Darksiders - Thanatos Rising
Title: Thanatos Rising
Fandom: Darksiders
Characters/pairings: Death/Azrael
Rating: R
Summary: Even the most ancient and powerful beings once needed to be taught their craft.
Warnings: Angels having sex.
Notes: HIATUS? WHAT HIATUS?
Joking aside, this will probably be the last thing y'all see for a while.
Table of Contents
o o o
"I worry for you, Azrael."
The young archangels drifted down the streets of the White City, stately and serene. Azrael turned to Michael, his brow furrowing briefly. "What is your concern?" he asked.
"You are a student at the knee of our enemy," Michael answered. "I fear for your safety."
Azrael was silent for a moment, absorbing the admission. The nephilim Death was a hard teacher, but fair and honorable. "He has given me no reason to fear him," he said finally. Michael gave him an incredulous look, and he smiled wryly. "No reason beyond his powers and strength. I respect what he is, but I do not feel threatened by him."
"I worry there, too," Michael said quietly. "Azrael, Death only teaches you as a condition of his surrender. He gave up the role of Gatekeeper to keep himself and the remaining nephilim alive, not out of any love for the Light. Death is not your friend."
"Death is no creature's friend," Azrael quipped. "The nephilim are not beings of Light, but they are beings of deep honor. Death would no more sabotage my tenure as Gatekeeper than you would."
It was Michael's turn to be silent. The City ebbed and flowed around them; so young, so full of promise. No nephilim had made it past the paradise of Eden to mar it's beauty. The number of First Angels had dwindled, cut down by the brief war, but lesser angels rose from the spilled blood to fill the ranks. They saluted as they passed, each more lovely than the last, and Azrael watched them with a lingering note of sorrow. As Gatekeeper, it would one day be his duty to lead their souls into the afterlife.
"All I ask is that you be careful," Michael said after a few moments. "Honorable or no, their ways are not ours. The nephilim were cast out for their corruption. Do not allow that corruption to taint you as well."
"I understand," Azrael said, bowing his head slightly.
o o o
Azrael almost wished that Michael had said nothing. Not that he begrudged the First of the First his concern, but because the words haunted his thoughts. Too much of his attention was on his instructor, trying to see signs of corruption, and not enough on his task at hand.
Two air elementals circled him, one evil and one good. They blended in seamlessly with the air, and he was to catch them by the draw of their souls alone. But he was distracted, his attention constantly wandering to Death, and when one of the elementals solidified to slap him in the back of the head, Death raised a hand to pause the exercise.
Death's presence made any creature uncomfortable. Azrael was no exception, and he pulled his wings in tight to keep his feathers from bristling at Death's approach. But it was growing easier with every lesson, and should he take that as a warning? That he was tainted by Death and therefore easier in his presence?
"What is wrong?"
"I apologize," Azrael said, too quickly. "I do not mean to be distracted, I shall-"
Death held up his hand again, and Azrael felt foolish and juvenile. "What," Death repeated slowly. "Is wrong?"
Azrael had to avert his eyes. "My brethren fear my corruption at your hands," he said quietly. "They have sown doubt into my mind, that your intentions are strictly professional."
"Michael," Death said flatly. Azrael winced internally and nodded, and Death snorted derisively. "He considers what I am to be worse than those that crawl in the Darkness. To him, an evil creature is better than a neutral one, because he can understand an evil creature as his opposite. The nephilim are anathema to his world view, for he cannot fathom a creature motivated, not by good or evil, but by the Law above all else.
"He is right to fear my 'corrupting' you, Azrael. What I teach you cannot be turned against the darkness. The flow of souls must remain balanced, lest the very structure of the world collapse."
Azrael drew back in alarm. "You ask me to stand against Heaven?" he asked sharply.
