#Strife being Strife
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Eden's Heir, chapter 4 - The Jump.
I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this. A lot has happened recently, not all of it good, but I'm still here, and will continue to be by hook or by crook! I've had to cut it into two chapters because the final fight between the Slag Demon and the Horsemen is taking way too long to write. Good news though, there'll be two chapters in [hopefully] quick succession. Hooray! Hope you like this one, guys, thank you all so much for standing by me and waiting so patiently.. I don't know where I'd be without your support. <3 <3 <3
Summary:
As you grapple with the horrifying, new reality you've found yourself in, Strife continues to torment you in the misguided hope that somehow, you'll spontaneously start to like him. His jokes are terrible. It's just a shame you have a weakness for terrible jokes. War, meanwhile, can't stop his eyes from wandering to your fresh, undeserved scar...
You suppose that when Strife said this would be âfun,â he was only factoring himself into the equation. Because for you, thereâs nothing very fun about having your particles ripped apart and rocketed through a portal which, according to modern science, should not and does not exist.
Well, modern science owes you a formal apology.
As it turns out, portals very much do exist, and theyâre a lot less fun than the media has led you to believe.
The experience - though you hesitate to give it such a mundane moniker - isnât⊠painful, per se, mostly because the whole process is over and done with so quickly that your brain and body arenât given the time to notice that theyâve been squished through one end of a worm hole, reassembled atom by atom, and then spat out on the other side.
Perhaps more disconcertingly than the feeling itself is the fact that when youâre hanging for that split-second moment in a space outside of existence itself, you notice that the temperature around you inexplicably skyrockets.
And frankly, youâre not sure which is worse⊠The stale, unwelcoming chill of the Void, or the absolute blistering inferno that greets you within less than a second of leaving it.
Before you can even open your mouth to scream at the unnatural process your very human body is being subjected to, the space around you solidifies and stabilises again, and an unexpected jolt shoots straight through you when Strifeâs metal boots collide with a hard, stone surface, jarring your stomach painfully against his shoulder pauldron.
At the same time, a wave of hot, dry air sweeps over you from head to toe, cloaking you in uncomfortable and immediate warmth thatâs downright oppressive, thick and inescapable, as if youâve just been tossed onto the fiery surface of the sun and left to sizzle.
Actually, now that youâve experienced both extremes, perhaps you are sure which is worse. At least that sinister demonâs Void didnât make you want to peel yourself out of your own skin.
Groaning miserably, you pick your hazy head up and suck in a breath that goes down about as well as spoiled meat, and then nearly retch at the unpleasant texture of heat sliding down the walls of your oesophagus like something squirming and alive.
Even the metal chain on your bag begins to grow warm against the skin of your neck, dangling down below your head near the Horsemanâs holsters.
âHot damn,â Strife announces, concisely putting a voice to your thoughts.
Your lashes are sticky from leftover tears, clumping together when you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to pry them apart again. It takes a few arduous blinks before your blurry surroundings bleed into focus.
You rather wish youâd just kept your head down and your eyes firmly shut.
If there were any doubts left in your mind that teleportation really is possible, they swiftly fly out of the proverbial window when you catch your first, proper glimpse of the surroundings.
Wherever you are, it definitely isnât the same place you were in barely ten seconds ago.
Bracing a palm against Strifeâs solidly armoured back, you lever your torso up slightly to give yourself a better view of the world around you.
It seems that the portal â your brain starts to ache as it tries to accept the existence of those â has spat you out underneath the roof of an absolutely gargantuan cavern.
Roving your gaze back and forth, mouth ajar, you notice the walls, floor and ceiling are made entirely of dark, igneous rock, and yet all around you, you start to spot signs of⊠Well, perhaps not civilisation exactly, but definitely an external presence that gives you the impression that this is a keep of some kind, dug by hand rather than time or nature.
Two, immense pillars stand proudly at the far corners of the enormous chamber, large enough to prop up the roof of a veritable mountain.
Craning your neck back until it twinges, you squint through a haze of simmering air at the ceiling far above you, feeling a trickle of dread creep down into the pit of your stomach.
Bolted into the rock between the stalactites, there are numerous, gigantic chains hanging like eerie sentinel over your heads, so large and heavy that it doesnât look as though anything short of gale-force winds could cause them to sway. You donât dare to imagine what purpose they might serve.
Pale, unreachable light trickles lazily down from above, dappling little patches of the grey stone underneath Strifeâs boots.
With your heart wedged in your throat, you swallow another curl of heat and let your gaze wander over to the side of the keep to where the ground falls away in a sheer drop several feet from the walls. Itâs from the resulting pit that a vivid, orange glow rises, carrying with it the distinct sound of cracking, like glass windows slowly splintering apart, or a lake of ice breaking under a heavily placed boot. And below that sound, a deep, subterranean rumble serves as the background noise to this stifling place, constant and oozing.
Coupled with the acrid stench permeating your nostrils and the sweltering heat, youâre suddenly struck by the very disconcerting but plausible notion that you might have found yourself in the heart a volcano.
As if your day wasnât horrendous enough.
All of a sudden, your ears are pricked by a low grunt from somewhere just a little too close to you, reminding you of your larger tormentorâs presence with a nauseating pang to the stomach. Consequentially, the unsightly welt on your forearm gives an insistent twinge.
Twisting your head to the left, you nearly jump out of your skin to find War has appeared out of thin air beside you, straightening to his full domineering height that easily clears his brother, and subsequently, you. The hooded behemoth only spares you a disinterested glance before his pale, blue eyes dart away again just as quickly and he stomps around to Strifeâs front, out of view.
A breath you didnât know you were keeping behind your teeth shakes itself loose.
You have to peel your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth like a strip of velcro before youâre able to form a small, hesitant question in a voice baked hoarse and thin. âWhat is this place?â
No sooner has your meek question faded below the rumble of the cavernâs ambiance than an entirely new and harrowing sound punctures the otherwise quiet air.
Howling along the cavern walls comes a piercing, anguished scream, stemming from a place much deeper than youâve already seen. Itâs a raw sound, broken and terrified and primal, like a man with his humanity stripped and skewed just enough that he canât quite be called human any longer. It prompts a sharp gasp out of you as the sound ricochets off the rocks, curdling your blood and raising the finer hairs on the back of your neck.
As if heâs entirely unconcerned with such a horrifying occurrence, Strife plants his free hand squarely on a hip and draws in a deep, obnoxious breath through his nose before he sighs it all out again, casting a casual glance around with all the air of a man surveying a pleasant sunrise.
âAhh~ Screams of suffering, chains hanging from the ceiling, no sign of an exitâŠâ he sighs wistfully, clapping the back of your thigh with his palm and announcing, âYep! Weâre definitely in a dungeon.â
He seems oblivious to your apprehension as you dart your eyes to every darkened corner of the cavern as if you might find the source of the tormented scream, curling your legs up under your dress until your knees bump against the Horsemanâs chest. âA-a dungeon!?â you gulp, kneading your fingers between the gaps of Strifeâs armoured spine, âA dungeon for what?â
Distracted for a fleeting moment by the foreign sensation of fingertips pressing against his leather under-armour, the Horseman almost forgets to respond.
It isnât until he notices Warâs expectant glare burning a hole into the side of his visor that he gives his head a shake and promptly shrugs his massive shoulders, swinging himself around to face away from his brother, and in doing do, bringing you almost nose to chest with the surly giant.
âBeats me,â he hums, utterly heedless of the fearsome stare-down currently happening just behind his head, âProbably for the poor bastard we just heard screaming... And a few others, to boot.â
Angling your head up, you have to gulp past a rather thick lump in your throat as you peer meekly up at War, who in turn, glares right back down at you, his eyes glinting ominously from within the shadow of his hood.
Reluctant to drop your gaze or even breathe for fear of provoking him by committing some unknowable slight, you shrink against Strife and duck your head, peeping up at him through your lashes as you tap your forefinger against one of the silver armour pieces interlocking across your captorâs back.
âUm,â you start, hearing Strifeâs helm brush against your dress when he turns to listen, âC-can you, uh, put me down nowâŠâ Then, following a notable stretch of deafening silence, you squeakily tack on a hurried, âPlease?â
Thereâs no guarantee that being on the ground will be any better for you than dangling over an uncomfortable, metal shoulder, but youâre at least willing to entertain the illusion that youâll be safer on your feet without Strife dictating your every move. A modicum of control is better than none at all.
And truthfully, youâd just like to end the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of distraught potatoes.
