[Azrael nodded when Death repeated back that incredible span of years. It had been a surprise to War as well, apparently the youngest too had no idea just how much time had passed in the seemingly few seconds he had spent pleading his case to the Council.]
We had thought War fallen, as we did once with Abaddon. Defeated by Hell's champion, Straga. I fared no better than they against him in that initial battle. The White City shut it's doors to all outside of it, condemning the Hellguard to a long, inevitable demise, and myself to an eternity of captivity. I doubt that any of those who lived were even aware of my location...
[A hundred years was a long time to be left to rot, without any hope of rescue. It wasn't something he wished to linger upon, though thankfully what Azrael was doing after his shared treachery with Abaddon wasn't necessarily important. He left it there.]
War spoke to me of the Charred Council, how this premature apocalypse had been attributed to him by them.
[And if there was a hint of sharpness in that tone, well... there was. Azrael knew manipulation when he saw it, it had been all too clear the Council needed a reason to force the Horseman's hand. More painful still was the truth behind it all though, who really stood to blame for all of this needless loss and tragedy, and perhaps that was what really lent the edge to his tone.
As for Abaddon... He simply had not been allotted the time to mourn. Things happened too quickly, and considering the source of his knowledge of Abaddon's new identity, he was in no position to question it. Undeniable fact, and one that demanded immediate attention, regardless of his feelings or the shock of it all. There would be time enough for him to process it later... If he managed to live that long.
Once upon the dead world of the Ravaiim, he had nearly lost his temper with the oldest Horseman when the nephilim had grabbed him in very much the same manner. Offended almost beyond words and more than ready to start an extremely inconvenient argument right then and there. Now, however, Death would find the once proud angel submitting instantly to that vicious yank, both feet hitting the ground as he simply dropped from the few feet he'd been hovering in the air. His breath caught for a split second, as if his heart had literally climbed into his throat, before he continued.]
When War defeated Straga, I knew of only one place where we may still find any lead as to what should be done. I took him to Eden, where he had an audience with The Tree of Knowledge. That was when we learned of Abaddon's transformation, and I entrusted the recovery of the shattered Armageddon Blade to him.
[Still wasn't saying the important part, still wasn't able to look Death in the eye. To have taken a nephilim right to Eden without even a second thought suggested a moment of wild desperation indeed, though he spoke little of it now. His tone suggested that despite the silence he'd fallen into, he wasn't yet through, and finally, at long last, he pushed himself past that horizon.]
... It was at the behest of Abaddon did I ask Ulthane, a maker, to craft that weapon. ... For the sake of shattering six of the seven seals in a bid to trick Hell into believing Armageddon had begun.
At his command, I broke all but one.
[Once he started speaking, he simply could not stop, the confession to Death spilling out like water from a broken dam. It had been painful, shameful to admit it to War, the youngest nephilim having been burdened with the blame of committing an atrocity thanks to his actions. It was almost worse to now repeat it to Death. It was the very least the Horseman was owed however, genuinely the mealiest and most meager of scraps Azrael could hope to offer as recompense for everything.]
War, for his part, refused to enact his revenge. My fate was to be left to the Council.
[And he'd been ready for that, prepared for their wrath. It was no longer the concept of dying now that caused his blood to turn to ice, it was the act of having to tell Death now of this crime. He'd rather have submitted to the Council's rage and been unmade than stand before someone he'd respected and admit to his betrayal. Death deserved better, War deserved better.
He went silent, now drained and without a single thing else to offer the nephilim. It was all out there now, after all, what else was to be done?]
Its okay! I was trying not to get too wordy myself before but lmfao look a lot of stuff happened
We had thought War fallen, as we did once with Abaddon. Defeated by Hell's champion, Straga. I fared no better than they against him in that initial battle. The White City shut it's doors to all outside of it, condemning the Hellguard to a long, inevitable demise, and myself to an eternity of captivity. I doubt that any of those who lived were even aware of my location...
[A hundred years was a long time to be left to rot, without any hope of rescue. It wasn't something he wished to linger upon, though thankfully what Azrael was doing after his shared treachery with Abaddon wasn't necessarily important. He left it there.]
War spoke to me of the Charred Council, how this premature apocalypse had been attributed to him by them.
[And if there was a hint of sharpness in that tone, well... there was. Azrael knew manipulation when he saw it, it had been all too clear the Council needed a reason to force the Horseman's hand. More painful still was the truth behind it all though, who really stood to blame for all of this needless loss and tragedy, and perhaps that was what really lent the edge to his tone.
As for Abaddon... He simply had not been allotted the time to mourn. Things happened too quickly, and considering the source of his knowledge of Abaddon's new identity, he was in no position to question it. Undeniable fact, and one that demanded immediate attention, regardless of his feelings or the shock of it all. There would be time enough for him to process it later... If he managed to live that long.
Once upon the dead world of the Ravaiim, he had nearly lost his temper with the oldest Horseman when the nephilim had grabbed him in very much the same manner. Offended almost beyond words and more than ready to start an extremely inconvenient argument right then and there. Now, however, Death would find the once proud angel submitting instantly to that vicious yank, both feet hitting the ground as he simply dropped from the few feet he'd been hovering in the air. His breath caught for a split second, as if his heart had literally climbed into his throat, before he continued.]
When War defeated Straga, I knew of only one place where we may still find any lead as to what should be done. I took him to Eden, where he had an audience with The Tree of Knowledge. That was when we learned of Abaddon's transformation, and I entrusted the recovery of the shattered Armageddon Blade to him.
[Still wasn't saying the important part, still wasn't able to look Death in the eye. To have taken a nephilim right to Eden without even a second thought suggested a moment of wild desperation indeed, though he spoke little of it now. His tone suggested that despite the silence he'd fallen into, he wasn't yet through, and finally, at long last, he pushed himself past that horizon.]
... It was at the behest of Abaddon did I ask Ulthane, a maker, to craft that weapon. ... For the sake of shattering six of the seven seals in a bid to trick Hell into believing Armageddon had begun.
At his command, I broke all but one.
[Once he started speaking, he simply could not stop, the confession to Death spilling out like water from a broken dam. It had been painful, shameful to admit it to War, the youngest nephilim having been burdened with the blame of committing an atrocity thanks to his actions. It was almost worse to now repeat it to Death. It was the very least the Horseman was owed however, genuinely the mealiest and most meager of scraps Azrael could hope to offer as recompense for everything.]
War, for his part, refused to enact his revenge. My fate was to be left to the Council.
[And he'd been ready for that, prepared for their wrath. It was no longer the concept of dying now that caused his blood to turn to ice, it was the act of having to tell Death now of this crime. He'd rather have submitted to the Council's rage and been unmade than stand before someone he'd respected and admit to his betrayal. Death deserved better, War deserved better.
He went silent, now drained and without a single thing else to offer the nephilim. It was all out there now, after all, what else was to be done?]