"No." Death's gaze was steady on his. "I ask you to keep your duties separate. You are of the Light, and will fight for the Light, I have no doubt. But you cannot allow that to affect Azrael the Gatekeeper. This post must be kept sacrosanct, even above your devotion to Heaven. It cannot be corrupted by evil or good, for all creatures deserve the right to live and die."
Azrael shook his head. "I do not know if I can treat an evil soul with the same care as an angelic one," he said dubiously. "My entire life has been marked by struggle against the Darkness and the nephilim. How am I to see them as one and the same?"
Death reached for him. "Give me your hand," he ordered. Azrael hesitated before obeying. Death took his hand and turned it palm up, drawing his finger across the bottom of Azrael's palm. The flesh beneath his touch died and sloughed away, as if his hand were dirt death had drawn his finger through. The pain took a moment, as did the blood that welled up and spilled down his wrist.
Death let him go and did the same to himself, and Azrael's veins turned to ice. "Blood magic is forbidden," he said sharply.
"In Heaven," Death replied. "And for good reason." Blood that was too dark welled in his palm, and Azrael was too slow to dodge the grab for his hand.
Horror was his first reaction. Death's presence slithered into his veins, a malignant creature from beyond even the Abyss. But there was an odd familiarity to it, that had nothing to do with knowing Death in this life time. Their souls had met before.
He was not given time to dwell in horror. death pulled him along, through the walls of reality and down lonely passages to the Well, and through. A great galaxy of souls met his surprised gaze, and he was pulled deeper in, until souls surrounded them.
Souls flocked to Death like jewel-bright birds, and Azrael's horror turned to awe. Death cared, so very deeply, for every spirit in his domain. Each was treated with a compassion and consideration that Azrael never would have suspected, and the souls loved him deeply. he realized that death must have handled his soul in the same way, before he was born in heaven, and he felt ashamed of the disgust he had felt at Death's touch.
'No. You are living; it is natural for you to shy from death. Come.'
Azrael did as bid, and Death showed him how a soul was cleansed of it's acts in life, how the souls of evil creatures were indistinguishable from good once dead.
'They are all precious. In this place, Lilith and Michael would be the same, and as deserving as the frailest human. This is what you must understand.'
Two souls drifted from the mass, and Azrael felt his heart crack. They were broken, mutilated, slowly healing but so very hurt, and death's remorse would have been palpable even without the blood bond.
'Once, I was a fool. These two paid for it.'
The shattered souls flitted around Death, gently forgiving, and the last of Azrael's negative emotions drain away. How could he fear this being that cared so much? remembered love and trust rose to fill the void, and Death's surprise filtered back.
A tug, both physical and mental, and he was pulled against a broad chest. He felt no disgust this time, no loathing at Death's hand. He spread his palm across Death's chest, marveled at the powerful, abnormal heart beat under his hand. Strange heat in his veins, highlit by what he felt across their bond, and he didn't understand until Death cupped his face with his hand.
Azrael hesitated - the both wore the shapes of males, how could they? - and set his qualms aside. The hand at his cheek dropped to his waist, pulled him close, bore him down to the strange firmament beneath their feet. The bond deepened and his awareness doubled; was he lying beneath with his bleeding hand pinned above his head, or was he kneeling above and pinning? Their minds separated again, and he pulled Death down, allowing the nephilim's closeness to fan that odd heat, igniting-
'Desire,' pulled through the bond, and the foundations of his world wavered. Carnality was sinful, lust was a disease to be purged, but where was the corruption in this? How could there be sin in the careful, determined way Death pulled at his robes and touched his skin?
A thump against his outstretched wing, a clatter of metal. Death's mask, falling to the ground. He caught a glimpse of sunken eyes and parchment skin before Death buried his face against Azrael's neck. The lips that pressed against his throat were too dry, too insubstantial, oddly separated, and he wondered why that didn't make his skin crawl.
