Darksiders: The Seed of Knowledge

Chapter Sixteen

Death instantly took action and ran to the body.  Holding out his hand, he muttered ancient syllables that weren't syllables at all.  Faith's soul flew into his waiting palm the moment it rose from the corpse.  But Death couldn't have prepared himself for blast of raw power it struck him with.

It was not unlike his leap into the Well of Souls, an act which had killed even him.  In fact, it was a thousand times stronger than that.  Encased in his fist, held there by his magics, her soul seemed to hold within it the power of Creation itself, giving the spirit a silvery hue that he'd never seen in a soul before.  And he . . . couldn't bear it.

Death, eldest of the Horsemen, impassive and impervious to so much Creation could throw at him, grunted, grabbed his wrist, and fell to one knee.

"Death!" War yelled behind him.

Agramon smiled.  "You feel it, don't you, Horseman?  The power in her soul.  I'm surprised you don't recognize it, though.  After all, it is from Eden."

Death could barely lift his head, but his brothers did so for him.  All of Creation knew of Eden, of what had occurred at its Gates so many eons ago.  It was the last world that the Nephilim had tried to claim as their own, and where the Horsemen had slaughtered them all.  Thousands of years after that battle, when the first humans had been banished from the Garden, Eden had vanished from the cosmos.  To this day, as far as Death knew, no one had been able to find it.

"That's not possible," said Strife.

"And yet it is," said Agramon.  "Buried in that soul is a genuine piece of Eden.  A Seed from the Tree of Knowledge itself.  That is how the girl knew so much about Creation.  Beelzebub discovered it just before the Seventh Seal was broken, and the Dark Prince will go to any lengths to possess it."

The shadows around the Horsemen dispersed, revealing an army of demons not unlike the one Azazel had displayed.  Their weapons, claws and teeth were eager and waiting as they hissed and growled their lust for battle.

"That's why you brought her here," said War.

"Indeed."  Agramon began to descend the dais.  "Beelzebub would have taken her with him when he left to inform the Prince of his findings, but there wasn't enough time to reverse his preservation spells.  After Azazel failed to capture her alive, the Dark Prince ordered that her soul be brought to him instead.  He wants her knowledge, and he will tear her soul apart to find the secret he's after."  The demon frowned suddenly.  "I've never seen him so desperate."

His despondency lasted only a moment before he was grinning again.

"Now, if nobody minds, I'll be taking that soul to my master."

The legions around them made another sound of eagerness.  As they did, War and Strife moved closer to Faith's body, their backs to it and Death as they prepared to defend the girl's spirit.  Fenrir also turned, standing protectively over his rider and growling in threat at the Demon Lord; but the ancient wolf was still afraid, his tail still curved between his legs.

Death prepared to fight, as well, lifting the scythe in his free hand, but something made him hesitate.  An echo in his subconscious, growing in strength and volume, reaching out to him from a distance both near and far.

Death, Faith whispered in his mind, sounding scared and desperate.  Death, can you hear me?

The Rider closed his eyes and focused on the soul in his hand.  It didn't surprise him that she knew how to commune with him like this.  He had been the one to teach her, after all.  What surprised him—what impressed him—was that she could, and without him using any necromantic spells beforehand to aid her!  She was very powerful indeed.