Darksiders: Deathly Aura (Book 1)

Chapter Two The Forge Lands

The realm had many distinctive features. Plains covered the lands like patchwork which was littered with forestry. Mountains of mighty altitude arched from the earth, acting as sturdy but passable borderlines. From some of these rock formations, lava ran like rivers, while at others, the purest of water fell from great heights into pools below.
But nothing came near to being compared with what lay in the centre of everything.
The Tree of Life, old as Creation itself, towered over all like a warden of sorts; forever keeping a watchful eye
This was the Forge Lands, the realm of the Makers.
However, like many others, the line between this world and the dreaded Abyss grew thinner by the day, as did the hope of those who resided there. Darkness had long since latched onto this world like a disease, claiming many as it spread like a sinister virus. There was little that could be done to stop it, but that wasn't to say there weren't those who were willing to try. But one such person who still cling to hope was denied the chance to take action again and again despite their ever-existing, childish persistence.

The thick, wooden post shuddered as a body skidded and slammed into it once more; this time staying there, slumping a against it.
A small bird flittered over and perched on the splintered top, digging its little talons into the edge for support.
With small, blue, beady eyes, the bird looked down at the person as they sat up.
The girl rubbed the back of her head irritably then tightened the band that held her light hair back, save for the bangs that covered her forehead and fell into her now somewhat reddened face.
She got to her feet and dusted off her jacket which was of brown leather. Two single strips of cyan and purple lined its short sleeves. Metal plates strapped to the rest of her arms and her legs served as the girl's only form of armour.
With eyes a lighter hue than those of the bird that sat behind her, the girl fixed her gaze on her opponent.
Pointing a partly gloved finger at him, she spoke.

"You really need to stop doing this to me, Thane."

"I don't see what I'm doing wrong, lass." Thane, a Maker, replied.
Had he been on Earth, his accent would've been seen as Scottish.
"Yer the one getting flustered, losing focus."

Like any other of his kind, Thane was large in size and heavily built. Height wise, he stood at ten feet tall, towering over the girl who stretched shy of five foot, eight inches.
Hair of a reddish brown colour covered his head and formed the beard and moustache that occupied his gritty face. Clad in armour and handmade clothing, he often carried a large axe, once used in battle, now for training.

By now, the girl had balled her hands into fists.
"You know what I mean, Thane." she responded lowly, eyes narrowing.

The small bird left the post to perch on her shoulder, tucking in its brown, blue tipped wings and nestled against the girl's neck, silently willing her to calm down.
Thane let out a somewhat irritated, but ever so slightly sorrowful sigh.

"Please, don't tell me yer going to start rambling on about that again, Carina."

"You expect me not to? Admit it, you and the other Makers know the realm's falling apart, yet you all hide here in Tri-Stone!" the girl, Carina exclaimed, her fists clenching tighter.
"Yet, here I am offering, begging to make a difference, maybe even turn things around, but none of you will even let me try!"

"Now hold on-" Thane tried to interrupt, but Carina was having none of it, cutting him off immediately.

"No, I don't want to hear it. I'm tired of hearing the same thing over and over again! Face it, this place? It's already one foot in the grave. You're all just sitting here, waiting for death to come knocking."

Carina quickly bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying anything else useless, offensive or otherwise. Exhaling loudly through her nose, she briefly averted her gaze before looking up at the weary Maker again, already feeling a pang of guilt for her latest outburst; no matter how right it was.

"I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is." Carina finished, voice quieter this time.

With this, the girl turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Thane with a solemn expression in the small training area. Leaning on the nearest post to reach his height, he slowly shook his head.

"Maybe we are, lass." he said to himself. "Maybe we are."

<<>><<>>

For a time, the eldest of the Horsemen had led himself to believe that he'd been tricked, that the wretched, unstable Crowfather had somehow sent him into Oblivion itself. The nothingness that surrounded him lasted for what seemed like an eternity.... But no. This was not the case.
The eerie, threatening whispers of the souls now caged in the rider's pale chest flooded his ears, his mind, even his own soul experienced their unwelcome, prying presence. They uttered unintelligible chants, some provoking, some spiteful, while others were downright mad. Then, joining as a single body, the souls hissed in anger as from the wound came a sensation both burning and soothing at once.
It was this that latched onto Death, dragging him up and out of the darkness, leaving the voices behind.

In seconds, Death's orange eyes flickered open. The bright light of day messed with his vision for a moment, but quickly settled, allowing the Horseman to view the one that loomed over him.

"Be still, you're wounded." came an old voice, as from their hand came glowing wisps, bringing about the bittersweet feeling  to Death's injury once more.

"Do not touch me." the rider hissed, quickly getting to his feet and took a step or two back.

The tall man that had attempted to help him also retreated, hobbled rather, turning his back to the rider as he used a long, decretive staff to support his age-old form.

"Your arrival here Horseman is a bad omen....Yes, it troubles me greatly.... Yet, it brings some element of hope." he told him, not bothering to look back.

"There'll be more trouble coming your way if you don't start making sense, old one. Where is the Tree of Life?" Death demanded, lacking both humour and patience at that moment of time.

The large, heavily built man turned to look at him with grey eyes that resided on a worn face. His creased features were framed by a long, platinum beard, braided into a single piece.

"Life? Hm. This world is dying, lad. Chaos and corruption surround us and close in, bit by bit, day by day. Soon the Tree itself will fall, and with it, the last of my people. Is that not what brought you here, Horseman?" the elder inquired, a snowy eyebrow raised in question.

Death's head dipped in thought, but only briefly.
"I seek the Tree, nothing more. Your 'chaos and corruption' don't concern me." he answered, folding his arms across his pale, wounded chest.

Before either could utter another word, a crumbling noise echoed from the large, open space behind them.
Piles of rubble emerged from the earth, each taking a humanoid shape. A dark ooze and sickly yellow crystals sprouted from the cracks and joints of the stone bodies.
Death instantly drew his scythes, unhitching them from his belt. He didn't know what these creatures were, but something about them struck home. A twinge of inexplainable familiarity

"Perhaps," the elder spoke, "they do concern you."