Death asked, Azrael accepted, and there was penetration, almost-but-not painful and Azrael threw back his head. Death rocked above him, inside him, sliding friction and their hands were still connected, still whispering each other's thoughts. Azrael clutched at Death's shoulder, moving with him, thinking with him, aware of nothing save themselves and their rising pace.
His awareness overlapped and shifted again and he was above, thrusting into gripping heat. He kept his face buried against the angel's shoulder; no sense in startling him now, not when he was so close and tight and welcoming.
'Climax' was the word Death gave him, but it felt like freefall, like wonder, like dying and it would kill him, it had to kill him, there was no way he could live after experiencing such a perfect connection, such a complete immersion in Death's mind and soul and he understood, he understood-
He opened his eyes when Death let go of his hand. They were standing as they had been when Death first drew his blood. Their clothing was in place, and his body gave no sign of what he had just experienced. Had he imagined it?
Citrine-bright in the corners of his vision and he reached up, catching the air elementals by their souls. One of the elementals screamed in surprise and he pulled them both into his grip, contemplating. He could look with his mind and vanquish the evil spirit, harvesting it's soul to return to the Well (which he could now feel as if physical and he was not surprised in that) He could kill them both, ensuring that the balance within the Well remained unchanged. He could destroy them both, breaking their souls into nothing; Death had shown him how long before, and would not be able to stop him.
He let them go, flicking his fingers to usher them on their way. Death had not moved the entire time, not until the elementals had taken a hasty retreat. "Why did you do that?" he asked.
Azrael took a calming breath, steeling his nerves. "Why did you make love to me?" he countered.
Death's eyes narrowed slightly behind his mask. "Because you accepted me," he said after a moment. "And because you wanted to."
"Hm." Azrael folded his hands into his sleeves. His pinions were marked, he noticed, brilliant blue runes winking at the edges of his attention. "It is my purpose to guard the dead," he said finally. "Not decide who lives and who dies, nor who rests and who is destroyed."
Death looked at him for a long time, then nodded solemnly. "I have nothing more to teach you," he said softly, an odd note of melancholy in his voice. "Angel of Death."
Fandom: Darksiders
Characters/pairings: Death/Azrael
Rating: R
Summary: Even the most ancient and powerful beings once needed to be taught their craft.
Warnings: Angels having sex.
Notes: HIATUS? WHAT HIATUS?
Joking aside, this will probably be the last thing y'all see for a while.
Table of Contents
o o o
"I worry for you, Azrael."
The young archangels drifted down the streets of the White City, stately and serene. Azrael turned to Michael, his brow furrowing briefly. "What is your concern?" he asked.
"You are a student at the knee of our enemy," Michael answered. "I fear for your safety."
Azrael was silent for a moment, absorbing the admission. The nephilim Death was a hard teacher, but fair and honorable. "He has given me no reason to fear him," he said finally. Michael gave him an incredulous look, and he smiled wryly. "No reason beyond his powers and strength. I respect what he is, but I do not feel threatened by him."
"I worry there, too," Michael said quietly. "Azrael, Death only teaches you as a condition of his surrender. He gave up the role of Gatekeeper to keep himself and the remaining nephilim alive, not out of any love for the Light. Death is not your friend."
"Death is no creature's friend," Azrael quipped. "The nephilim are not beings of Light, but they are beings of deep honor. Death would no more sabotage my tenure as Gatekeeper than you would."
It was Michael's turn to be silent. The City ebbed and flowed around them; so young, so full of promise. No nephilim had made it past the paradise of Eden to mar it's beauty. The number of First Angels had dwindled, cut down by the brief war, but lesser angels rose from the spilled blood to fill the ranks. They saluted as they passed, each more lovely than the last, and Azrael watched them with a lingering note of sorrow. As Gatekeeper, it would one day be his duty to lead their souls into the afterlife.
"All I ask is that you be careful," Michael said after a few moments. "Honorable or no, their ways are not ours. The nephilim were cast out for their corruption. Do not allow that corruption to taint you as well."
