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sophi-s · 3 years

Text

Silent Vigil

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 7,102

Characters: Abaddon, Astarte,

Warnings: Blood and gore, Graphic descriptions of violence, poisoning

Summary:

Life of a soldier in war is often dangerous. Every day may be the last. Even for the most skilled warriors. When a simple mission goes awry, Astarte realises how vulnerable her young and foolish heart truly made her.

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Another day of the never-ending war was slowly coming to an end in a cold, distant world, far away from Heaven's borders. In a snowstorm that came alongside dusk one could barely make out the well hidden shapes of tents in a makeshift camp the wandering squadron of angels had set up quite some time ago. The thick silence was only disturbed by wailing of the wind that brought to mind a sorrowful cry of a lone wolf. Heavy patches of snow were resting on top of the tents, hiding the amber glass underneath a thick white blanket.

Out of one of the smaller ones, a hooded figure emerges, wrapped up in a heavy winter coat with fur sewn into the edges. Their wings were folded back and tucked underneath the warm fabric to shield them from the ceaseless barrage of cold snowflakes and the ungodly cold. Wading knee-deep in snow, they swiftly cross the entirety of the camp like a spectre and step into the largest tent in the middle of it. Once inside, the hood is pulled back to reveal a head of dense platinum blonde hair falling around a smooth face of a female with brilliant white eyes flashing with determination of a warrior she is. Even when hidden from the elements and chilling winds, her breath was turning into white puffs slowly dissipating once they emerged from her parted lips.

Astarte brushes off the snow that still somehow managed to accumulate on her shoulders during her short walk and looks at another angel standing hunched above a map on a tabletop. But even bent over and not wearing his battle armor, he was of quite imposing height and stature. She smiles to herself sadly when he doesn't even notice her arrival and keeps grumbling something under his breath, still focused on the map. Unsurprisingly, he was still busying himself with strategizing. Astarte didn't know how long he'd been here without rest but she could bet her right hand he hadn't left ever since he dismissed her and the rest of his soldiers a couple of hours before. Part of her was actually glad that he is the one in charge and not she. Being a leader is a difficult and often tiresome task. Still, it doesn't mean she shouldn't support her general in his efforts. She's his lieutenant after all. That's her duty. And even if it wasn't, she would do so nonetheless as even her heart demanded her to be with him when he needs her. And in this moment he looked like he could use assistance.

"My Lord."

She greeted him, earning a glance of his piercing eyes, as cold as steel and as blue as the clear winter sky - hidden above their heads by thick, grey clouds - from underneath a crisp white fringe falling over his face. But the moment he realised it was her, the chill in his gaze faded and made place for warmth as a weary smile pulled at his mouth.

"No one is here, Astarte. There's no need for formality."

He replied and let his eyes linger on her for a couple more seconds before lowering them to the map between his hands resting on the table. Coming around it, Astarte stood beside him and looked at the plans under his careful scrutiny. They hadn't changed much from when she'd seen them last as he asked her to show what she'd learned and explain them to others. And this in itself was mildly concerning.

"Is there some kind of a problem, Abaddon?"

The archangel in question sighed and scratched the back of his neck, not taking his eyes off the map. After about a century under his command, Astarte knew Abaddon well enough to recognise apprehension in his mannerisms. He doesn't do that very often but when he does, usually a good reason exists. Leaning against the table as well, Astarte scans the entirety of the map to try and find the thing that made her commander and possibly future partner so uneasy. Unsuccessfully. There didn't seem to be a thing that should cause him distress. It was common knowledge in the White City that Abaddon was rather… paranoid to put it lightly. And in moments like this, it shows. Astarte didn't mind that but maybe now he's nervous just for the heck of it again.

"Not at all. And that's what doesn't seem right."

Astarte raised her eyebrow and looked up at him in confusion as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully before pointing at the map marked with small scribbled out notes in certain places with his whole hand.

"Look at it. There's nothing wrong with it! We've been after this artifact for months now and finally we - by a pure coincidence - find out about a group of demons which stumbled upon its location and is about to attempt retrieval? It's going way too smoothly for my taste. It can't be this easy.."

