Darksiders: The Abomination Vault (37 page)

“Unless,” War added thoughtfully, “the angels have kept something from us? Something hidden there, like Abaddon’s sacrament bomb?”

“No. We have kept an eye on Silverwall since the assault began. The enemy has killed and destroyed indiscriminately. They looted nothing; they search nothing.”

“Then I am at a loss to suggest any other—”

“It’s a test.”

It felt, to Death, as though all of them—not only War and Panoptos, but the Charred Council as well, despite the utter immobility of the effigies—were now fixated solely on him.

“Explain, Horseman.”

“A small outpost, one that wouldn’t be exceptionally difficult to overrun but where it also wouldn’t matter if they failed … Hadrimon and Belisatra have found some
other
source, something none of us anticipated. This was a test, to ensure that it worked as planned—that it would, indeed, empower the Abominations.”

“Then your failure and disobedience are compounded further still! Your destruction of the Ravaiim blood, in blatant disregard of our orders, has not even succeeded in depriving the enemy of the Abominations! It has only ensured that
we
now lack the weapons with which to face them!”

“It had to be done.”

“And this is all you offer in your own defense?”
the rightmost column demanded in a torrent of flame.

“It’s all I require.”

“You will turn the Abomination Vault over to us—or, if it cannot be moved, you will reveal to us its location and means of entry. You will provide Panoptos with the locations of every battlefield that might yet yield any useful quantity of Ravaiim blood. We must be prepared for—”

“No.”

Even Panoptos gasped at that.

“Death …”

“I am as horrified as you—more so, in fact—that the Grand Abominations still pose a threat. I will do everything within my power to
end
that threat. But I will
not
do it by loosing yet more of the damn things on Creation!”

“This has gone far enough, Horseman! We overlooked your insolence once; it will not happen again. You
will
do as we command!”

“No. I will not.”

The pain, when it hit him, was like nothing Death had ever known. Chaoseater, Affliction, the fires of Hell, every injury he’d suffered in the Nephilim’s final battle, none of it could compare. It seared through him, utterly bypassing the well of strength and stoicism with which he held the agonies of reality at bay. Every iota of his body burned; his soul felt like it was being skinned by a dozen ragged blades.

He was on his knees, though he’d no memory of falling. The hand he’d thrown out to break his fall was submerged past the wrist in the stream of magma, and he’d never so much as noticed. He heard Dust fluttering around his head, squawking and screeching; heard Harvester clatter to the floor; heard War’s steps on the stone.

Above it all, he heard the voice of the Charred Council.

“This can end immediately, Horseman. Or it can persist so long that it must seem eternal even to an immortal. The choice is yours!”

“You … you will not kill … kill me. Will not … keep me like … like this.” Even his voice seemed to have ignited, for every word seared his throat as it passed. “You need … need me too much.”

“We need only servants willing to
obey
!
You are the eldest and most experienced of our Riders, Death, but there is little you can accomplish that the other three cannot match. They—”

“Two,” War growled softly.

“What?”

“Two, not three. Kill Death over this, and you will have to do the same to me.”

For just an instant, a new swell of shame swamped Death’s mind so utterly that the pain actually lessened.

“A noble gesture, War,”
the middle effigy said,
“But unconvincing. You do not truly mean to die here today.”

“Try me.”

The flames dancing in the eyes and mouths of the Charred Council abruptly went dark, showing only the faintest glow of fading cinders. Death sat up with a gasp he could not quite repress, yanking his hand from the searing magma and lifting Harvester with the other.

“Brother?” War asked.

“The pain is gone. Thank you. War, why …?”

“You stood beside me as we faced not one but two of the Grand Abominations. You understand them better than the Council possibly can. If you say that we are better off keeping the others locked away, I trust your judgment.”

Trust
. The word was a blade in Death’s stomach; he wondered, briefly, how much more pain he could endure.

“War, you—”

The fires within the idols roared anew, heralding the Council’s return.