"I understand," Azrael said, bowing his head slightly.
o o o
Azrael almost wished that Michael had said nothing. Not that he begrudged the First of the First his concern, but because the words haunted his thoughts. Too much of his attention was on his instructor, trying to see signs of corruption, and not enough on his task at hand.
Two air elementals circled him, one evil and one good. They blended in seamlessly with the air, and he was to catch them by the draw of their souls alone. But he was distracted, his attention constantly wandering to Death, and when one of the elementals solidified to slap him in the back of the head, Death raised a hand to pause the exercise.
Death's presence made any creature uncomfortable. Azrael was no exception, and he pulled his wings in tight to keep his feathers from bristling at Death's approach. But it was growing easier with every lesson, and should he take that as a warning? That he was tainted by Death and therefore easier in his presence?
"What is wrong?"
"I apologize," Azrael said, too quickly. "I do not mean to be distracted, I shall-"
Death held up his hand again, and Azrael felt foolish and juvenile. "What," Death repeated slowly. "Is wrong?"
Azrael had to avert his eyes. "My brethren fear my corruption at your hands," he said quietly. "They have sown doubt into my mind, that your intentions are strictly professional."
"Michael," Death said flatly. Azrael winced internally and nodded, and Death snorted derisively. "He considers what I am to be worse than those that crawl in the Darkness. To him, an evil creature is better than a neutral one, because he can understand an evil creature as his opposite. The nephilim are anathema to his world view, for he cannot fathom a creature motivated, not by good or evil, but by the Law above all else.
"He is right to fear my 'corrupting' you, Azrael. What I teach you cannot be turned against the darkness. The flow of souls must remain balanced, lest the very structure of the world collapse."
Azrael drew back in alarm. "You ask me to stand against Heaven?" he asked sharply.
"No." Death's gaze was steady on his. "I ask you to keep your duties separate. You are of the Light, and will fight for the Light, I have no doubt. But you cannot allow that to affect Azrael the Gatekeeper. This post must be kept sacrosanct, even above your devotion to Heaven. It cannot be corrupted by evil or good, for all creatures deserve the right to live and die."
Azrael shook his head. "I do not know if I can treat an evil soul with the same care as an angelic one," he said dubiously. "My entire life has been marked by struggle against the Darkness and the nephilim. How am I to see them as one and the same?"
Death reached for him. "Give me your hand," he ordered. Azrael hesitated before obeying. Death took his hand and turned it palm up, drawing his finger across the bottom of Azrael's palm. The flesh beneath his touch died and sloughed away, as if his hand were dirt death had drawn his finger through. The pain took a moment, as did the blood that welled up and spilled down his wrist.
Death let him go and did the same to himself, and Azrael's veins turned to ice. "Blood magic is forbidden," he said sharply.
"In Heaven," Death replied. "And for good reason." Blood that was too dark welled in his palm, and Azrael was too slow to dodge the grab for his hand.
Horror was his first reaction. Death's presence slithered into his veins, a malignant creature from beyond even the Abyss. But there was an odd familiarity to it, that had nothing to do with knowing Death in this life time. Their souls had met before.
He was not given time to dwell in horror. death pulled him along, through the walls of reality and down lonely passages to the Well, and through. A great galaxy of souls met his surprised gaze, and he was pulled deeper in, until souls surrounded them.
Souls flocked to Death like jewel-bright birds, and Azrael's horror turned to awe. Death cared, so very deeply, for every spirit in his domain. Each was treated with a compassion and consideration that Azrael never would have suspected, and the souls loved him deeply. he realized that death must have handled his soul in the same way, before he was born in heaven, and he felt ashamed of the disgust he had felt at Death's touch.
'No. You are living; it is natural for you to shy from death. Come.'
Azrael did as bid, and Death showed him how a soul was cleansed of it's acts in life, how the souls of evil creatures were indistinguishable from good once dead.