With a hum of affirmation, Astarte glanced down at the plan of the ruins, where the powerful demonic blade was supposedly hidden, again. The structure sat below the level of the terrain, two entrances and no other way out. A perfect place to ambush someone going in or out. About five days ago, a scouting party managed to capture a demon which tried to save its skin by revealing the location of the enchanted sword and the plan of its brethren who wished to get to it before Heaven does. The demon still perished but the information stayed. And at first it couldn't make Abaddon happier. Taking her and a group of thirty angels, the General of Heaven set out to intercept the demons and take over the artifact to make sure they don't use it against the White City. Now however, he seemed rather… frustrated, judging by the way he was drumming his fingers against the table. By now, they liquidated about half a dozen scouts and each provided at least some scraps of information they could put together to make a more or less clear image of their future task. For once, Astarte began to understand his concerns. There must be a catch. The question is "where?".

"You suspect some kind of a trick but if the artifact is really there, it's unacceptable to just leave it…"

"Exactly!"

Abaddon answered with a note of annoyance in his voice, still staring at the plan as though it had slighted him somehow. In a warrior's life nothing is ever easy. Astarte understood his doubts. Sometimes no words were needed to be spoken between them to reach this understanding. And that's why they were such a good team. All this really was going way too easily and it wasn't a surprise that he was so tense that the air around him seemed to turn heavy. She frowned, unhappy that this was one of those rare moments when she really wanted to help Abaddon but didn't know how. She despised this feeling. Unsure what else she could do, Astarte laid her hand on top of his, to at least try and offer him some semblance of peace of mind he needed.

"Standing here and glaring at the map won't make any difference. Try to rest."

With his eyebrows still furrowed in a worried frown, Abaddon shifted his hand under hers and curled his fingers around it.

"I am not sure if I can."

He murmured with resignation, failing to meet her eye. Now Astarte had no doubts as to how tired he really was. Abaddon rarely ever sounds like that. But true enough, if this unease stays with him, he might not be able to rest properly. That was just him. Utterly devoted to Heaven's cause, almost always putting duty on the first place. But right behind it, and often shifting places with it, was her. All it takes is the right word or the right touch. Letting go of his hand, Astarte rested her palm on his right cheek and leaned in to lightly brush her lips against his temple. His scowl immediately softened, his bushy eyebrows wandered slightly up his tattooed forehead and a corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a smile. Works almost every time..

Snapping his attention away from the blasted map, the archangel turned to Astarte with a sigh. He does that way too often when he feels uncertain. Still, this heaviness seemed to leave the atmosphere, a sign that she managed to fulfill the purpose she came here with, when she reached out to him and ghosted her fingertips against his cheek, simultaneously making him lean into her palm fondly. Moments later, Abaddon took her hand, lifted it to his mouth and pressed his warm lips to her knuckles red from the cold surrounding them. Looking at her with half-lidded, cerulean eyes, he met her gaze with that lively twinkle to them she knew so well from every time they had a moment together. She recognised that look. In spite of herself, Astarte smiled. Usually, she didn't really mind the open signs of affection when they were alone but they were in the middle of a frozen desert and on a very important mission.

"Abaddon, this really isn't the right time."

Astarte murmured as she put a hand on his mouth to stop him from proceeding when he began to inch closer to her, earning a slightly annoyed scowl from her Commander. She is his second-in-command and so her duty is to make sure he doesn't forget himself. But the thing is, Abaddon is one of the most stubborn creatures she'd known in all of Creation. The lengths he would go to get what he wants…

"May I remind you that you started it?"

He teased with a smirk clearly audible in the tone of his voice, making Astarte roll her eyes. She did, true, but they should stay focused on their task. There will be time for this once they accomplish what they came to this frozen hellhole for in the first place. Though, on the other hand… Ah, what's the point anyway? Astarte decided she will let him have this one if it helps him find peace tonight. I will have to relearn to stand up to him again… She thought as she lowered her hand right into his waiting palm.