“We have decided,”
the center effigy told them. Was it Death’s imagination, or did the rumbling voice sound vaguely sullen?
“Owing to your personal history with the Grand Abominations, we will excuse your continued lapse in propriety
.
This time
.
Do not try our patience again, Horseman!”

“I understand.” Death bowed his head as he spoke, but inside he exulted.
He’d faced down the Council; they could be made to yield
.

Good to know … for the future
.

“Death …,”
the totem continued as though reading his thoughts,
“you possess your greatest strengths at
our
sufferance. You walk the worlds at
our
whim. These gifts can be stripped from you. Not every consequence for disobedience is a matter of simple pain.”

All he could do was repeat himself. “I understand.”

“You will not be further punished, but neither can we
trust you further with this endeavor. Your judgment is compromised, and you both remain weakened by your recent travails. Fury and Strife will hunt down these enemies. You will stand guard over the Abomination Vault itself, lest Hadrimon and Belisatra locate it before Strife and Fury locate
them
.”

“It is, in fact, already defended,” Death said. “Some additional precautions wouldn’t hurt, though.”

War frowned darkly at this lesser assignment, but said nothing.

“Panoptos! Dispatch your Watchers. Contact Fury, locate Strife, and summon them both before us.”

“Of course, my lords.” The wispy creature circled twice, then swooped from the platform.

“Horsemen … Begone.”

Both brothers bowed their heads shallowly, Death stretched out an arm for Dust to perch on, and they departed as swiftly as dignity would permit. They’d remounted Despair and Ruin, and traveled some moments across the shattered earth, before Death spoke again. “You’re grumbling.”

War straightened in his saddle. “Sentry duty? All we’ve done, all we’ve endured, and the Council won’t even let us see this all through!”

“Calm yourself, brother.” The elder Rider gently shooed Dust off his shoulder so he could see War without a mass of feathers blocking half his view. “I can assure you, we’ll absolutely be seeing this through.”

War started, then groaned aloud. “You’re not seriously considering disobeying the Council
again
!”

“No.” He almost
—almost
—shuddered. “No, I’ve no urge to do that again anytime soon.”

Hooves smacked on soot-caked rock. The angry roar of flames drifted from over the horizon. The mounts drifted apart
from one another, passed to each side of a monolithic stalagmite, drew together once more. Then …

“So what
did
you mean, if not that you planned to go after Hadrimon and Belisatra yourself?”

“Where do you suppose they came up with their new supply of Ravaiim blood?” Death asked, apparently having missed—or chosen to ignore—War’s own question.

“You … I haven’t the first idea.”

“I have.”

Again the conversation lagged; Death appeared lost in thought, and War stubbornly refused to give in and again be the one to speak first.

“I wondered,” the older brother finally said, “what sort of source would be plentiful enough for Hadrimon to waste the time and effort obliterating a minor outpost, yet questionable enough that they’d feel the need to test the blood and make certain it would function.”

“And …?” War prompted.

“And I do not believe that Earth Reaver’s absence was due to its ponderous nature.”

War sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “You think they opened up one Abomination to feed the other!”

The mask bobbed in a shallow nod. “It makes sense. The Grand Abominations are constructed partly of Ravaiim remains. They’re old, desiccated, preserved—but if you squeeze even the driest fruit hard enough …”

“They’d eventually destroy the entire lot of them that way.”

“True. But not for some time, especially if they continually use the larger, such as Earth Reaver, to power the smaller.”

“Such as Black Mercy.”

A second nod. “They’ll run through the Vault eventually, but not before they’ve done more than enough irreparable damage.

“And
that
, War, means that they’ll be coming for the Vault itself, and the rest of the Grand Abominations, soon enough. Now that they know they can dismantle one to awaken others, it’s their only viable move.”

A grin of brilliant white split the shadows beneath the crimson hood. “You mean they’ll be coming to
us
.”

