Read Darksiders: The Abomination Vault for Free Online
Authors: Ari Marmell
approach. You would think that the underbrush would impede them, but they sped along without any obvious difficulty. And they could
leap
, as many of us learned in our final moments, high enough to bring down even a soaring angel. We soaked in a monsoon of blood and feathers; limbs both flesh and metal crashed to the dirt.
Still, we outnumbered them, they were not
much
faster than we—and most important, we still had Abaddon. Even with their astounding speed, few could lay a blade on him, and those that did invariably failed to penetrate his armor. His massive sword rose and fell, almost without effort, and the animated warriors died. Through upraised blades and their brass shells, he cut them down, each with a single blow.
We were rallying behind Abaddon when one particular construct appeared, subtly different from the others. Not in build, not in attitude, but in armament. Rather than form its own hands into blades, it carried a peculiar sword, the likes of which I’d never before seen. Something about the weapon disturbed even warriors such as ourselves, and I recall falling back a step as it advanced on our commander.
Abaddon raised his own sword, moving to meet this new threat—
CHAPTER THREE
G ET AWAY FROM HIM
, DAMN YOU! ”
Death’s head snapped around, hunting the source of that voice where no voice should sound. Sarasael’s spirit, unshackled by the abrupt lapse in the Horseman’s concentration, slipped away. The body fell limp once more, and Death could hear the faintest of relieved sighs fading away in an unreal direction he knew but could not name.
When a new angel appeared from between two trees, where before there had been nothing but empty space, Death was already moving. Hanging in the angel’s two-handed grip, a massive cannon of bronze tubing and iron slabs fired burst after burst. Fearsome energies ran wild, crackling and spitting, reducing whole trees to ash. Fragments of blessed metals embedded themselves in the earth, punched holes entirely through the thickest trunks, and the forest trembled with the sound of thunder.
And none of it touched the Horseman.
He was simply never there when the projectiles soared past, never in the radius when they ignited. He moved with a grace the lithest angel couldn’t have matched, guided by an insight that bordered on the precognitive. He swayed from,rolled under, or tumbled over anything that came near, seemed almost to walk up the side of trees and even change direction mid-leap.
The rage that marred the angel’s face twisted his features further still. His body shook with such anger that it began to affect the cannon’s aim, and the weapon spat as swiftly as he could physically pull the trigger.
Still he missed, every time. And he’d have been infinitely
more
frustrated had he known that his unyielding barrage didn’t even warrant Death’s full attention.
Where in the name of Oblivion had he
come
from?
Almost
nobody
should have been able to sneak so close without Death sensing their presence. Certainly not an angel in heavy, clanking armor, lugging heavy artillery!
It was right about the time the
second
angel appeared, opening fire from high above—this one armed with a rune-encrusted halberd that spat volleys of force so fearsome, the blade itself seemed little more than an afterthought—that the Horseman pinpointed what
else
was wrong with his surroundings.
The dead Sarasael had described a vast barrage of devastating energies and explosions, tearing down entire thickets.
So where was all the damage?
Why were the only obvious gaps in the foliage and fallen trees the results of the firepower he currently dodged?
Death twisted aside, letting the hail of bullets sweep past him, but avoiding two separate attackers was proving far more difficult than one alone. “I don’t suppose we can discuss this?” he asked without much hope.
In response, a third angel, wielding a halberd much like the soldier above, stepped from inside a tree
leap
, as many of us learned in our final moments, high enough to bring down even a soaring angel. We soaked in a monsoon of blood and feathers; limbs both flesh and metal crashed to the dirt.
Still, we outnumbered them, they were not
much
faster than we—and most important, we still had Abaddon. Even with their astounding speed, few could lay a blade on him, and those that did invariably failed to penetrate his armor. His massive sword rose and fell, almost without effort, and the animated warriors died. Through upraised blades and their brass shells, he cut them down, each with a single blow.
We were rallying behind Abaddon when one particular construct appeared, subtly different from the others. Not in build, not in attitude, but in armament. Rather than form its own hands into blades, it carried a peculiar sword, the likes of which I’d never before seen. Something about the weapon disturbed even warriors such as ourselves, and I recall falling back a step as it advanced on our commander.
Abaddon raised his own sword, moving to meet this new threat—
CHAPTER THREE
G ET AWAY FROM HIM
, DAMN YOU! ”
Death’s head snapped around, hunting the source of that voice where no voice should sound. Sarasael’s spirit, unshackled by the abrupt lapse in the Horseman’s concentration, slipped away. The body fell limp once more, and Death could hear the faintest of relieved sighs fading away in an unreal direction he knew but could not name.
When a new angel appeared from between two trees, where before there had been nothing but empty space, Death was already moving. Hanging in the angel’s two-handed grip, a massive cannon of bronze tubing and iron slabs fired burst after burst. Fearsome energies ran wild, crackling and spitting, reducing whole trees to ash. Fragments of blessed metals embedded themselves in the earth, punched holes entirely through the thickest trunks, and the forest trembled with the sound of thunder.
And none of it touched the Horseman.
He was simply never there when the projectiles soared past, never in the radius when they ignited. He moved with a grace the lithest angel couldn’t have matched, guided by an insight that bordered on the precognitive. He swayed from,rolled under, or tumbled over anything that came near, seemed almost to walk up the side of trees and even change direction mid-leap.
The rage that marred the angel’s face twisted his features further still. His body shook with such anger that it began to affect the cannon’s aim, and the weapon spat as swiftly as he could physically pull the trigger.
Still he missed, every time. And he’d have been infinitely
more
frustrated had he known that his unyielding barrage didn’t even warrant Death’s full attention.
Where in the name of Oblivion had he
come
from?
Almost
nobody
should have been able to sneak so close without Death sensing their presence. Certainly not an angel in heavy, clanking armor, lugging heavy artillery!
It was right about the time the
second
angel appeared, opening fire from high above—this one armed with a rune-encrusted halberd that spat volleys of force so fearsome, the blade itself seemed little more than an afterthought—that the Horseman pinpointed what
else
was wrong with his surroundings.
The dead Sarasael had described a vast barrage of devastating energies and explosions, tearing down entire thickets.
So where was all the damage?
Why were the only obvious gaps in the foliage and fallen trees the results of the firepower he currently dodged?
Death twisted aside, letting the hail of bullets sweep past him, but avoiding two separate attackers was proving far more difficult than one alone. “I don’t suppose we can discuss this?” he asked without much hope.
In response, a third angel, wielding a halberd much like the soldier above, stepped from inside a tree