The following kiss didn't surprise Astarte but still made her delightfully lightheaded. As it always does. Every next contact wasn't as exciting as the first one but still was sending the world around her spinning. Their romance was a badly kept secret, almost everyone in the White City knows by now, but it didn't feel any less thrilling than if they were actually secretly doing something forbidden. It wasn't uncommon for a general to be in relationship with his or her lieutenant.

"You too need your rest, Astarte. I'll need you to stay sharp tomorrow."

He breathed once he gave her her lips back far too soon and sadly Astarte knew he was right. Even if no deceit awaits them in those ruins, they all have to be on high alert. There's no joking around with demons. One of the first lessons Abaddon had taught her, back when she was still an overconfident and daring private who thought she could best anyone, him included.

"Very well. Goodnight to you, Abaddon."

"And to you, my love."

He offered as she pulled her hood up and walked out into the snowstorm to find a way back to her own tent, even though the cold made a small and quiet thought that "it would be much warmer if they stayed together and he surely wouldn't mind it" crawl its way into her head. There's no time for distractions. A difficult task awaits them tomorrow and they have to stay vigilant no matter what. The time will come after they succeed. Failure is out of question.

The Hellguard marched out of the camp before the first morning light. Time is of the essence and so they decided to waste none of it. Using the cover of the winter forest and the falling snowflakes, the angels quickly moved on foot not to draw the attention of demons which may be hiding somewhere around. Besides, flying was nigh impossible with the harsh, arctic wind tugging at them from every direction. Abaddon ordered to split the group to three, leaving one under the lead of Astarte, while he took the other two along.

It took an hour or so to arrive at the designated place. Indeed, the old ruins of a demonic outpost were half-concealed by nearby hills, the wilderness and by any plant life that has long crept inside. Built in a low spot, the structure was dark and ominous, radiating with sinister aura that could give creeps to even the bravest warriors. A dark presence lingered in the air, making this place seem even more grim and threatening. Astarte sneered slightly, a little at the freezing air seeping through her clothes and armor into her very bones, and a little at the discouraging atmosphere of this wretched place. The sooner they get this done with, the better.

Angels spread out and took their places to simultaneously have a good view of the ruins and good hiding spots from which one group could see the other two. With a silent sigh, Astarte frowned down at the ruins below her, constantly on alert for any movement. One minute passed. Two.. Five. Twenty. Nothing. Not a single soul. If the demons are truly inside then they are taking their sweet time. Just grand... She thought, already losing feeling in her toes and fingers. Wind kept wailing, the only sound that could be heard in this God-forsaken place.

Glancing about, Astarte furrowed her eyebrows. Something didn't feel right. There were no tracks of demonic clawed feet in over three mile radius, though it could be easily explained by demons using the Fallen which are capable of flight. But it didn't make her feel easier. No sounds, no signs of life. No wonder, what sane creature aside from a frost dragon would willingly make its home in this frozen landscape? The lack of any activity whatsoever also wasn't that strange when she thought about it. The wretched cowards can be hiding inside and waiting for the moody weather to calm down.

Still, a strange, unpleasant feeling was starting to rise in Astarte's gut. As though someone was… watching her. Just to double check, she scanned her surroundings in search of the source of this sensation. Nothing. Maybe paranoia is contagious? She chuckled inwardly. Her eyes fell onto Abaddon on the other side of the outpost, barely visible over the snow alongside his group. He wasn't looking at her, fully focused on his task. Of course. Why would he look at her now? This was something she shouldn't do either. Not when she should be on the lookout for their quarry.

However, just when Astarte was about to look back down, something in the distance caught her eye. For a brief second, she was absolutely certain she'd seen something that looked a lot like a tail swinging from a tree a couple of feet behind the other squad. A century or so ago, she would've ignored it, dismissed as her imagination. But it seems that paranoia really is contagious. And Abaddon taught her better than that. Astarte squinted at the object of her interest to try and make out more details. And her heart dropped to her heels.

Attached to what turned out to have been an actual tail, was a body of a slender demon coated in white fur, also dressed in white. To blend into the surroundings. Her experience told her. To her concern, once she noticed the first one, she suddenly started to spot more of them. All around. Stalking towards the unsuspecting angels focused on watching the ruins and something was telling her that the same was happening behind her own back. And that's when she felt a spike of dread jolt down her throat. The demon she initially spotted in the tree was holding something that looked a bit like a crossbow. And aiming at Abaddon's head from behind.