Yet for some, inane reason, the armour-clad Horseman doesnât seem as eager to relinquish you as you are to be relinquished.
âAw, whatâs the matter?â he drawls, bumping his shoulder up and down playfully, no doubt to pull a rise out of you which you frustratingly give him in the form of a gasp before he continues, âYouâre not afraid of heights, are you?â
Still glaring down at you, unimpressed, War gives an exasperated huff, blasting a jet of warm air onto the crown of your head.
âPut her down,â he states firmly, lifting his gaze from you at last, âYou will need both hands free if we run into trouble.â
Knocking his head back over a shoulder to address you, Strife grins beneath his helm and murmurs, âHa. Youâd be amazed what I can pull off one-handed.â
Trying your best to ignore his boast, you roll your eyes and start to squirm, wriggling around under the weight of his arm. âUgh,â you complain, âWill you please just put me down?â
âMmmâŠâ Humming obnoxiously, Strife sucks his teeth and replies, âDepends. You gonna try and run away again?â
That, at least, gives you something to consider. Are you going to try and run again? They certainly havenât given you much of a reason not to.
The scar War gave you still burns when you bend your arm a certain way and the flesh pulls and stretches beyond the limits of the tissue.
More to the point, how do you really know any of what theyâve told you is true?
How do you know youâre not on Earth right now, somewhere remote, yes, but escapable. Because they told you youâre not?
You donât know these giants from Adam.
You canât trust anything they say. You donât trust anything they say. And while youâve undeniably found yourself smack-dab in the middle of some seriously unnatural goings on, that doesnât mean you have to accept everything at face value.
Reality might be breaking apart around you, but you donât have to join it, tempting though it may be to curl up into a ball and sob until the problem sorts itself out.
Desperate, your brain falls into a tailspin as it tries to rationalise such irrational circumstances.
Outwardly however, youâre aware heâs waiting for a response, so, sweeping your tongue nervously over your bottom lip, you finally croak out a hesitant, âNo?â
The silence that follows is damn near chilling.
Twisting your neck up and back over your shoulder, you catch the shine in one of Strifeâs luminous eyes peering at you, narrow and thin with obvious scepticism.
 âHuh,â he says, clicking his tongue, âThat didnât sound very convincing. Iâm not very convinced.â Casting a look over at his brother, he adds, âWar, are you very convinced?â
Predictably, Warâs only response is to glower down at the shorter Horseman and grumble impatiently at the back of his throat.
Nonplussed, Strife returns his attention to you. âI donât think heâs very convinced.â
You have to press your lips into a firm, immoveable line and swallow back the vulgar words youâd just love to spew all over his shoulderâŠ. Instead, you heave in a hot, arduous breath and slowly reiterate, âNo. I wonât try to run away.â Then for added measure⊠âAgain.â
You loathe that you can feel the scrutiny of not one, but two apocalyptic beings boring into the side of your head with suspicious, calculating glares.
Just as youâre beginning to consider whether pulling his hair will get him to drop you or kill you, Strife suddenly perks up, his sinister doubt disappearing as he raises his chin to pipe, âAâright. Good enough for me.â
Taken wildly aback, you let your mouth hang open whilst Strife simply raises his arms and lays two oversized hands on your hips, causing your jaw to snap shut before you can emit an embarrassing squeak of fright.
With far too much ease, the Horseman lifts you up and off his shoulder.
The moment you lose the stability of his armour under your stomach, you begin to tilt forwards. Choking on a gasp, you throw your hands up and brace them on each of his forearms.
âDonât worry, I gotcha,â he chuckles brightly, to your immense dismay.
Itâs a disconcerting sight. From the tips of your fingers to the heels of your palms, your hands donât even wrap halfway around his armoured wrists.
Gawking down at your appendages, they seem so lost against the enormity of the arms that lower you gently to the ground.
As soon as the soles of your shoes touch a solid surface again, you waste no time in ripping your hands away from him and staggering backwards, trying but failing to extract yourself from his sturdy grasp.
Before you can get very far at all, fingers of solid steel bury themselves into your dress at the hip and you jerk to an immediate halt for fear of tearing the fabric by struggling. Arms held aloft to avoid touching his own again, you throw a wary look up at Strifeâs visor, reluctantly meeting those sharp, alien eyes and finding theyâve narrowed to thin lines of gold, gleaming brightly against the shadows cast by his helm.
âYouâre gonna have to get used to sticking close to one of us, kid,â he warns, his tone brooking no argument and devoid of any previous jocularity, âCause as nasty as you think we are, I guarantee thereâre things in here that are a thousand times worse.â
The well you typically draw your courage from ran dry long ago, long before you came here, long before you quietly agreed to marry Cain. So, you arenât sure where you find the nerve to jut out your chin and bitterly remark, âWorse than trying to slice off my limbs?â
Sudden movement freezes you in your shoes as War emerges from behind his brother, moving to stand at his side and swallowing you up in the egregious shadow he casts across the ground.
Ignoring his approach, the gunslinger continues to hold you still.
âYeah,â he replies simply, âA lot worse.â
Squeezing your lips into a tight, anxious pout, you swallow, unnerved by the way his gaze instantly dips to watch your throat bob around the undulating motion.
Gradually, you lower your head, losing the defiance of a jutting chin to instead tuck it timidly away against your chest, consumed by the sudden and unwarranted ideas that start to flash in your mindâs eye, showing you gruesome fates that could await you just around the corner.
If two gigantic maniacs wielding guns and a sword arenât the worst you could faceâŠ
Just what the Hell have you walked into?
Regarding you closely for a few more moments, Strife eventually gives his head a satisfied bob, deeming that youâve read him loud and clear.
Gingerly, he starts to peel his fingers from your dress, wincing when the gaps in his gauntlets pinch the delicate fabric as he returns his hands to his sides. Regardless, all of his muscles remain bunched, ready to spring into action at the first sign that you might go back on your word and attempt to flee after all.
Heâs almost more caught off guard when you donât move.
Instead, you murmur a soft, âThank you,â which just about smacks the jaw clean off his face. Staring down at you, his lips parted by a fraction, he watches you fiddle with a jewelled band of gold sitting at the base of one of your fingers for several seconds before he remembers to blink.
Indifferent, and admittedly ignorant of his sudden bout of silence, you try to distract yourself by absently brushing the palms of your hands over your dress, tutting softly at the creases and rumples in the tulle.
Itâs all you can think to do now that youâve got a little freedom back.
Nearby, War shifts his immense weight to stand even closer to Strifeâs flank, and together, the brothers share a sidelong glance before returning their attention to the fussy, little human in front of them.
Even with the helm obscuring most of Strifeâs angular features, War only needs to take one glance at his profile to catch the distinct and unmistakable gleam of fascination bleeding through the cracks in his armour.
Typical Strife, he scoffs to himself. The minute something new and shiny comes along, itâs all he seems to be able to think about. And there are very few things newer and shinier than a lost human dressed from head to toe in sparkling, white garb.
Hauling his eyes up towards the cavernous ceiling, War lets out an exasperated sigh and brusquely elbows Strife aside, sweeping him backwards with the palm of his prosthetic gauntlet, much to his brotherâs belligerence.
âHey!â he barks, though he goes entirely ignored.
Stepping sideways into the spot Strife had once occupied, War places his back to the smaller Nephilim and clears his throat, curious at the way you quickly stiffen like a prey animal and gradually lift your head.
He stands so close that you have to tip it all the way back before youâre even able to meet his eye, reminding him of how much smaller humans are. Smaller, and weakerâŠ
The colossal Horseman almost canât quite believe that for a member of a species so vulnerable, you donât seem to possess any weapons. Natural or otherwise.
His eyes drift down to the long, pink line heâd marked you with. You hadnât tried to claw or bite or do much of anything to stop him, not that it would have made an iota of difference. You were helpless⊠And heâŠ
A pair of snowy white brows twitch microscopically inwards.
âDo you know how to fight?â he utters at last, lifting his gaze to meet your otherworldly stare. He doesnât miss how you seem to be fixated on something behind his crimson hood, and if he has to hazard a guess, youâre staring directly at Chaoseaterâs hilt.
Pulling a face, you look back at him and croak, âI⊠I-Iâm sorry?â
Briefly wondering why in the nine Hells youâre apologising, he presses, âHave you any weapons training?â When all he receives it a blank stare, he casts his mind about for something primitive youâll have heard of and adds, âSwords? AxesâŠ? Bows?â
âGuns?â Strife eagerly pipes up from somewhere behind him.
