Darksiders: The Seed of Knowledge

Chapter Twenty-One

The elves' transportation spell sent War into the heart of the chaos.  He'd been worn out by the time he'd reached the Woodlands, Ruin even more so, but with Fenrir's safety and wellbeing assured, he knew he had to make the journey again.  That's where the elves had come in.  Their druids had managed to find a weak point in Heaven's wards and cast a spell that had worn them out, as well, sending the Horseman back to the First Kingdom.  And what he found there was beyond what he'd expected.

War had never seen the White City in such shambles.  He had caused some destruction during his past visits, but nothing on this scale.  The ground was a tarn of angelic blood already inches deep.  Corpses and pieces of corpses lay strewn for miles and miles, mutilated, undignified—and not just on the ground, but on the buildings, on the statues, in the amber trees—armor and weapons, limbs and organs, feathers drifting in the blood and wind like leaves.  Smoke rose from bodies as well as broken buildings, still burning with the remnants of unbridled rage.  Some dismembered angels were still alive, slowly dying in the remains of their comrades.  If anyone other than War had seen this, they might have thought the Hordes of Hell had recently invaded here.

Or worse, the Nephilim.

Looking at the horrors around him, War was reminded of the conquests, the endless and merciless bloodshed, the countless genocides he'd partaken in, in the days before he and the other Horsemen had estranged themselves from their race.  Except this had been caused by a lone, human child.  He repressed his shudder, knowing this was only a fraction of the carnage he would find.

He also knew that Faith was still causing havoc, and he had to find and stop her before she caused any more.

He reached behind him and lifted Chaoseater, then lowered the blade into the blood already soaking his boots.  Then he began walking and dragged his sword through the carnage.  The weapon fed on the chaos, the mayhem Faith had caused, and channeled that energy into War.  His weariness faded, as did the other aftereffects of his void-walk.  Through their spirit-bond, he sent some of his absorbed power into Ruin, chancing a quicker recovery for his horse.

Once he had enough strength, he increased his speed and hurried through the wreckage, sensing Faith's location and dropping state of health.  Dying angels reached out to him, but War hadn't the time to end anyone's suffering.  All that mattered was reaching Faith before she killed herself.

He turned a corner and spotted an angel ahead of him, alive and rising from the blood.  He didn't slow, even when she looked up, saw him and raised her sword.  War lifted his own weapon and maintained his pace, refusing to let anyone impede him.  Uriel held her ground as he came.

Their swords clashed.  War kept charging forward and Uriel skidded back, blood splashing around their ankles.  Soon she realized that the Horseman wouldn't stop, so she took to the air and fought him on the wing.  War pressed on as he countered Uriel's blows, until a blast of the angel's power sent him skidding through the blood.

Now he stopped and glared as Uriel landed in his path, her sword ready and stance rigid; her eyes, however, were unsure.

"Let me pass, Uriel," demanded War.  "I haven't time for this."

"I can't," she said.  "My duty—"

"What duty are you upholding now?"  He stepped forward.  "Your duty to Heaven?"

"To the Throne.  Michael—"

"Michael plans to use Faith as a weapon, and your realm is in ruins because of it."

"The human . . ."  Uriel faltered, eyes widening with disbelief.  "But she's a child!"

Some surviving angels appeared in the skies above, their weapons aimed at the Horseman, but his attention was solely on Uriel as he continued to approach her.