A realisation hit her that instead of the attackers, the Hellguard quickly turned into the attacked. Abaddon was right. This was trap! No clue how, but he knew. He has no idea, he won't notice the demon in time! She had to warn him somehow! To Hell with cover. Without a second thought, Astarte sprung up to her feet from where she was lying on her stomach half buried under the snow, sending a cloud of whiteness flying as she flared her rune-inscribed wings and yelled as loudly as her throat allowed her to before her vocal cords gave up.

"AMBUSH!!! "

In this very moment something heavy impacted with her back with a vicious roar, almost sending her toppling over the ledge. Were it not for her strength and the fact that she successfully avoided being surprised, Astarte stood her ground supporting herself with her spear to spare herself a painful fall just as her companions jumped out of their hiding spots to answer the demons with a counterattack. One of the younger angels under her command struck and killed the demon that pounced at her, one of the camouflaged white fiends she saw as she turned around, as bolts began to whizz through the air and screams of shocked angels intertwined with frustrated screeches of the Hellspawn.

Thanks to her quick reaction, the Hellguard swiftly entered defensive formations to face the ambushers. With a battle cry upon her lips, Astarte impaled one demon while her comrades were taking down others, trying to dodge or deflect the bolts. Why are they using crossbows? She wondered in spite of herself. Unfortunately, it wasn't the best time to ponder over their questionable choice of weapons. The dying demon on the end of her spear in its last act pulled itself further down the blade and almost onto the hilt, and desperately swung with its talons, tearing through her left arm before she could push it off.

With a pained sneer, Astarte tossed the now dead demon back at its brethren as she ordered her group to shift to offensive. The blood began to stain the spotless white snow in deep scarlet as more demons and, unfortunately, angels fell. But… something was unusual here. A second passed, two, three… and Abaddon was nowhere to be seen. Astarte doesn't get wounded often but when she does, it takes barely a beat for her commander to pretty much materialize out of thin air somewhere nearby to protect her, even if it is but a minor injury like this one. This time something was different. He most likely has problems of his own. She figured and led the charge against the fiendish warriors.

Oddly enough, the moment their ambush didn't work out, demons started to retreat as there was nothing more for them to achieve aside from losing more of their stealthy, lightly armored soldiers. And so, they fled just as quietly as they appeared, vanishing between the trees and in the snow.

Once the battle had ended, Astarte looked over the remaining angels. Previously she had ten. Now only five of them were unharmed while two more carried more or less serious wounds from blades and claws, often having crossbow bolts stuck in their armor. The other three… Astarte turned her gaze down and removed her helmet as her uninjured brethren did the same to pay respect to the fallen. She was well used to death but still. They were her brothers at arms. Angels she trusted and respected. After a moment, Astarte placed her headpiece back where it belonged and gripping her bleeding arm, she gave orders to her squad.

"Regroup. We need to evaluate the losses."

Taking a short flight, Astarte and the soldiers under her temporary command rejoined others. The Hellguard were still startled and disoriented, looking about in search of more attackers. Fortunately, to no avail. Astarte too was looking for something. Or rather someone when she couldn't see him anywhere at first. But barely seconds later she saw him. Sitting on the ground against a rock with two unnerved soldiers beside him, breathing heavily and unevenly, ashen face… He was keeping his hand over his chest. And sticking out from between his thumb and forefinger was.. Her eyes widened with fear…

A crossbow bolt.

Everything around Astarte halted as claws of horror, even colder than the snow and ice around her, got a hold of her heart which started to quiver in her chest. The demon still did manage to get Abaddon. Her warning came too late. And the bolt seemed to have been constructed in a way that made it very durable. The sharp projectile punched through Abaddon's breastplate without greater problems and now was stuck in his body.

"Abaddon!"

When she could move, she immediately rushed over to him, still unable to believe what had happened, and oblivious to her own injury fell to her knees beside him. Despite the pain that was apparently visible in his grimace, Abaddon turned his blue eyes at her with a frantic gleam in them.