Heaving an irritated sigh, War half turns his head over a shoulder and snaps, âShe is a human. She doesnât know what guns are.â
âI⊠What?â you peep, wrenched from your stupor by the absurdity of his declaration, âUh⊠Yes, I do.â
Bemused, War raises his brow at you and retorts, âNo, you do not.â
For a moment, youâre so dumbstruck by his apparent ignorance that you forget how much larger and more dangerous he is, enough that you pluck up the gall to scoff at him and insist, âUh. Iâm pretty sure I do? Humans have been using guns for centuries.â
Raising your hands, you start to knock a list off your fingers, unaware of the behemothâs eyes growing wide.
âShotguns, rifles, pistols-â you state, pausing to throw a hand out and gesture at the guns in Strifeâs leather holsters. Â âRevolvers-!â
Youâre unprepared for War to suddenly move forwards, instantly cutting off your rambling list and sending your glimmer of nerve scurrying back down your throat as he leans towards you, filling your field of view with his indomitable, ferocious scowl.
On a reflex, you tilt backwards with a hand on your chest, blinking owlishly up into the depths of his hood.
âHow could you possibly know about firearms?â he demands, the sigil on his forehead burning with fiery heat as his temper flares.
Shaking your head rapidly, you stammer out, âI.. I donât, Iâm not-â
â-Hey,â Strife tries to interject, âCâmon, War. Youâre scarinâ her.â
Disregarding his brother, the Horseman raises his voice and growls, âWho has been supplying you?! Speak!â
Your hands wring together as you try to form an answer, struggling in the face of someone who has proven they have no qualms about hurting you. But all you can produce is another pitiable whimper. âNobody! We just-â
Before you can utter another sound, a large, silver hand suddenly appears over Warâs shoulder, grabbing the metal pauldron thatâs been forged in the likeness of a snarling face and tugging him away from you.
âWar!â Strife barks, trying to wrench his brother around to face him, âI said back off.â
Savagely tearing his arm out of his grasp, War rounds on him, nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Flinging his arm out towards you indicatively, he bellows, âIf humans are being supplied with weapons-!â
â-Then whyâre you takinâ it out on her, and not the asshole trying to arm her species?â
Warâs teeth click shut, his shoulders heaving with every breath he pulls into his train carriage chest.
Letting out a sigh, Strife sends a sideways glance at you, lowering his voice to add, âCome on. Look at who youâre trying to intimidate.â
Begrudgingly, War follows his brotherâs line of sight.
Youâre well aware you arenât exactly giving humanity a good name right now, shivering like a wet leaf and holding your injured arm guardedly against your chest, all the while stifling a sob and eyeing War as if heâll draw his sword and run you through at any moment.
For several, terrible seconds, the Horsemanâs sneer remains locked in place, rigid and threatening, but as he watches you cower away from him, something in Warâs almighty resolve shuddersâŠ
And yields.
Slowly, at a pace that would make a glacier yawn, his hard snarl recedes.
âSee,â Strife points out, âYou just look like a dick.â
The furious expression is back on Warâs face in the blink of an eye, but at least this time, he aims it at his brother, opening his mouth to suck down a sharp breath, ready to berate himâŠ
Rocks skitter across the ground somewhere too close for comfort, snatching the attention of your unlikely troop.
As one unit, Strife and War spin towards the far end of the chamber where the noise had come from, reaching for their weapons and placing their broad, armoured backs to you.
It would be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it, if you werenât frozen solid by the prospect of running into whatever made these juggernauts so jumpy.
The former Horseman draws both of his guns from their holsters so quickly, your eyes can barely keep track of the movement. War, in the meantime, takes a gigantic step backwards as he swings his accursed sword over his shoulder, crowding you into a clumsy retreat to avoid having your toes stepped on.
Frantic, you try to peer through the gap between the titans, scanning the chamber walls for any sign of life.
âWhat the hell was that?â you canât help but whisper-shout, hardly daring to breathe.
Neither of them replies for a time, not even Strife, who has his revolvers aimed out at the room, his arms still as statues as if he isnât even vaguely affected by the weight of his guns.
Seconds tick by at an agonising pace, and the three of you wait, and wait, straining your ears to try and pick up another sound. But aside from the crackle of lava cooling as it hits the air, everything remains perfectly still and silent once more. Â
After another minute, War grunts, lowering his sword and casting a dark look up at the ceiling. âWeâve lingered here for too long,â he remarks, half turning to peer down at you again, his eyes skimming over you from head to toe.
âSo,â he starts, âYouâve handled guns?â
Shaking your head, you hold your hands out helplessly and say, âNo, I mean, I know about them, but I-Iâve never actually shot one.â
âI could teach you,â Strife pipes up, thrusting the revolvers back into their holsters with casual ease.
âNow is hardly the time, brother,â War snaps, still eyeing you pensively.
Something very strange has been hovering about you like a miasma ever since you crashed into his brother in the Void. Something unplaceable that he canât quite put his finger on. You are human, that much is confirmed, but youâre not like any human heâs ever heard of. Itâs a troubling notion, that some unseen force might be trying to arm your species. If thatâs the case, theyâll need to figure out who. Then why.
But in the meantime, he and Strife have a job to do, here and now.
First thingâs firstâŠ
â⊠Never handled a weapon,â he murmurs aloud.
It makes sense, he concedes. Humans arenât a war-faring species, so itâs little wonder that you donât know how to use weapons⊠For War, however, a Nephilim who has been holding a blade since the day he was risen from dust, the concept seems so alien, not to mention disconcerting.
Inclining his head, he gives you another once-over before turning away, stating matter-of-factly, âYou will be a liability.â
Itâs such a blasĂ© statement, accusing, as if youâre culpable of something youâve had no control over thus far. It actually makes you recoil as you draw your head back to fix him with an incredulous frown, lips parted, and your brows furrowed heavily above your eyes.
Despite every fibre of your being telling you that thereâs a terrible idea forming at the back of your mind, you take a step away, lean your weight on your heel, and start to size him up.
Now, youâve picked some battles before, tried to stand up to people you had no business standing up to. Cain and Delilah nipped that streak in the bud back when you thought asserting your opinion on matters of marriage should make a difference. Those battles were wildly different from this one, and you lost, every time, worn down and beaten back from the woman you used to be by wills stronger and more tempered than yours. You used to think you could face the world bravely, and all it took were a few people to show you that you werenât as strong as you liked to think you were. It humbled you, and over time, you learned an easier life was synonymous with a passive life.
But youâve been passive a lot lately.
Maybe youâve been running on cold feet for too long. Maybe this whole, nightmarish interruption to your routine is finally catching up to you and numbing you to sense and logic, but truth be told?
You really donât like hearing that this is somehow your fault.
Balling your hands into fists, you swallow thickly, and steady yourself with a noisy breath, wondering if this will be the moment you get to learn if thereâs a Heaven as well as a Hell.
âHey! I didnât ask you to bring me with you, okay?â you say in a wobbly voice, staring at a spot just past his left arm to avoid his glare lest your words fail you completely, âMaybe, if Iâm such a liability, you should just leave me to find my own way home!â
His head snaps properly in your direction with such velocity, you let out a gasp, flinching backwards and shrinking in on yourself again, your eyes darting to his lips that curl just the slightest in one corner, and the little bit of gall sitting on your tongue shrivels up and dies at the back of your throat.
Oh well. It was nice to have your guts back while it lasted. Just a pity theyâre probably about to get ripped out of you for raising your voice.
For a number of unpleasant seconds, War merely regards you like youâve just completely thrown him for a loop, neither raising his sword nor his fist to send you spinning off your mortal coil into the aether.
Finally, just as youâre beginning to fidget under his inspection, he quirks his brow at you and slowly states, âIf you leave⊠you will die.â
You were expecting him to lose his temper again, to shout you down or put you down, not remark on your chances of survival.
âOh, as if you give a shit about that,â you huff guardedly, curling a palm over your marred forearm and eyeing the Horseman like heâll tear you in half for daring to call attention to the injury he caused.
Warâs stance and expression donât change in the slightest. He only continues to observe you coolly from inside his hood, ignoring the frequent looks Strife keeps flicking between the pair of you.
After a further spell of silence in which you seem to grow impossibly smaller, he at last gives an appraising hum and straightens his shoulders, jerking his head towards his brother and declaring, âYou will stay close to Strife.â
Wait⊠You will?
âI will?â you say aloud, sending the other Horseman a distrustful glance. Strife, for his part, looks conversely pleased with the verdict, his head tipping coltishly to one side as he gives you a little wave.
