Read Online Darksiders: The Abomination Vault by Ari Marmell - Free Book Online
Authors: Ari Marmell
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the entire domain. Jagged protrusions of rock around the edges mimicked the great mountains, and from a raised pool, directly across from the stairs, lava bubbled and fires burned. A molten stream, thin and easily crossed, dribbled eternally from that pool to split the platform into uneven halves.
And there, looming over it all from beyond that peculiar font, the Charred Council itself.
Or, at the very least, their façade.
They were a trio of enormous faces, formed of the living rock. Mouths, literally cavernous, gaped open to show the roaring of eternal flames—and, occasionally visible in the flickering of that inferno, what
might
have been a rough and precarious cave leading into depths unknown. Those same fires burned in the unblinking sockets above, pouring yet more smoke into the already thickened air. The visages were subtly different—this one had the curved horns of a ram; that one was slightly more slender than the others—but while the details might differ, the overall effect was the same from each to each. They appeared as though some mad god had begun to sculpt the skulls of demons from the stuff of the mountain, then given up halfway through.
Were the idols themselves living, or were they the masks of more horrific entities in the caves beyond? Was the Charred Council truly three, or merely a single being with multiple faces? Not even the Council’s own Riders could do more than guess.
“War …” It came from the center effigy, booming enough that even the Horseman almost staggered. The shifting of tectonic plates, given throat and tongue to declare its deepest fury, might have come near to producing such a sound.
He bowed his head within the crimson hood, sufficient to show respect, but never could it be mistaken for submission. “You sent for me?” His own voice was hard, that of a man used to the shouts and calls of battle.
“We find ourselves presented with a rare opportunity. We have chosen you to exploit it.”
“I’m listening.”
“Your eldest brother currently walks the realms at our behest.” This time, it was the head on the right that spoke, in a voice almost indistinguishable from the first. “He looks into a matter that may or may not prove a trifle.”
War nodded. “What is it that he—?”
“Irrelevant!” That from the center head once again. “Death’s precise purpose has no bearing on you! What matters is this …”
Now the leftmost took its turn. “Our informants have alerted us that, in the midst of the event that we sent Death to investigate, the angel Abaddon was grievously injured. His recovery progresses slowly, and it may be some time before he returns to the White City—or to his fullest strength.”
Those rugged features now curled in a fearsome scowl. “If you are about to ask me to slaughter an injured foe—”
“We do not ask, Horseman! We never ask . You would be wise to remember that.”
“However” —now the rightmost head— “as it happens,you misunderstand our purpose. It is not Abaddon’s weakness, but his absence from the White City, of which you will take advantage .
“The pacts and treaties that we have enforced between Heaven and Hell are young still. Factions on both sides probe at their limits, seeing how far they can test us. A war between Above and Below is never far from igniting—a war in which we would have to intervene, and which would obliterate worlds and threaten the Balance before its end.”
I wonder, sometimes, if Creation is worthy of our efforts to save it
. But War was wise enough not to speak such thoughts aloud before the Council. What he said, instead, was, “Yes, I understand.”
“Many on both sides hold that such a war is inevitable, even desirable, and take steps to prepare. Abaddon is such a one. He has constructed a weapon of terrific power, an explosive device that harms only demons! It emits hallowed energies, and even its fragments and shrapnel are specially blessed .
“A ‘sacrament
And there, looming over it all from beyond that peculiar font, the Charred Council itself.
Or, at the very least, their façade.
They were a trio of enormous faces, formed of the living rock. Mouths, literally cavernous, gaped open to show the roaring of eternal flames—and, occasionally visible in the flickering of that inferno, what
might
have been a rough and precarious cave leading into depths unknown. Those same fires burned in the unblinking sockets above, pouring yet more smoke into the already thickened air. The visages were subtly different—this one had the curved horns of a ram; that one was slightly more slender than the others—but while the details might differ, the overall effect was the same from each to each. They appeared as though some mad god had begun to sculpt the skulls of demons from the stuff of the mountain, then given up halfway through.
Were the idols themselves living, or were they the masks of more horrific entities in the caves beyond? Was the Charred Council truly three, or merely a single being with multiple faces? Not even the Council’s own Riders could do more than guess.
“War …” It came from the center effigy, booming enough that even the Horseman almost staggered. The shifting of tectonic plates, given throat and tongue to declare its deepest fury, might have come near to producing such a sound.
He bowed his head within the crimson hood, sufficient to show respect, but never could it be mistaken for submission. “You sent for me?” His own voice was hard, that of a man used to the shouts and calls of battle.
“We find ourselves presented with a rare opportunity. We have chosen you to exploit it.”
“I’m listening.”
“Your eldest brother currently walks the realms at our behest.” This time, it was the head on the right that spoke, in a voice almost indistinguishable from the first. “He looks into a matter that may or may not prove a trifle.”
War nodded. “What is it that he—?”
“Irrelevant!” That from the center head once again. “Death’s precise purpose has no bearing on you! What matters is this …”
Now the leftmost took its turn. “Our informants have alerted us that, in the midst of the event that we sent Death to investigate, the angel Abaddon was grievously injured. His recovery progresses slowly, and it may be some time before he returns to the White City—or to his fullest strength.”
Those rugged features now curled in a fearsome scowl. “If you are about to ask me to slaughter an injured foe—”
“We do not ask, Horseman! We never ask . You would be wise to remember that.”
“However” —now the rightmost head— “as it happens,you misunderstand our purpose. It is not Abaddon’s weakness, but his absence from the White City, of which you will take advantage .
“The pacts and treaties that we have enforced between Heaven and Hell are young still. Factions on both sides probe at their limits, seeing how far they can test us. A war between Above and Below is never far from igniting—a war in which we would have to intervene, and which would obliterate worlds and threaten the Balance before its end.”
I wonder, sometimes, if Creation is worthy of our efforts to save it
. But War was wise enough not to speak such thoughts aloud before the Council. What he said, instead, was, “Yes, I understand.”
“Many on both sides hold that such a war is inevitable, even desirable, and take steps to prepare. Abaddon is such a one. He has constructed a weapon of terrific power, an explosive device that harms only demons! It emits hallowed energies, and even its fragments and shrapnel are specially blessed .
“A ‘sacrament
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