"It… was a trap. I- I knew it! Astarte…"

He was interrupted by a harsh cough which caused blood to trickle out of the corner of his mouth. Talking clearly wasn't coming easily to him. Why would it, when he had a sharp bolt buried into his chest? Any incoming words were halted by Astarte putting her hand over his bloodied lips.

"Save your breath, my Lord."

She said, trying to keep her head cool despite the mounting panic in her throat, and took her eyes off his face to examine the wound. With his armor still on it was hard to determine the full extent of the damage but with how the bolt was positioned, Astarte could only imagine it may have punctured his left lung or damaged some vital blood vessels and she couldn't even extract it without risking causing further damage. Even as small as the wound was, it was dangerously near his heart that was surely pounding in his chest like crazy. The fact that there was barely any blood aside from that spilling steadily past his lips was hardly comforting. It could mean there's a much more severe internal bleeding. Hopefully not. Whether he likes it or not - which he most likely doesn't with how stubborn he is - Abaddon needed the help of a healer and needed it immediately.

"We have to move. There might be more of them nearby."

The Hellguard listened to Astarte without a moment of hesitation. She was the second in line to the position of a leader and Abaddon didn't seem like he was going to give orders any time soon. Astarte carefully pulled him up to his feet and hauled his arm over her own shoulders while other angels were gathering up those severely wounded and deceased in preparation to leave. As she was expecting, Abaddon grumbled in protest.

"I… can walk…"

"It doesn't mean you should."

With that, Astarte cut him off and it looked like he was not in the mood to argue with her. Neither did he have strength for it. The Hellguard moved out and left the cursed ruins behind. There was no doubt in Astarte's mind that there was no artifact here. This was just a bluff. A successful one unfortunately..

Even though there was hardly an hour of steady march between the ruins and their camp, for Astarte it felt like an eternity. With each laboured breath next to her ear and the weight of the injured archangel leaning against her shoulder slowly increasing, her agitation grew. But true enough, Abaddon did mostly walk on his own. At first. Not even fifteen minutes later, he was starting to get more sluggish and a faint tint of unhealthy green shaded his otherwise colorless face that should be tanned in warm tones. Still, he kept going. Until about half an hour later he stumbled, even though he was still supported by Astarte.

"I don't… I can't feel… my wings…"

He mumbled more to himself than anyone else, successfully getting his lieutenant's attention. True to his word, his wings were limply dragging behind him, motionless. And once she noticed that the light in his eyes had already faded and he's moments from slipping into unconsciousness, the panic returned. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage in despair. He was dying. She cannot lose him. Not him. Everyone but him.

"No… no, Abaddon! Don't fall asleep!"

She called desperately, making all of the angels to look back at them both with non hidden fright. Two Storm Heralds even rushed over to help as she held her commander who was very quickly losing his grip on life. With how heavy he was, Astarte had no other choice than to lower him to the ground. And she could feel how unnaturally warm under her hands his skin was. The camp is so close… He can't give up now! He can't… Just a little longer..

Don't close your eyes…

But despite her silent plea, her efforts to keep his head up and pull him back up… he did. His eyelids slipped closed, he ferociously fought to keep them opened but in vain. Even though Astarte was beginning to feel the shaking of her hands, she called to others.

"Help me get him up! We need to act quickly!"

The rest of the path to the campsite was a haze. Astarte remembered it like through a mist that clouded her senses and she wasn't even sure how and when she found herself in her own tent with Maral, an angel who was like a little sister to her, tending to the claw marks on her shoulder. Luckily, Maral herself wasn't injured in any way and she was the one to inform Astarte of the whole situation. Eight dead and ten injured in total. No artifact in sight. Not a very cheering perspective.. However, Astarte was only half paying attention to what Maral was saying. Her thoughts were elsewhere. In Abaddon's personal tent where he was brought to be taken care of about an hour ago. She was tapping her foot impatiently as Maral was getting her arm disinfected and wrapped up in bandages since there were only three healers in camp and two of them were injured too while the third one tended to the General.

"There. It should be mostly-... Hey! Where are you going?"