“Precisely.”

The grin faded. “Assuming they locate the Abomination Vault before Fury and Strife hunt them down.”

“Oh, they know where the Vault is. I think I told you, they’ve known that since the moment they learned of the Ravaiim blood.”

War’s jaw moved, but whatever protest he’d formed died before passing through his lips. “And you knew they’d make for the Ravaiim homeworld first,” he said instead, “because there was no point in facing your defenses and trying to break into the Vault if you got to the blood before they did.”

“Very good, brother. I knew you’d get there. Of course, that was before they—or I—had thought about tearing apart Earth Reaver to get at the blood within. But I suppose one cannot expect
everything
to go as anticipated.”

“So you’ll finally be showing me where you’ve hidden your precious Vault?”

“Not quite yet. It’ll have to be quick, since we’ve no idea when Hadrimon and Belisatra might move, but if we’re going to end this for good and all, we have a few stops that we must make first.”

T
HE ASHES SEEMED TO GO ON FOREVER
.

A light carpeting of fine particles over a thicker, more calcified sludge; a constant swirling in the air, biting at eyes and nose and throat, tossed and teased by perpetual winds; and always,
at the edge of hearing, the tolling of a forgotten bell. A dead world; a murdered world.

All just as Death remembered it, as he’d left it only … Oblivion and Abyss, had it been so recently? Even for an immortal, it felt a lot longer.

“Something …” War raised a hand, partially shielding his face, and tried to peer through the drifts of ash. “There’s something naggingly familiar about this realm.”

“You’ve been here before,” Death confirmed. “It didn’t look quite like this then, though we left it in an ugly enough state.”

“We?”

“Well, the Nephilim.” The Horsemen had turned aside from the others by that point, but as they spent much of their time trying to curtail the race’s rampage, they’d traveled to most of the worlds the Nephilim attacked. “This was the last world they ravaged before …”

“Before Eden,” War finished for him.

“Yes.”

They trudged through the drifts of ash. Despair seemed able to stride atop most of it, but Ruin grew ever more irritated as the powdery stuff sucked at his hooves. Once again, had any observers been present—and had they been able to spot such a minor detail through the impeding soot—they might have noticed the conspicuous absence of a certain crow. Wherever the Horsemen had gone between the domain of the Charred Council and here, Dust had apparently not accompanied them all the way.

“This is not a good plan,” War groused.

“So you’ve said. A lot.”

“Then why do you insist on following it?”

“Because, brother, you have yet to offer up a better one.” Then, at the continued chorus of somewhat less articulate grumbles, “Some faith, War. Everyone knows his part.”

“If your timing is off by so much as—”

“Then our timing had best not be off.”

More grumbling, which lasted until they drew near enough their destination to see that the low structure was formed of old bone. Dried blood mortared the gaps solid, and most of those bones appeared to have been sculpted and warped, rather than carved, into shape.

It could be the work of only one particular architect.

“This is your home!” It sounded almost accusatory.

“Be it ever so humble,” Death said.

War gawped a moment, and laughed softly. “Only you would lay your bed beside something like the door of the Abomination Vault, brother.”

“What better way to keep an eye on it?”

“And when you told me your home hadn’t drifted off to the Abyss because it was anchored …”

“Precisely. The Vault again. Worked out for everyone.”

“Until a crazed angel and his construct army invade your bedchamber in search of the damn thing.”

“As I’ve said before, War, you can’t have everything. Enough of this. Step inside, out of the soot, and make yourself comfortable. Unless my timing is, indeed, off, we shouldn’t have terribly long to wait.”

I
NDEED, THEY DID NOT WAIT LONG AT ALL
.

Their first warning was a dreadful keening, louder than the phantasmal bell, sharper than the constant winds. Death shot to his feet from the bare floor of the equally bare chamber. He slid Mortis over his left hand and made for the door, Harvester flying to his side. War followed only two steps behind, cloak billowing.