⊠Well, you suppose if you have to choose between the two, the less time you spend near War the better. You assume he feels the same about having to be close to you, at least until he adds, âIf we run into trouble, his guns allow him range. He will not let anything to get close to you.â
âTheyâre welcome to try,â his brother says cheerfully, thumbing the stock of a revolver.
Wilting like a helpless flower plucked from its patch of earth, you weakly ask, âDo I have a choice?â
Giving a hearty chuckle, Strife takes an exaggerated step closer to your side and pivots on his heel to face the same direction, cheerfully replying, âAh, câmon. Donât be like that. I thought you humans were social. Safety in numbers, and all that?â
Disconcerted by his proximity, you lean away from him, cupping your elbows. âThatâs not true for all of us,â you mumble.
You hear his intake of breath and prepare yourself for yet more inane chatter, but at that moment, you jump as another howl â distant but hair-raising â comes drifting into the chamber from some unknown offshoot deeper in the keepâs depths.
âFucking hell,â you quake, your voice shaking like glass on the verge of shattering.
At your side, Strife mutters, âMy sentiments exactly.â
Raising his head to catch Warâs eye, he swings his chin towards the only visible exit; the apex of a wide, stone staircase that winds down away from the chamber, disappearing into a tunnel below. âYou wanna take point?â
Warâs response is a rich, throaty hum, accompanied by a decisive nod. âIndeed, we have wasted more than enough time here. Let us find Vulgrimâs troubling demon and pry the artifact from its cold, dead hands.â
âOhho-okay!â Strife grins, suddenly gleeful as he claps his hands together, âNow youâre getting me excited.â
Rolling his eyes, War turns away and makes for the stairs, swinging his arm up to clip Chaoseater into its usual place on his back. Blankly watching him leave, you give a start when something metal and solid nudges at the small of your back, prodding you to stumble forwards awkwardly until Strifeâs knuckles drop and he falls into step beside you, one stride for every two and a half of yours.
 âI love it when he gets like this,â he remarks.
 Begrudgingly, you resign yourself to trail after his brother and ask, âWhat? Murderous?â
âOh yeah. Even he can be fun.â Tilting his head to the side in thought, he adds, âOn occasion.â
Sweat has been steadily gathering on your forehead, and as you finally begin to move, a tiny droplet breaks free of your brow and trickles slowly down the side of your face. Of all the days to get swept up in a Universe-spanning caper, it would be the day you elected to wear one of the most awkward and cumbersome dresses known to man.
âSo far none of this has been fun,â you huff, reaching up to flick the sweat drop away with a finger.
Strifeâs boots hit the top step and he twists his helm sideways to shoot you a mock-offended smirk, âNot even me?â
You donât bother to respond to that, instead throwing nervous glances around the room as you lift the front of your skirts and start to descend the staircase, your heels clacking noisily against the hard stone underfoot and echoing off the high walls. Somewhere nearby, you can hear liquid lava squeaking and splintering as it hits the marginally cooler air, though the heat only seems to grow more stifling the further you venture.
Absently, you wonder if you remembered to put your setting spray in the bag.
The staircase spirals down into the depths of a tunnel, twisting out of view and giving you no concept of what might lay ahead. To your left, you note the presence of tall, metal spikes jutting from a pit that runs alongside the stairs, like a wrought-iron fence whose purpose has been retrofitted into an inefficient and hostile railing. From the corner of an eye, you spot something round and ivory impaled halfway down one of those spikes. A single glimpse is all you need before you immediately avert your gaze to the stairs ahead, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a pair of dark, unseeing eye sockets seem to sear into your back as you continue your descent.
As you move lower, more signs start to appear that you arenât the only visitors to this keep. Sconces line the wall, roaring with open flames that cast the path ahead in an orange glow. Two, iron firepits stand on either side of the staircase at its base, and itâs here that War has paused. It strikes you that in spite of his size, heâs slightly more camouflaged in this place than he was in the void, his scarlet cloak and dark grey armour blending well with the rock and heat around him.
As you and Strife come to a stop behind War, you lean sideways and find yourself peering tentatively into the space beyond his bulk.
The tunnel has opened up into another spacious chamber, and the path beyond the stairs has opened up too, into a vast, circular area with no walls or boundaries, nothing but another deep pit that sweeps around it, carrying a river of flowing, basaltic lava to somewhere further into the - as Strife had called it -âdungeon.â
Maybe you really are in some kind of volcano. The urge to find a way out of here increases dramatically, but with Strife watching your back a little too closely and War cutting off an escape from the front, your options, at the moment, are quite limited.
At last, War takes a step out onto the level ground, then another and another, stalking forwards with his head on a constant swivel, vigilant. Strife, in the meantime, walks out with a confident swagger, ensuring to walk slightly behind you to keep you moving up in front.
Tearing your eyes off the pit, you focus instead on the behemoth stomping ahead of you. Heâs already on the other side by the time you and Strife make it halfway across. For a split second, you almost let yourself feel a pinch of guilt for wearing such inappropriate shoes and slowing the Horsemen down, but youâre just as quick to take the feeling and grind it up under said heels, curling your lip distastefully. You werenât exactly given a chance to pack for this âexcursion.â
âYâknow,â Strife says abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts, and just in time too. You glance down and see the lip of the platformâs edge rise up to meet you. It likely would have tripped you if youâd remained lost in your head. âIâve been thinkingâŠâ
âDeath will be pleased to hear it,â War remarks from up ahead.
The back of his hood receives a simmering glare, but Strife is quick to brush the dig aside and continue, âIf Lucifer is as dangerous as the Council says he is, whyâd they send just the two of us?â
If the uneven ground didnât manage to trip you up, his comment definitely does. Stumbling on the heel of your foot, you hurriedly try to right yourself, swatting irritably at Strifeâs hand that reaches out to steady you. Thereâs that name again. Lucifer. Would it be naĂŻve of you to hope that their âmissionâ doesnât somehow involve the Biblical Devil? Youâve managed to survive for the better part of an hour, but you donât like how the odds are quickly stacking up against you with every step you take.
âDeath and Fury attend to other matters,â War responds simply, âIt is not our place to question the will of the Council.â
Apparently unable to let his brotherâs earlier tease slide after all, Strife rolls his eyes and quips, âItâs not my place to question your wardrobe, but I still think your armour could use some more creepy faces on it.â
Youâre not sure how much you like trailing in between the sizeable men, especially when the more sizeable of the two slows his gait to aim a vicious snarl over his shoulder. âMust everything be a joke to you?â War snaps, âThe Council-!â
â-Ugh!â Cutting his brother off with a pompous groan, Strife throws his helm back. âYou really need to lighten up.â Then, lowering his voice to a deeper pitch, apparently for the sole purpose of mocking the far scarier Horseman, he taunts, âThe Council this, and The Council that! You wanna hear an actual joke?â
Facing forwards again, War responds with a firm, flat, âNo.â
Strife, of course, doesnât seem to have the same reservations as you do about antagonising someone with the name âWar.â
In fact, you carry yourself so rigidly in fear of being caught in the middle of a scrap that you almost have the wind knocked out of you quite literally when Strife chimes in with a phrase so familiar to you, you just about choke on your own spit.
âKnock knockâŠâ
The classic setup, so universally understood that you almost wonder if humans are born with an inbuilt recognition system designed to identify two simple, unassuming words.
The three of you pass beneath an open portcullis, but you barely notice the jagged bars of iron looming above you because youâre so busy trying to pick your jaw up off the ground.
You canât see Strifeâs face, and you donât dare turn around to gape at him in case you end up taking a painful tumble. Instead, numbly, you continue to stare ahead with unblinking eyes, vaguely taking in the narrow path ahead of you, and the apparent end of it fast approaching.
War makes a dismissive sound, an irked mutter of something too low for you to make out.
Clearing his throat when he doesnât receive a response, Strife prompts, âYouâre supposed to say, âwhoâs there?â
You canât quite believe youâre hearing this. Perhaps the idea that youâve been drugged isnât so unlikely after all because this isnât something you could ever come up with sober.
Ahead of you, the stone pathway falls away in an abrupt drop, and the ceiling of the tunnel disappears, both opening out into yet another cavern, this one more spacious than the first two.
Or, you continue to muse to yourself, maybe you really did die in that church graveyard, and the chemicals released in your brain have conjured a hallucination of this pair of giants to serve as some unconvincing reapers who will guide you into the afterlife.