Astarte didn't really hear the call. After Maral was done with her wounds, she immediately stood up and walked out, heading to her General's tent, not caring about the cold anymore. Only one thought accompanied her on the way to her destination. Please, be alive... And please, stay that way... In the entrance she bumped into the aforementioned healer.

"Suriel. How is he?"

Judging by the grim expression Suriel bore, Astarte could tell she wasn't going to like what he was about to say. Of all angels, Astarte is rarely frightened. But this was one of those rare moments and she was glad she had her armor removed, because without a doubt it would clatter loudly, considering how much she was shaking. Don't tell me it's what I think it is.. She begged. Not a single part of her being was prepared to accept the fact that her beloved could be…

"He lives."

Not even the mightiest creature in the Universe could've stopped the loud exhale of relief that left Astarte the moment the news was revealed to her. However, it turned out she was too quick to rejoice.

"But he isn't well. The bolt.. although it did get to his lung that's not the main concern."

True enough, breathing isn't vital for angels to survive, though such an injury is rather inconvenient and if not healed properly can cause trouble in the future. But hearing that the punctured lung isn't the main concern immediately sent Astarte's heart back into frenzy before it could fully calm its pace.

"It was poisoned."

"Poisoned..?"

She echoed, already feeling increasingly dizzy from all this. Blessed Creator, please, let this chaos finally end... Of course the demons would poison their weapons! The fact why they were using crossbows became much clearer now. They lured the Hellguard out to try and take down its leaders. Bastards. Honestly, Astarte could consider herself lucky that she wasn't hit with one of the poisoned projectiles because without a shadow of a doubt she was one of the main targets as well.

"One of the killed demons had a vial of antidote in a knapsack but… the venom spread around his system very quickly. It will help. But that's all I could do. Lord Abaddon will have to battle the poison on his own until someone more experienced arrives."

It wasn't surprising that someone has already gone to the White City to call for help and deliver a report from the unsuccessful operation. Astarte could only hope either Abaddon will pull through or someone will get here to help him on time.

"Can I… see him?"

Suriel nodded. Astarte waited no longer and hesitantly peered inside of the tent. The sight that greeted her made her feel like her heart fell to pieces. No one had to say it out loud for her to realise that she wasn't ready for what awaited her. On a cot under coverlets in the far end of the tent, was him. Abaddon. Her beloved.. And he looked like a corpse. Still, unmoving, pallid skin… his eyelids and lips were in a blueish-purple hue. A blood-soaked bandage was wrapped around his chest and a wet piece of folded cloth rested on his forehead. Droplets of sweat were rolling down his face, shining in the gloom like crystals, as he heaved in shallow breaths.

Biting down on her lower lip, Astarte walked up to the cot and sat down on a stool beside it. Beside her love and light. The light that was now struggling to keep burning, fighting the deadly poison coursing through his veins. Up this close, she could plainly see how unwell he really was.

Abaddon was always the strongest of the heavenly warriors. Unbreakable. Someone Astarte looked up to ever since he quite literally took her under his wing when Malahidael couldn't deal with her overconfidence and lack of respect. Those were ones of her most cherished memories.. And now? It seemed all it would take was so much as sneezing in his direction to send his soul plummeting into the Well. Seeing him like this.. weak, broken and vulnerable… it made Astarte feel small and insignificant.

A choked huff that slipped past Abaddon's chapped lips as his whole body shivered violently, did very little to calm Astarte down. Her heart sank, corners of her mouth sagged sadly, when his eyelids twitched and his upper lip peeled back to reveal his teeth. Hesitantly, she reached out to him and ran her fingers through his white hair as he kept thrashing about in his feverish sleep and muttering.

"To- to me, Hellguard... As- Astarte… where are you..?"

"I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere…"

She whispered and leaned down to place a kiss to his trembling lips. Not going anywhere. Gently brushing her fingers against his cheek, hot like fire, she kept talking to him softly until his shivers eased and he fell into a much deeper and calmer sleep. She wasn't going to leave him. Not now. Not when he needs her the most. Not when she needs him..

