Darksiders: The Seed of Knowledge

Chapter Seven

Death scowled behind his mask.

The months he'd spent questioning demons with any relation to Beelzebub had led him nowhere, and questioning souls with any connection to the Demon Lord had proven an even bigger waste of time.  It was frustrating, to say the least, especially since every moment wasted brought the only human left in Creation closer to the grave.  Suffice it to say, the eldest of the Horsemen was not in a good mood.

That foul mood he took out on the demon he had just finished interrogating, separating its head from its shoulders with a blur of his scythe.  Dust perched on the corpse and pecked at the bleeding flesh in the demon's neck, seemingly oblivious to his master's aggravation.

"I'm beginning to think that Strife was right," he mumbled, choking on those very words.  Behind him, Despair whinnied in inquiry.  The Horseman turned and looked at his horse.  "The girl may be our only lead." 

He tapped a finger against his mask in thought.  He still wasn't entirely sure why he had his mask at all.  He had left it in the Well of Souls when he'd restored Humanity to the Balance, yet it had appeared on his face when the final Seal had summoned him.  He'd worn it for so many eons, it had become as integral a part of him as the weapon he carried.  Not even his own death, it seemed, could remove the mask for good.

So be it, then.

Death climbed into the saddle, Dust flying to perch on the saddle horn a moment later.  Then Rider, steed and bird passed through the void between realms to appear in the forests of the Woodlands.

When he got there, he found his siblings waiting for him—or were they waiting for someone else?—near an ornate circle of stone on the forest floor.  Fury and Strife were standing by the circle's edge.  A huge grey wolf stood with them, panting in the midsummer heat, his ears twitching at Death's arrival.  Of War and the girl, the Horseman saw no sign.

"Took you long enough," Strife said as his brother dismounted.

Dust cawed and flew to perch on a nearby branch as the wolf approached the Pale Rider.  The wolf bowed in respect, and Death reached out to pat his head.

"Hello, Old One," he said to the wolf.  Then to his siblings, "I take it the girl still lives?"

"She does," said Fury, "but she hasn't been very forthcoming with information."

"She said it would take time to calculate," said Strife.  "She also asked that we call her 'Faith.'  Apparently, her father chose that name."  Thoughtfully, he added, "Though, she seemed upset when she told me that."

"Maybe she just hates her name," Fury offered.

"No.  It felt more like contempt towards her father."

"Where are she and War now?" Death asked.

"In the Crucible," said Fury.

Death actually blinked.  "What the hell are they doing in there?"

His sister eyed him askance.  "What do you think, brother?"

The wolf barked once and bounded over to the circle's edge, wagging his tail excitedly as the air above the dais shimmered.  That shimmer of air condensed into the forms of two distinct people.  One was War, his armor smoldering and his hair slightly singed, clutching Chaoseater tightly in one hand.  The other was the girl—Faith—bent over on one knee and using her own sword as a crutch; she was breathing heavily, her dark hair and armor also slightly singed and smoldering.  The two of them were also completely covered in blood.