War comes to a stop at the edge of the escarpment, and unseen by you or Strife, his expression scrunches up in confusion and he asks, âWhy would I give away my location? I would simply smash through the door and face my assailant.â
Oh. Wow. ThatâsâŠ
âUgh, youâre hopeless,â Strife complains as he draws to a halt just behind you and his brother on the rocky ledge. For a second, heâs distracted with casting his keen eye over the chamber, so he doesnât notice you lower your face to the floor, your lips pursed like youâre trying to keep a cough in.
He does, however, notice straight away when, instead of escaping through your mouth, the sound youâre desperately trying to hold in finds its escape through your nose instead, and out jumps a sharp, unbecoming âsnort!â
Itâs unexpected. So much so that youâre just as surprised to hear it as the Horsemen. At once, you slap a palm over the lower half of your face in horror, a cold rush of dread trickling down into your stomach.
Eyes blown wide open, you stare at the ground, only too aware of the heavy silence that settles over you like a blanket, thicker than the heat pressing in all around you. Youâre not even willing to raise your head because you can feel two sets of eyes watching you from above.
For too long, all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your own pulse throbbing just beneath the skin of your temples. The silence swells, tuning up like an orchestra, deafening you to every sound save for that accursed, high-pitched ringing caused by the crushing grit of your teeth.
âDidâŠ?â Strifeâs voice cuts through the atmosphere like a headsmanâs axe, âDid you just⊠laugh?â
Your jaw eases apart, and the ringing fades.
The telltale âclunkâ of Warâs boots alert you to him turning from the ledge, pointing himself in your direction instead.
Suddenly and appropriately alarmed that you just snorted at someone nearly three times your size, you instantly shift from freeze to flight and throw your head up, only to find yourself blinking apprehensively into Warâs face, etched with his signature frown.
âI-I wasnât laughing at you,â you rush out, backing away from the scowling Horseman a little too far and ending up colliding right into Strifeâs torso.
With a tiny yelp, you leap forwards again, tossing glances back and forth between them whilst they continue to stare you down. âItâs just-! I havenât heard a knock-knock joke in so long, it⊠It just surprised me.â
A pause ensues, and then quietly â eagerly â Strife asks, âYou know what knock-knock jokes are?â
Wondering why thatâs his first question, you offer him a timid nod. And then youâre immediately flinching away from him when he barks out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh and straightens up, his chest swelling proudly.
âNo kidding. Yâknow, not to brag,â he brags, jabbing a thumb into his sternum, âBut I practically invented knock-knock jokes.â
Well, who are you to argue with the man carrying two guns? âO-oh?â
âBrother,â War complains, âWe do not have time for your-â
â-Here! Here, try this one,â Strife rushes out, leaning towards you a little too fast for your liking, âKnock knock.â
You start to get the impression heâs been waiting for an opportunity like this to come along for quite some time. Sparing his brother a nervous glance, you wet your lips and tentatively indulge him, âUh, okay, whoâs there?â
Taking a breath as if he means to brace himself, Strife says, âThe interrupting War.â
Oh⊠Oh, for Godâs sake...
You try to steady the muscles in your cheeks, sending another wary look over at the juggernaut clenching his fists by the ledge.
Still, with Strife waiting for an answer, you slowly and dutifully sigh, âThe interrupting War wh-â
You knew it was coming. You knew the gist of the punchline if not the punchline itself, but youâre still wholly unprepared when Strife cuts you off by crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a loud, resounding growl.
 âGrr! The Council~!â
Squeezing your eyes shut, you immediately purse your lips, your cheeks aching with the effort of keeping a straight face. You wonder if this is the start of another emotional breakdown because the joke isnât even particularly funny, but thereâs just a familiarity to the formula that almost comes as a welcome relief, like Earth isnât so far away after all.
A brother teasing his sibling⊠Thereâs something almost human about it, abating just the tiniest modicum of terror bubbling away inside your stomach.
Clearing your throat, you keep your lips puckered and inhale deeply through your nostrils in an attempt to compose yourself. Perhaps its Strifeâs enthusiasm that lends itself to the humour of the situation, or perhaps itâs simply the absurdity of such a large and formidable brute doing something as innocuous as telling you a knock-knock joke at the expense of his brother, but whatever the case may be, when you open your mouth to tell him it wasnât that funny, your lips spring up at their corners, contradicting you immediately.
âThink it needs some work,â you say, your voice wobbling.
âNeeds work?â he parrots, his own mouth quirking into a grin as he clocks your expression, âThen why are you smiling?â
It takes no small amount of effort to wrestle your face back under control. âIâm not smiling,â you insist, âThat isnât how humans smile.â
Strife, naturally, isnât fooled at all.
âAh ha! It is! Sheâs smiling!â he gloats, jabbing his thumbs at his own mask, âIâm funny! And you-!â Swivelling his head up to War, he pokes a finger at his brotherâs face and declares, âYou were wrong.â
You make the mistake of glimpsing underneath the stoic Horsemanâs hood, wincing when you find him sporting an expression of absolute thunder. He glowers down at you as if to say, âNow look at what youâve started.â
Outwardly, he flattens his brows and exhales slowly through his nose, âYes, you must be very proud that youâve found the one, sole creature in the Universe who finds you almost as funny as you find yourself.â
Flapping a hand dismissively at his brotherâs words, Strife blows a snort through his lips and tuts, âAh, youâre just jealous she likes me better.â
You decide not to chime in with the fact that you donât, in fact, particularly like either of them.
Besides, if War is at all concerned with his new ranking, he certainly doesnât bother to let you know.
âIf you are quite finished cheapening our reputationâŠâ he growls, whirling away from Strife and stepping up to the very edge of the platform.
âOh, I havenât even gotten started.â
Before you can protest, the masked Horseman lays a hand on your back and nudges you forwards until youâre standing next to his brother, then takes up his own lookout on the escarpment to your left.
Snugly sandwiched between them, you squash your arms into your sides, grimacing at the sharp angles of their armour that threaten to snag your dress as you try to shuffle backwards, but you donât manage to retreat further than a few inches before you happen to cast a cursory look out at the view ahead and promptly freeze in your tracks.
Eyes bulging, your jaw falls open and you let out a soft, incredulous breath, your brain racing to take stock of what itâs seeing.
âOh god.â
The path ends abruptly, falling away just a few paces from the toes of your shoes. And waiting beyond the precipice is a rock-walled cavern of absolutely phenomenal scale, far larger than those youâve already come through. At its centre, rising from a chasm down below, thereâs a rocky platform large enough to fit your house within its dimensions several times over. From what you can see, there isnât any conceivable way to cross over to it, save for sprouting wings and flying. Youâre not even confident you could pitch a tennis ball across the gap and have it land on the other side.
Scalding heat prickles your brow, and when you glance down to see where it stems from, you give an audible gasp as you look past the toes of your shoes and over the pathwayâs crumbling edge.
Far, far below you, a stomach-churning drop lays in wait.
Thirty⊠forty-something feet of shimmering air is all that stands between you and a vast lake of red-hot lava.
âHey, look down there,â Strifeâs voice twitches your ear.
At your side, he raises an arm to point at the platform and says, âSee that grate?â
With no small effort, you wrench your eyes off the pit of death and lift it to the level of raised stone, blinking your eyes hard to moisten them again after staring at the lava.
At once, you spot what heâs indicating.
Right at the centre of the platform, set into the stone floor itself, is a large, circular grate, vaguely reminiscent of the bars of a prison cell.
From the darkness below it, you can just make out a faint, pink glow seeping through the metal gridiron.
War answers his brother with a hum that vibrates in your chest.
âWhatâd you think?â Strife prods, âReckon thatâs where theyâve stashed Vulgrimâs artefact?â
Studying it for a few seconds, War eventually nods. âSomething is definitely down thereâŠâ he murmurs, âNo doubt that grate is heavily fortified.â
Shooting him a sly look, the smaller Horseman adds, âShouldnât be too much of a problem for you to pick the lock though, right?â
Itâs disconcerting to see War with any expression other than a scowl, so to witness him return a smirk over the top of your head sends a veritable shiver right up your spine.
Lifting his arms, he slams his fist into the palm of his gauntlet with a resounding âthwack.â
Amused, Strife turns to thrust his chin at the gut-wrenching gap between the path youâre standing on and the edge of the central platform.
âWhat about that? Think you can make that jump?â
âJ-jump!?â you blurt out, whipping your head up to stare at him like heâs lost his mind.
Hell, maybe he has.
Briefly, Warâs eyes flit down to you before he returns his gaze to his fellow Horseman, scoffing, âIs that a serious question?â
And without another word, he begins taking several steps backwards, away from the ledge.