For the next three days or so there was no change whatsoever. Abaddon kept drifting in and out of consciousness, delirious with scorching fever - sometimes weakly calling Astarte's name - and barely aware of anything happening around him. And he wasn't getting better. Astarte stayed at his side, silent and hopeful. His lieutenant hadn't moved from her place even if either Maral or someone else came over and proposed to change her in her shift so that Astarte may rest, to which the answer was "I'm not going to be able to sleep anyway.". She was helping with changing bandages and making sure the cloth on his forehead remains cool. The latter part was rather frustrating as the water in the basin next to the cot kept freezing over and with her nerves already in shreds Astarte barely held back from angrily lobbing it across the tent.

All the time she spent at Abaddon's side she was begging him to wake up, open his eyes and look at her. And every time he was shifting from uneasy delirium to numb unconsciousness she died a little bit inside out of fear that this time his heart may have given up.

"This has to be a nightmare…"

She once muttered to herself clutching Abaddon's motionless hand which felt like heated in a fire, hoping in vain that his grip will tighten any second now.

"And this is my fault.."

No words were able to put her mind at ease. The blame was rightfully on her, even though no one told her outright "It's because of you. You've failed him." She just convinced herself that it's the truth. Her duty was to protect Abaddon when he wasn't able to do so on his own. And despite Suriel, Maral and many others saying that it's a good thing she reacted so quickly, because were it not for her warning it could've ended much worse, the overwhelming feeling of guilt still remained.

And after those three days of emotional torment none other than the archangel Raphael arrived at the camp, carrying a message from the Council of Angels, ordering those injured who can be safely moved to return to the City. Without any exceptions. And that meant Astarte as well. But her Commander was to stay at the camp until he's cleansed of the vile venom threatening his life since there was a risk he would not survive this journey.

Astarte knew that she's leaving Abaddon in good hands. If anyone could help him, it would be the head healer of the White City. Still, she felt guilty for being forced to abandon him. Alongside a group of wounded angels, she left for her home with a heavy heart. All she could do was wait, harboring a feeling she found absolutely horrible. Helplessness. Wanting to act, feeling the need to, but being incapable of doing so. She should be with him, not hiding behind the White Gates! This was her duty. She swore to stand beside him no matter what. And now, the Council of Angels made her break this vow.

The next few days Astarte spent living in a lucid dream. A nightmare to be more accurate. Praying for Abaddon to pull through. She found herself often staring into the void, thinking. She missed his voice, his reassuring presence. His touch… Where is he? Is he alright? He has to be… Doesn't he? Of course he does! He's been through much worse more than once already. One bolt, even coated in noxious substance can't be enough to put him down. Unless… This was the thought that kept torturing Astarte. This "unless". After all, she'd seen how bad it was. How even with the antitoxin her Commander seemed to continue to slip away. Whatever the demons used, it must've been a truly horrendous poison..

When a week of solitude has gone by, reality started to sink in. It was taking too long already. Abaddon should've been healed by now. His absence could only mean… No! Raphael wouldn't fail. It's impossible! He can't be dead. Can he…? And even if so, the word about the demise of Abaddon of all people should have already been spread around the White City. But instead.. nothing. No news. Silence. Eventually, in this uncertainty and lack of any signs from anyone who remained at the camp, Astarte slowly started to believe, even though her heart screamed in denial. Sitting on the side of her bed in her home, she stared at her own boots, seconds ticked by, each lasting way longer than it should. What if he is gone? What is she going to do?

The Council will name her the next leader of the Hellguard without a doubt. All of Abaddon's responsibilities will be passed down to her. Maybe she will be able to forget if she keeps herself busy? She should've known that falling in love was a bad idea. Both she and Abaddon are warriors. Even with their unmatched skill, it was only a matter of time before one of them fell. But what could she do about it? He taught her so much, gave her all his knowledge and even offered his own heart that remained cold and stern for anyone but her. This last gift she could not reject as her own soul yearned to be close to him after everything he'd done for her. She couldn't win with it. Even though she tried her best once. Before she knew what he felt. Before… everything. She missed those times when Abaddon was no one else to her than her Commander perfectly capable of kicking her butt in any sparring to make sure she stays in line...