'They are all precious. In this place, Lilith and Michael would be the same, and as deserving as the frailest human. This is what you must understand.'
Two souls drifted from the mass, and Azrael felt his heart crack. They were broken, mutilated, slowly healing but so very hurt, and death's remorse would have been palpable even without the blood bond.
'Once, I was a fool. These two paid for it.'
The shattered souls flitted around Death, gently forgiving, and the last of Azrael's negative emotions drain away. How could he fear this being that cared so much? remembered love and trust rose to fill the void, and Death's surprise filtered back.
A tug, both physical and mental, and he was pulled against a broad chest. He felt no disgust this time, no loathing at Death's hand. He spread his palm across Death's chest, marveled at the powerful, abnormal heart beat under his hand. Strange heat in his veins, highlit by what he felt across their bond, and he didn't understand until Death cupped his face with his hand.
Azrael hesitated - the both wore the shapes of males, how could they? - and set his qualms aside. The hand at his cheek dropped to his waist, pulled him close, bore him down to the strange firmament beneath their feet. The bond deepened and his awareness doubled; was he lying beneath with his bleeding hand pinned above his head, or was he kneeling above and pinning? Their minds separated again, and he pulled Death down, allowing the nephilim's closeness to fan that odd heat, igniting-
'Desire,' pulled through the bond, and the foundations of his world wavered. Carnality was sinful, lust was a disease to be purged, but where was the corruption in this? How could there be sin in the careful, determined way Death pulled at his robes and touched his skin?
A thump against his outstretched wing, a clatter of metal. Death's mask, falling to the ground. He caught a glimpse of sunken eyes and parchment skin before Death buried his face against Azrael's neck. The lips that pressed against his throat were too dry, too insubstantial, oddly separated, and he wondered why that didn't make his skin crawl.
Death asked, Azrael accepted, and there was penetration, almost-but-not painful and Azrael threw back his head. Death rocked above him, inside him, sliding friction and their hands were still connected, still whispering each other's thoughts. Azrael clutched at Death's shoulder, moving with him, thinking with him, aware of nothing save themselves and their rising pace.
His awareness overlapped and shifted again and he was above, thrusting into gripping heat. He kept his face buried against the angel's shoulder; no sense in startling him now, not when he was so close and tight and welcoming.
'Climax' was the word Death gave him, but it felt like freefall, like wonder, like dying and it would kill him, it had to kill him, there was no way he could live after experiencing such a perfect connection, such a complete immersion in Death's mind and soul and he understood, he understood-
He opened his eyes when Death let go of his hand. They were standing as they had been when Death first drew his blood. Their clothing was in place, and his body gave no sign of what he had just experienced. Had he imagined it?
Citrine-bright in the corners of his vision and he reached up, catching the air elementals by their souls. One of the elementals screamed in surprise and he pulled them both into his grip, contemplating. He could look with his mind and vanquish the evil spirit, harvesting it's soul to return to the Well (which he could now feel as if physical and he was not surprised in that) He could kill them both, ensuring that the balance within the Well remained unchanged. He could destroy them both, breaking their souls into nothing; Death had shown him how long before, and would not be able to stop him.
He let them go, flicking his fingers to usher them on their way. Death had not moved the entire time, not until the elementals had taken a hasty retreat. "Why did you do that?" he asked.
Azrael took a calming breath, steeling his nerves. "Why did you make love to me?" he countered.
Death's eyes narrowed slightly behind his mask. "Because you accepted me," he said after a moment. "And because you wanted to."
"Hm." Azrael folded his hands into his sleeves. His pinions were marked, he noticed, brilliant blue runes winking at the edges of his attention. "It is my purpose to guard the dead," he said finally. "Not decide who lives and who dies, nor who rests and who is destroyed."
Death looked at him for a long time, then nodded solemnly. "I have nothing more to teach you," he said softly, an odd note of melancholy in his voice. "Angel of Death."