âWait,â you sputter, shooting him an incredulous look as he continues to back up along the path, âYouâre not really going to-â
You donât even get to finish your sentence.
Before you can blink, War pushes off on his back foot and lurches forwards, his boots pounding against the stone hard enough to send powerful quakes all along the path as he charges straight for the edge.
You think you let out an alarmed yelp, but thereâs not much else you can do except helplessly gawk as the Horseman, laden down by his heavy, clanking armour, plants his boot centimetres from the crumbling edge of the path and unceremoniously launches himself, his sword, and all of his bulk off solid ground, soaring out over the lava-drowned chasm below.
With a comically loud gasp, you slap your palms over your eyes, yet you canât resist peeking through splayed fingers to watch.
Why the Hell would he do that!? Thereâs no way heâll make it, you tell yourself, not with all that weight dragging him down.
You wanted to get away from him, yes but⊠shit. You didnât want him to get himself killed doing it!
Itâs as if youâre staring at a runaway train, waiting in morbid fascination for it to derail. Something in the nature of a disaster unfolding keeps you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your attention away from it. Â
Thereâs power and grace in the way War sails over the gap, an impossible feat, further than any Olympic gold medallist would ever hope to achieve. And then, to your utmost astonishment, he makes it.
Metal boots hit the stone platform with an almighty âclangâ on the other side, and he dips his knees as he lands to absorb the impact.
Youâre almost certain you can see the whole structure quiver from the force.
For several moments, you merely stand there with your mouth hanging ajar whilst War rises to his full height again and turns around, tipping his face up to see you staring back at him, your eyes wide with unconcealed awe.
âHow. The fuckâŠ?â you say emphatically, blowing out a disbelieving little whistle. You might not trust the man, but even you can appreciate a good stunt when you see one. Giving your head a shake, you briefly forget youâre supposed to be their kidnappee and gush, âThat was incredible!â
Your voice carries easily across the sizeable gap and reaches the Horsemanâs ears, erasing the hard line between his brows. Taken aback, War blinks, pressing his lips together bashfully in lieu of a response. âPerhaps it was rather impressive,â he privately concedes, âfrom a humanâs perspectiveâŠâ
Back on the escarpment, Strifeâs keen gaze makes out the befuddled expression warping his brotherâs typically impassive face, and he sends several glances between you and War, pursing his lips at the glimmer lighting up your eyes.
âOh yeah?â he huffs, âYou think that was impressive?â
A loud clap rings out across the cavern, causing you to jump as Strife smacks his palms together. âOkay, little miss,â he announces behind you, âYour turn.â
Just like that, the colour promptly drains from your face. âMy what?â
You donât have time to spin around and face him, for not a second later, a powerful arm scoops your legs out from underneath you whilst the other snakes around the back of your shoulders, hauling you clean off the floor and pressing you to a hard, armoured chest.
âOh for-! Stop grabbing me!â you complain, planting your hands on his clavicle and shoving yourself away as best you can, âAre you insane!? I am not jumping over that!â
Cocking his helm at you, he spares you an innocent blink. âYouâre not?â
You donât like how much levity is lacing his tone.
âNO!â you squawk, aghast, âAbsolutely not! Let me go!â
One of the Horsemanâs eyes narrows to squint at you before he angles his helm very pointedly towards the platform. âYou sure?â
Something about his question gives you pause.
Hesitating, you snap your head in the same direction and follow his line of sight. It doesnât take you more than a second to glean the bastardâs intent.
Now you really donât like the way heâs looking at you, his upturned eyelids the clearest indication that heâs smiling quite broadly underneath his visor.
Your stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.
âOh, if you dareâŠâ you hiss.
Daringly, he raises his sizeable shoulders in a shrug and chirps, âLesson one; Donât ever dare a Horseman, kid. Youâre always bound to lose.â
He wouldnâtâŠ
Flashing you a golden wink, Strife turns his body sideways and swings you to the right, like a rugby player readying a forward pass.
It finally occurs to you that, oh, good god, he would.
âWait-! WA-WAIT! STRIFE!â Issuing a high-pitched, wordless scream, you start to flail, but his ironclad grip on your legs and shoulders keeps you from launching yourself out of his arms.
Somewhere across the chasm, Warâs voice drifts up to you, though you hardly hear it above your undignified shrieks. âBrother?â
The muscles around you bunch up, solidifying as hard as the stone underfoot.
âSee you on the other side!â is all the cheery warning you get.
âDonât you DA---AAAAARRRGGHHH!â
Heâs moving before you can think to adhere yourself to his arm.
Sidestepping into a purposeful bound, the Horseman flings his arms to the left, with you in tow, and when they get to the zenith of his reach, they disappear out from under you, letting you go hurtling spine first out over the chasm like a screaming, thrashing blimp, dress and all.
You have several phobias that you were aware of before you fell into this godforsaken place. Phobias that, for the most part, have been quite avoidable in your day-to-day life.
Finding yourself suspended in the air over a pit without a safety net underneath youïżœïżœ add some lava to break your fall, and you suddenly realise as youâre flying through empty space that youâve just discovered an entirely new phobia to add to the list.
Sailing in a none-too graceful arch, you stare in disbelief back at the silver Horseman on the ledge, your dress billows out behind you and the scorching air whips your veil over your face, tugging at your hair where the grips are heroically keeping it situated. Likewise, some subconscious part of you instructs your toes to grip like vices on the insoles of your heels, valiantly trying to stop them from plummeting off your feet.
Inevitably, as is the case with the laws of physics, you reach the height of your curve, and thatâs when gravity seizes you by the heart and starts to drag you back down, sending your stomach crashing up into your diaphragm.
Time seems to slow as you descend, reaching back for Strife as if he could somehow stretch across the gap and catch you. You canât see behind yourself, and itâs all you can do to hope that you pass out on the way down, so you donât have to feel your body melt into a puddle in the hungry maw of the lava below.
It hurts your chest something fierce to think that the last anyone will see of you is your terror-stricken face and your raised hand closing into a fist, bar one choicely extended finger.
The hot wind screams past your ears and you screw your eyes shut tight, squeezing out the last tears youâre ever going to cry. Your fatherâs face flashes in your mindâs eye, and you wonder what you did to set off this chain of events.
Strife said he wouldnât hurt youâŠ
What a joke.
âWHAM!â
Your mouth jerks open, wheezing out a gasp as something suddenly slams into you from behind, knocking the air violently from your lungs. Or rather, you crash into something with the force of a white, ruffled meteorite and nearly lose your heart through your open mouth.
At first, you assume you must have smacked into the hard side of the platform, but then the Something youâve collided with grunts, and you hurriedly wrench your eyes open, coming to focus on a monstrous, metal gauntlet thatâs secured itself under your knees, crushing your dress between prodigious fingers whilst something equally large presses across your shoulder blades.
With a kick in the guts, you realise youâre being held aloft in much the same way Strife had been holding you mere moments ago.
He caught you⊠War caught you.
Finally, you remember to gulp in a noisy breath to refill your desperate lungs.
Youâre not dead.
But you are, in fact, shaking.
And as the revelation that youâre still alive sets in, your limbs start to wobble in earnest.
âSTRIFE!â You visibly flinch when Warâs terrible, wonderful, abrasive, beautiful voice booms like a claxon right above your head. âYou fool!â
Even through layers of solid metal and leather padding, the Horseman can feel you trembling under his palms. Propping your neck in the crook of his elbow, he lifts his head to level a snarl up at where Strife still stands on the escarpment whilst you unclench your fists from your lap, heaving air in and out of your lungs in hysterical little bursts.
âWhat were you thinking!?â he bellows.
Leaning over the side to look down at you and your unwitting saviour, Strife throws his arms out wide and argues, âShe said to let her go!â
âYou knew what she meant!â A deep thrum rolls around in his chest, spreading up his throat and spilling out in another growl so deep it rattles the teeth in your skull. âYou could have damaged her!â
âOh relax, I wouldnât have tossed her if I didnât think youâd catch her.â
War slides his lips back to reveal his inhumanly sharp canines, but at that moment, something tugs very lightly at the fabric of his cowl.
Faltering, he angles his chin down and nearly gives a start.
Tiny hands have wandered towards him, found the scarlet material hanging from around his neck and latched onto it with possessive intent, fingers twisting themselves into his cowl and getting lost amongst the folds, as if you fully expect him to toss you over the side as well. The strange, white veneer lays draped across your face, so he canât see your expression when you unexpectedly twist about in his arms and pull yourself a little closer to his chest.
