Darksiders: The Seed of Knowledge

Chapter Twenty-Three

The subsequent wait was unbearable.  War sat in the back of the cell, an arm resting on his knee, his head bowed to hide his countenance beneath his hood.  As the Council dealt Faith's punishment, he heard and felt every crack of the whip as sharply as if he were the one being tortured.  And as the torture drew on, he even felt Faith's determination to keep her screams contained.

For the first nine lashes she made no sound, and then at the tenth she gasped.  At fifteen she began to grunt.  At twenty she started yelping.  At thirty she cried out.  At thirty-five her cries grew louder.  At forty she began to scream.  At forty-five she stopped, having likely fallen unconscious, and then the whip delivered the final set of blows.  He counted each strike in silence, rigid with tension as he waited for the torture to end, powerless—in every possible way—to help the girl in his charge.

When the whip finally stopped, a terrible silence followed.  War's tension escalated beyond anything he'd felt before.  His hands closed into fists and tightened of their own accord, his teeth grinding as he grimaced his frustration.  Had he his sword, he might have been able to save her.  Alas, the Watchers had taken his and Faith's weapons before locking them both in the cell.  They'd have taken Faith's bags, as well, had the Watchers thought them a danger.  War guarded her belongings as he waited for her to return, knowing she would need immediate medical aid.

For now, he could only wait.

When the cell bars finally parted, War lifted his gaze just as Faith was thrown into the cell in a bloody, mangled heap, her gauntlets tossed in after her.  The overwhelming heat of the realm had seared her leggings, as well as the bandages they'd covered, from knee to hip with holes, exposing the cloth-lined leather she wore to guard her dignity.  Her environmental adapter rune had been grazed by the whip, the tattoo barely retaining its already-dim glow.  Her braid had unraveled in a recent struggle that, given the new, obscenely-placed bruises on her thighs, chest and arms, had had nothing to do with her punishment.  She landed on her right side and settled on her back, the wounds from the whip still fresh and bleeding, unable to cover herself in her unconscious, fading state.  War all but snarled as the cell bars closed again, boiling with rage at the sight of her indignity.

The Watchers left, laughing haughtily as they went, bragging about the different ways they'd made the child squirm.  The Horseman stood in his anger, then looked at Faith and calmed.

Avenging her honor could wait.  She needed him now.

War didn't doubt that the Council was still watching him, perhaps waiting to see what he would do—how far he would go to carry out their orders.  He didn't care.  All that mattered was keeping Faith alive, and he would go as far as he needed—perhaps even farther—to save her.

Without hesitation, the youngest of the Four removed every piece of his armor, letting it all clank indignantly on the ground.  The rune on Faith's shoulder only protected her from the elements of the realm, not the items the environment affected.  The lightest touch from any heated metal would burn her; hence she'd worn her gauntlets before allowing herself to be chained.  War couldn't let any of his armor touch her, so he removed it all.  The only piece he couldn't remove was his gauntlet arm; it was a part of him, after all.  That he wrapped tightly in Faith's sleeping tarp, which she'd brought just in case they'd have to spend the night.

Once standing in only his tunic, trousers and boots, he caught his cowl in his right hand as it fluttered down, then stepped forward and knelt at Faith's side.  He tucked his wrapped hand under her thighs and his right under her head, then lifted her off the ground as he slid his right arm down to blanket her breasts with his infamous red hood.  Her pulse was faint.  She seemed almost weightless to him, and frail.  Perhaps she could already see the Well of Souls.