A quiet sound of opening doors caught her attention and made her head snap up. It was so sudden and unexpected that she felt a jolt of fear in her stomach. But with this fear came a shy ray of hope. Only one angel in the entire City walked into her house without knocking and only because she said he doesn't have to because he'd always be welcome. A rustle of feathers as a pair of wings beat once, a barely audible thud right behind the door to her bedroom. The doorknob moved. Slowly turned around and soon in the crack of the door, a pair of familiar blue lights appeared. Her heart hastened and her eyes grew wide like saucers. Could it… be true? Her hopes faded soon enough when she realised that it was probably just Azrael coming again to try and console her and her imagination is merely playing tricks on her. But the voice she heard seconds later made her heart skip a beat.

"Astarte?"

Still rather pale and swaying lightly on his legs, his eyes dull and devoid of their shine, Abaddon stepped into her room with relief painted across his face once he saw her before him. Words couldn't describe what was happening in her head at this moment. On the one hand she was absolutely ecstatic. He's alive. He hasn't left her despite the gravity of his recent condition. But on the other hand, she felt angry. Where was he all this time? Why was he keeping her in the dark? Not even a word when she was here already mourning and thinking how she should tackle becoming a leader all of the sudden. Jumping up to her feet, Astarte rushed over to him, closing the distance in one beat of her wings, just as he opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. Only to retract in shock once her palm loudly met his face, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake. However, Abaddon didn't have time to react in any way aside from looking at Astarte with disbelief before she threw her arms around his neck and tugged him down into a kiss.

"You are giving mixed signals."

He chuckled, oblivious to the red handprint forming on his cheek once Astarte pulled away to glare daggers at him.

"I thought I lost you! Again! Don't ever do that to me!"

She yelled at him, respect towards superiors be damned. In all of her life she'd never been so scared. She remembered one time when Abaddon did get severely wounded but he quickly got out of this. Now it was three times as bad. Back then she could've at least stayed with him. Astarte didn't feel sorry for that slap to the face, the bastard had it coming for a long time now. And it seemed that he was well aware he deserved that one.

"Forgive me. I'll do my best never to let something like that happen again. Is there a way to make up for it?"

Angels don't cry. It's not like they aren't fully equipped to do so, they just… don't. Especially warriors. It doesn't suit a warrior to cry. If they do however, for good reasons. And Astarte felt she was on the verge of snapping, her vision turned misty as tears were forcing its way into her eyes. But no. She refused to fall apart, especially in front of her Commander. Looking up at him and fighting the tremble in her voice, she answered so quietly it might seem she didn't really meant to say that out loud. But he did hear it.

"Stay with me… And don't let go.."

His hands came up to her cheeks and he looked her deep in the eye with a soft smile on his face. The first tear had fallen once he pressed his forehead against hers and sighed contentedly before fully closing the distance and laying his lips on hers.

"Here, tonight.. your wish is my command."

He replied and encased her in a comforting embrace, holding her head against his chest as though to show her he's still here. And the steady heartbeat below her ear made her cry out in relief. If she's dreaming, then she doesn't want to ever wake up again. No.. this heartbeat felt far too real.

Perhaps it would've been seen as improper, but she had to make sure. Astarte reached out with her shaking hand to him and Abaddon didn't stop her as she peeled back the collar of his tunic to expose the bandage still concealing the wound he suffered from recently. Her hand carefully rested over it. He felt real. It was no dream. The nightmare has come to an end. He's here. Safe.. For this short moment, they both are.

For once in the ceaseless conflict between Heaven and Hell, Astarte could feel at peace and so could he. Just to seek reassurance, she placed the pads of her fingers on his throat to feel his pulse. To feel that he's truly with her, alive, holding her close, folding his wings around her.. and that this night he isn't going anywhere.

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Idk, I just wanted to draw something and this happened in turn 😆

Also, I can't draw Astarte's face to save my life 😂

It's weird, I know, but I wanted to do something for Valentines. Back into the cringe abyss I go.

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #fan art #darksiders abaddon #darksiders astarte #abaddon #astarte #demons #my art #fan fiction #my fic #my writing #I wrote it three times 😂#yikes #cringe

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