Caught off guard, War remains stock-still, seriously contemplating whether or not he should drop you right then and there to spare himself from Strifeâs potential teasing.
His bulging arms give a twitch, which in turn causes you to cringe, letting out a quiet bleat and further entangling your fingers around his cowl.
This, War decides, was not in the job description when the Charred Council made him a Horseman. Still, whatever he might think of you, he canât bring himself to drop you in a heap on the ground.
For once, he might be out of his depth.
As soon as the notion occurs to him, he brusquely flicks it away with a toss of his head.
Taking a large step back, he slowly ambles himself about until heâs facing away from Strife and the platformâs edge, then stomps several paces towards the central grate, only stopping once he hears the loud clang of metallic boots hitting the stone behind him as his fellow Horseman leaps to the lower level.
Gingerly, almost as though he expects you to shatter if he moves too quickly, War bends down until heâs almost on a knee and starts to withdraw the arm thatâs wrapped around your legs, a stoic frown tugging his brows towards the centre of his forehead when you refuse to let go of his hood.
Grumbling, he lowers you until your shoes click on the stone floor, and then he slips his hand out from under your knees, moving it up and taking both of your wrists between his gauntletâs fingertips and thumb, mindful of the delicate limbs heâs handling.
He can still recall how youâd nearly crumpled to your knees when he got a little heavy handed trying to apply the poultice to your arm. He truly thought he had been correct in gauging the pressure he needed to apply to your flesh to draw blood. Heâd only meant to take a little. Just enough to prove the validity of your claim. What an idea that had turned out to be. If War were being honest with himself, heâd been outright startled when your skin peeled open so readily to admit Chaoseaterâs blade.
So, if heâs a little more careful in prying your hands off his cowl than he ought to be, well, thatâs his own business.
It doesnât take much coaxing before you seem to come back into yourself.
With a sudden jolt, you wrench your hands away from his hood and start to struggle valiantly with the veil on your face, flipping it back over your head and choking on a sob as your knees start to buckle.
Planting both of his palms on your shoulders, War hauls you upright again.
âSteady,â he murmurs as if heâs addressing a wounded soldier, not a frightened human, âOn your feet.â
The sound of clanking boots drifts closer, approaching from his rear.
War bristles, but heâs not the only one who heard Strifeâs footsteps.
âYou okay, kid?â the gunslingerâs voice drifts over to you, and War watches your jaw cinch shut, the hands at your sides curling into fists as you attempt to stop them from shaking.
Whirling around, you tear yourself from the Horsemanâs gauntlets, your dress twirling gracefully around your ankles to find Strife standing a few paces behind you, paused halfway between one step and the next.
Blurting out a delirious laugh, you shoot him a bloodshot stare, half tempted to rip your bag off and lob it at his head.
âAm I okay?!â you echo, âHave you completely lost your mind!?â
Peering down at you appraisingly, War makes a sound that might be affirming, and even his brother lifts a hand to tilt it back and forth in a âso-soâ motion.
Breathing hard, you resist the urge to scream and instead lower your head, massaging at your throbbing temples.
Slowly, through gritted teeth, you seethe, âI am trapped⊠inside a volcano⊠with two of the scariest people Iâve ever metâŠâ
Strife shares a look with War, the formerâs frame wilting as if heâs put out, while the latter, by contrast, almost seems proud of the achievement.
âI,â you continue, a humourless grin straining at your lips, âJust found out that demons exist! I also found out that Lucifer is apparently realâŠ! It is my fucking wedding day!â Vitriol drips from your teeth like venom, and with each passing word, your voice grows louder and louder. âAnd! I just got chucked! Like a⊠ like a fucking pigskin over a river! Of LAVA!â
All around you, the cavern echoes with the throes of your furious shout, bouncing off the rock walls and coming back to you ten times over before it fades into an uneasy silence.
Lungs heaving with the effort of raising your voice, you stop to breathe, finding, to your dismay, that tears are spilling onto your cheeks, only to start evaporating on your skin in the smouldering heat.
Clearing your throat, you sweep a few fingertips delicately beneath your eyes and wipe away the lingering evidence of moisture cutting tracks through your blusher. âSo, no,â you sniffle, âFor your information, I am not o-fucking-kay⊠I think Iâm about as far from okay as it gets.â
Itâs almost satisfying that the gung-ho Horseman can in fact be made to shut up.
Fidgeting idly with the gauntlet on his left hand, Strife shoots several glances at War, but finds no source of assistance in his fellow Nephilimâs cold, critical glare.
âUh,â he starts, clenching his hands into fists and opening them again, âI mean⊠it was kind of funny, right?â He lets out a chuckle that falls painfully flat. âYou shouldâve seen your face.â
Your jaw begins to ache from grinding your teeth together like youâre trying to crush coal into diamonds.
âKnock-knock jokes are funny,â you say stiffly, turning away from him to scowl at the ground, âPeople donât get hurt.â
Draping a hand over his hip, Strife lowers his voice and asks, âCome on, you really thought Iâd let you get hurt?â
âOF COURSE I DID!â you suddenly bellow so loudly your voice cracks, âYou threw me over a lava pit!â
âWar caught you, didnât he?â
âWhat if he hadnât!?â
Strife doesnât even hesitate before he offers his palms to the ceiling and says, âThen I wouldnâtâve done it.â
âWhy the hell would you-!? Why even take the risk!?â
âThere never was any risk,â he shrugs far too nonchalantly, sending his brother a knowing look, âBesides, this is a good thing, right? Now you know you can trust War to keep you alive.â
Pulling a face, you allow a spiteful scoff to burst out of your mouth, arms folding sternly across your chest. âOh, so that was all so you could prove some point to me, was it? Jesus, what is wrong with you?!â
âNow thereâs a door best left unopened,â War chimes in.
At last recognising that thereâs some, invisible line heâs crossed, Strife holds his hands up placatingly. âLook,â he concedes, scratching at the back of his head and disturbing the thick spines of ebony hair growing behind his helm, âAfter what happened back in the Void, I just thought, if we proved we could keep you safe, youâd⊠maybe start to trust us a little more, yâknow?â
You have to take a moment to stare at him, waiting for his words to sink in for you, and hopefully for him as well. âSo⊠you thought youâd show me you can keep me safe by⊠launching me over a lava pit, and expecting me to know your brother would catch me?â
The Horseman doesnât speak for several seconds. When he eventually does, he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, âI mean, if youâre only gonna focus on the first part, sure the plan had holes.â
âWell,â you say haughtily, âNo offence, but I trust you two about as far as I could throw you. Which, youâll be shocked to hear, isnât very far at all. And unlike you-â Here, you jab a finger up at his silver visor. â- Iâm not strong enough to go around throwing people off the edge of cliffs!â
Once again, Strife remains silent, rapping his fingertips on a metal bicep. Soon enough however, he lowers his head and peers up at you from beneath the lip of his helmâs sockets, prodding, âIt was a pretty good throw though, huh?â
âIt was a very good throw!â you agree sharply, blowing out a rough exhale as your heartbeat finally begins to ease off the throttle, âNeither of you even had a run up. You two are like something straight out of a comic book⊠Except without the charisma⊠and altruism...â
âComicâŠ?â War asks, frowning, âThen⊠you are amused?â
âNo, not comic like-âŠâ You inhale. You exhale. âNever mind. Werenât you guys supposed to be looking for something?â
Just like that, the pair of titans straighten up with a start, and you wonder if their âmissionâ really had slipped their minds for a while.
Rolling his shoulders back, War just grumbles something inaudible and begins moving purposefully towards the grate.
You stand back to let him pass, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you mull over what youâre about to say.
âHey, big guy?â
At once, War stops and swivels his head sideways, silver hair spilling out from underneath his hood.
Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you avoid the pale, unblinking eye thatâs trained on your face and call, âThanksâŠ. For catching me.â
You wonât thank him for healing your arm when he was the one who cut it in the first place. But this? You can swallow your grudge for this. At least for a little while.
Several seconds tick by without a response, and the only sound you can hear is the heavy clanking of boots on stone as Strife ventures up behind you.
And then at last, Warâs head falls and rises in an almost imperceptible nod.
When he turns away, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.
How can one man be so intimidating just by standing still and saying nothing?
Youâve already deduced that the two Horsemen are like chalk and cheese, with one half of the duo serving as the strong, silent type, and the other, a smart-mouthed chatterbox.
⊠Speaking of whom.
Just as you start to trail after War towards the centre of the platform, an enormous shape sidles up next to you, easily keeping pace with your diminutive gait.
