksiders x reader #Strife/Reader

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