Darksiders: The Abomination Vault by Ari Marmell Read Free Book Online

looked as though they wanted to cast their weapons aside and have at Death with teeth and nails.
    More like demons than angels
, he couldn’t help but think. But even he was not so uncouth, or so foolish, as to voice such an observation.
    Azrael, however, only shrugged. “We have many wounded, Death. Our strength is not what it should be, and we have no means of determining if the enemy plans to return. It made sense to seize whatever tactical advantage we could, and protect our brethren in every way possible.”
    “No need to be defensive. I applaud the initiative.” He cast his burning gaze across each angel, slowly, calmly. “If we’ve concluded our efforts to slaughter each other, Azrael, we ought to discuss what comes next.”
    One snowy eyebrow rose at that. “But you’ve yet to answer
our
question, Horseman.”
    “Your …” Death thought back a moment. “Azrael, you don’t honestly believe the attack was
my
doing!”
    “It could have been,” the angel said patiently. “The motives of the Council are inscrutable at best.”
    “Had I sought your blood, I’d have attacked you myself. Perhaps I might have had one or more of my brothers at my side. But I do
not
make use of … minions.”
    “Your masters might, though, yes?”
    “As I’m here at their behest, if they’re responsible for this, I’ll be as surprised as you are. And substantially more confused.”
    Azrael’s lip twitched. “All right. Come, Death. We’ll consult with Abaddon and decide our next move.”
    “Ah. Yes, I assumed he’d survived, if anyone had. He …” The abrupt stiffness in Azrael’s face gave him pause. “Something I should know?”
    “Abaddon survived, but not unscathed. Come. Perhaps you’ll know something of his affliction our healers do not.”
    “Hmm. Show me.”
    Surrounded by twin columns of angels, they marched from the copses of trees through blasted clearings, smoldering wounds in the primeval woodland, then deeper into the forest once more. None of the angels seemed remotely as comfortable with Death’s presence as Azrael did; Death, for his part, would have had to actually be sleeping to care any less
how
they felt.
    A soft flutter overhead heralded Dust’s reappearance, settling to perch on the dull outer curve of Harvester’s blade.
    “Interesting,” Azrael observed.
    “Not really. Crows are very poor conversationalists.”
    “A good thing you’ve never had any interest in conversation, then.”
    Death glanced sidelong at Azrael’s expression, but it remained impassive. He honestly couldn’t tell if the angel had meant that in jest or not.
    A few moments more of leaves and sticks crunching under the warriors’ heavy tread, a constant popping as though the forest itself were an arthritic grandparent, and the procession came across the first of the shattered stone soldiers.
    They could have stopped to allow a closer examination, but a glance told Death enough for now. He could not quite agree with Sarasael’s description. It seemed, to him, less like a canine with a humanoid torso, and more like a blocky insect, rearing up so that its front legs might rend and grab. Everything else was as the departed soul had portrayed: the graven runes, the carapace of rock, and the utter lack of any unnecessary features—such as, for instance, a head.
    “Solid stone, all the way through,” Azrael said without looking around.
    “And the others? The stone-and-brass soldiers?”
    “Largely hollow, save for some rods providing the outer surface with extra structural support. Part of why they could move so swiftly, I suppose.”
    “Hmm.” Death allowed himself a few paces to reflect. Then, “I’m not familiar with either design,” he admitted. “If I’ve ever seen them before, I don’t recall it.”
    “Nor were any of us,” Azrael told him. “Which means we have no idea who attacked us. Constructs
usually
mean a Maker, but …”
    “But plenty of others have hired, purchased, or even