âHeyâŠâ Strife tries, actually sounding hesitant for a change, âKnock-knock.â
Ah. There it is.
âStrifeâŠâ His name still sounds foreign on your tongue. âIâm⊠look, Iâm not in the mood, okay?â
ââŠâ
Scoffing quietly, you give your head a defeated shake and sigh, âFine⊠Whoâs there?â
âEyes wear.â
⊠Okay?
ââŠEyes wear who?â you venture, hesitant.
Swivelling his helm towards you, Strife bends his neck down, chasing after your face even as you try to ignore him by staring straight ahead.
âEyes wear to⊠never throw you across any more chasms,â he offers, tipping his helm upright again, âLava filled or otherwise. Howâs that sound?â
Your lips quiver. âWow,â you drawl, âI think that was even worse than the last one.â
âOh yeah?â he replies coyly, âThen whyâre you smiling?â
You jerk to a halt mid stride, taking stock of your expression.
Damnit. You are smiling.
Youâre a little too slow to force the corners of your lips back down into a straight line, and of course, Strife sees it, tipping his chin back to peer at you triumphantly. You may not be able to see his mouth beneath the visor but judging by the upturned curve of his golden eyes, you just know the smug son of a bitch is grinning from ear to ear.
âI was not smiling,â you insist.
Quick as a whip, he retorts, âWell now youâre lying.â
Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you kick yourself into gear and speed up, marching up to where War has stopped by the grate. âI am not lying, Iâm leaving.â
The Horsemanâs chuckle haunts you all the way across the platform.
#darksiders#darksiders genesis#strife x reader#war x reader#bride reader#fluff#angst#hurt/comfort#Strife being Strife#Fear#Bad Knock knock jokes#Reader has had enough
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the calamity.
a comic about being seen.
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creative notes:
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all my other comics
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#cw: blood + eye scarring#oh the inherent intimacy of seeing and being seen#just a comic about how the desire to be seen and shown love and compassion unites us all#also big scary monster lady pretty#girl power! the personification of disaster and strife uses she/her pronouns!#i also feel somewhat obligated to mention here that i dont have anything against christianity as a whole#i just think the concept of God is interesting#i went to a christian school for 12 years im allowed to make this comic#comic art#sapphic#yes. interpret the subtext#stillindigo art#heartearters#thats the name of the anthology this will belong to. whenever i finish it#stillindigo comics
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I am committed to never drawing cloud happy
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I have been consuming Zack Lives AUs and would like to offer the headcannon: Zack keeps a habit of taking initiative for transporting Cloud to places even after Cloud wakes up. Usually grabbing and leading Cloud places, but sometimes ends up with Zack full on hoisting Cloud over his shoulder and starts walking.
#ff7#ffvii#zack lives au#zack fair#cloud strife#barret wallace#marlene wallace#tifa lockhart#final fantasy 7#final fantasy vii#i do not know why I decided to use AC outfits for this#what is happening with all those belts my god#This might end up being what gets me to write fanfic for the first time#because I keep getting scene ideas and can not draw fast enough#fanart#on second thought though who could blame him when cloud has such a grabbable waist like come on
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"i wish i could see my bones."
"same"
#cloud; internally: wouldn't mind being in a coma right about now#(he is lovingly joking)#ffvii#zack fair#cloud strife#zakkura#my art <3#this is adhdđ€autism btw. if that wasn't clear
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"Hey, do you want to come over to my house? I want you to try Mom's cooking. The thing is, I haven't been home yet since I've been here. I hadn't been able to make up my mind about it, but I decided that I should show my face... but going home alone is a bit uncomfortable, so I was hoping you could join me."
Nibelheim pieces done for @crisiscorescrapbookzine! đ I'd like to believe that Zack got a chance to take Cloud up on the offer....
#Cloud Strife#Claudia Strife#Zack Fair#Zakkura#Clack#Final Fantasy#FFVII#FF7#Crisis Core#FF7CC#FFVIICC#FFVII Fanart#FF7 Fanart#luxites art#zines#this was done platonically since it was for a gen zine#but let's be real everything I touch ends up being Zakkura so I'll tag the ship anyway#you can take these either way thoooo
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idk where i was going with this but i don't wanna keep trying to fix it so. here. have a pic
#my art#final fantasy vii#final fantasy 7#ffvii aerith#aerith gainsborough#cloud strife#zack fair#i like the symbolism of mako being the blood of the planet so i wanna do more stuff with it
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he really just melts around her i can't stand them đđ
#clerith#cloud x aerith#final fantasy#final fantasy vii#ff7#ffvii#cloud strife#aerith gainsborough#saw a photo set on pintrest that just was perfect for them and had to draw it#the grumpy one being soft for the sunshine one will always get me i can't help it#my art
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FINAL FANTASY VII REBIRTH (2024)
#protag of all time :3#did all that with the mfin buster sword#final fantasy vii rebirth#ff7r#final fantasy vii#ffvii#cloud strife#ffgraphics#gamingedit#gaming#*#ffvii rebirth#ff7#final fantasy 7#final fantasy#ffedit#dailygaming#ff7 rebirth#ff7 remake#i hate gbike with all my being but yay its over
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Forget Me Not Hollow Locked Heart Fragile
I realized I never put these here. The set of my favourite four. <3
#zack fair#cloud strife#tifa lockhart#kunsel#zakkura#final fantasy vii#ffviir#ff7r#Now i'm staring at Cloud being like 'HUH. Maybe I should draw a new one for him as well HUUUUUH.'#But honestly#the Kunsel one is still my favourite out of all of these#i say while having the Cloud one on the wall above my workplace#i seriously spent three years of my life drawing stories about these four huh#las!art
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I guess I'll grow used to the new me, horns and all. The people will see a curiosity, maybe even a beast hungry for their souls. But I will slay their monsters, keep them safe, and one day they will see The Blade of Frontier again!
#bg3edit#gamingedit#bg3#baldur's gate 3#wylledit#wyll ravengard#karlach cliffgate#userewbie#edits#i was missing his sweet little face#his fear of being shunned once again by the ones he wants to protect! what do you know of his strife!#and him and k never fails to make me cry ugh#can't wait for my origin run and their romance even if i love them as friends so much too#recording this in the swamp was a fcking mistake coloring wise but here we are#a lil pick me up during these honestly truly harrowing times
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Post advent children AU again
to be continued ?? :)))
#ff7#ffvii#cloud strife#sephiroth#the man is being a b*tch#heâs having second thoughts though#sefikura#advent children#cloud x sephiroth#love cloud tugging at his already so slutty neckline#my friend helped me with the dialogue#merci anais tâes un gĂ©nie coeur coeur#mine
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Careful now. That which lies ahead...does not yet exist.
Our world will become a part of it...one day. But I...will not end.
Nor will I have you end.
#his voice is so soothing....#ff7#sephiroth#cloud strife#final fantasy 7#ffvii#final fantasy vii#final fantasy#ffedit#gamingedit#final fantasy vii remake#sefikura#sephiroth x cloud#mine#bro what if i took you to the end of the world and we were the only two people left and i promised not to let you die#seph is out here rewriting reality just so he and cloud can be alone together#also i love the theory of this being pre-nibelheim seph. much to think about eh
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Haha, get 'im!
Darksiderstober Day 11: Portals
Trying to catch up due to my busy schedule, here is some dumb shenanigans ft. The dynamic Duo. War thinks Strife is just misusing his portal ability, he is not amused to be the butt end of the joke...Strife believes otherwise. Hope ya like and stay tuned!
Darksiderstober prompts and art are mine
Sponsored by @imagine-darksiders and @another-darksiders-blog
Prompts are here
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o, she's kind of a freak?
#Darksiders#Darksiders Genesis#Source: Johnny Bravo#Reader being into War before she's into Strife is going to be so funny
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we got a lot in common...
#everyone knows that cloud is a horse girl. but have you considered:#cloud who's had a really hard time making friends and relating to people his whole life#and then he realizes that chocobos are the only thing that comes naturally to him.#chocobo warks and flaps its wings and cloud warks back and flaps his arms. yknow.#how hard it is for him to have to leave the birds behind and go back to being around people and doing responsible human things#when really all he wants is to feel like he belongs.#chocobos don't demand favors and emotional labor. they don't care if cloud doesn't smile much or have anything to say. they love him anyway.#(it's the autism. if that wasn't obvious)#(it's cloud autism strife.)#(it's also possibly me projecting HARD. whoopsie daisy)#ahem. anyway#ffvii#cloud strife#chocobo#my art <3
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