Darksiders: The Abomination Vault

  “I cannot help but notice,” War said, trying to avoid the worst of the aromas by breathing only through his mouth, “that this is an interesting location for us to be visiting in our hunt for …” He paused, perhaps wondering how much it was safe to say. “… objects that are also of a partially organic nature,” he concluded. “I find it hard to credit that entirely to coincidence.”

  Then, when his brother gave no indication of having heard, “Death?”

  “The arts of Making weren’t as completely delineated in the earliest ages as they are now. You heard Azrael tell us that Gulbannan was said to have combined the two, and if Lilith spent much time with him …”

  “And our own objective?” War pressed, clearly unwilling to let it lie.

  The face behind the mask twitched. “It’s possible that some of Lilith’s works inspired their own creation. I don’t recall, assuming I ever knew.”

  “I don’t recall the Nephilim having much to do with the Queen of Demons,” the other growled. “Not after the very beginning, anyway.”

  “We had some contact beyond those earliest days. The Firstborn engaged in much that the rest of you never heard about.”

  “So I’m noticing. When do you plan on telling us about all this?”

  “No sooner than I absolutely have to,” Death said. “If even then.” He refused, despite War’s continued efforts, to be drawn out any further on the subject.

  What he did say, when he finally deigned to speak again, was, “We’re here.”

  Here was another door—if by door one meant two masses of skin pressed together in a lipless kiss.

  “I’ll go alone from here,” Death said. “I want you watching to make sure we’re not hemmed in or attacked from behind.”

  “Do you truly think me that stupid, brother?” War demanded.

  “No. No, I suppose not. I know Lilith of old, War. I know things of her that you, Fury, and Strife do not. Things that would horrify even you, that render me somewhat less than susceptible to her charms. You will wait in the corridor.”

  “You think me too weak to resist her wiles?”

  “If I do, there’s no shame in that. Just about everyone is too weak to resist Lilith’s wiles.”

  “I’m walking in there with you, and if you think you can—”

  Death spun, and War found himself with his back pinned against the slimy, oozing wall. “I relented,” Death said coldly, “against my better judgment, in allowing you to come with me thus far. You’ve been useful, and may be so again, so I continue to allow it.

  “But let me be absolutely clear, brother. You are not going in there. If I have to feed your legs to Harvester and leave you outside as a crippled wreck, you are not going in there. You are no good to me, or to anyone, as a besotted slave of that demonic harlot.”

  War’s chest was heaving, his teeth grating audibly, and had he not been pressed tightly against the grotesque surface, he might already have drawn Chaoseater and damn the consequences!

  Another moment, however, was enough to calm him—not fully, no, but enough. He nodded. Death stepped away without another word, then pushed through that last disturbing portal and then the diaphanous curtains beyond.

  “My goodness.” The voice was thick, sultry—a sweet cream just on the cusp of going bad. “I was beginning to think you were going to stand in that hallway arguing forever!”

  The Horseman crossed the vast chamber, climbing the stairs of the dais until he was only a few steps from the top. The gasping, undulating demons strewn about the base of the throne hissed and growled briefly before once more turning their full attentions to their mistress.

  “Lilith.”

  The violet-skinned creature presented a broad smile, made jaundiced by the ugly lights. She ran a slender hand through her hair and across her array of horns, as though primping for her unexpected visitor. The other hand continued to idly stroke the writhing demons. Occasionally she squirmed where she sat in the skin-and-hair-cushioned throne. “Oh, my, Death, if I’d known you were coming I’d have prepared a more suitable welcome. It’s been such a long time since—”

  “Save it, demon.” Whatever effect Lilith’s presence might be having on the Horseman, it didn’t seep into his voice, and the mask prevented it from showing on his face. “I have no interest in acknowledging our past history, let alone discussing it.”

  “Why, Death! Is that any way to speak to your—”

  “I said stop!”

  Lilith’s laughter was soft, almost dainty, yet weighted down with the promise of pleasure and pain in equal measure. “You’re such a sensitive boy …” Then, when some of her amusement had passed, “I rather doubt that this is a social call. What do you want?”

  “I need your help.” Death sounded as though he’d sooner have borrowed Chaoseater to clean out his ears than to utter those words.

  “Really? I’d never have guessed it.” The Mother of Demons leaned forward, partly in emphasis, partly reveling in Death’s peculiar discomfort at the quantity of skin thus exposed. “You’re being awfully rude for someone who claims to want my assistance.”

  “I think I’ve been the very picture of courtesy,” he said, with an idle twirl of Harvester on its base. “But if you want to see rude, I’ll be happy to demonstrate.”

  For the first time, Lilith’s smile slipped. “You should have more care whom you threaten, Horseman. Someday you’ll find someone who doesn’t take kindly to it.”

  “I’ll be sure to think of you if and when that day comes. Tell me about Belisatra.”

  A trio of rapid blinks was her only sign of surprise, but it was enough to tell Death that, whatever she’d expected, that wasn’t it. “Why should I?” she asked, leaning back again.

  “Well, that’s already more than I expected. I assumed you’d start by denying you knew her.”

  “What would be the point? It’s far more satisfying to let you know I could help you, but choose not to.” Again, that peculiar laugh.

  “I might consider putting in a good word with the Charred Council,” Death said. “Try to convince them to return some of your abilities.”

  “Now I truly don’t know what you’re talking about, Death,” she said, but the corner of her lips had crinkled.

  “Of course you do. You and I both know that you cannot create the sorts of—let’s say, entities—you once did. The Council stripped that knowledge from you, so that the sorts of nightmares you unleashed on Creation could never be duplicated. And of course, most of those you did create are dead now.”

  “Keep down this road, and you may join them!” she snapped. Then, more thoughtfully, “Assuming I hadn’t long since moved on in my plans, and was even interested in such a proposition, do you really believe there’s the slightest chance the Council would agree?”

  “I think there’s absolutely no chance of that. I think, though I’ve never heard the Charred Council laugh, that they’d laugh at me for even asking. But still, I would try.”

  Lilith idly reached down and twisted, ripping a small strip of skin from one of her pets. The pathetic little demon cried out in ecstasy at the wound, while the others around him licked at the exposed blood while it still, perhaps, held the echoes of Lilith’s touch. “I find your argument just a bit lacking, Death. If that’s all you brought, I believe this audience is at an end.”

  Death put one foot on a higher step, then leaned an elbow on the raised knee. “Oh, but it’s not. That was just the appetizer. I don’t think you’ll find the main course nearly as palatable.”

  “If you’re through with the dramatic metaphors …?”

  “Very well, then. Belisatra seeks the Grand Abominations.”

  Some peculiar crossbreed of a hiss and a sigh escaped from between Lilith’s lips.

  “I thought you might remember that term,” Death continued. “She’s working with an unnamed co-conspirator, and they’ve already acquired at least one or two of the devices.”

  “Troubling,” the Demon Queen admi
tted, having recovered her poise. “But I’m still unclear as to why I should—”

  “We do not know the specifics of your relationship with the Maker, but we know that you have one. Indeed, yours is the most recent connection we can find between Belisatra and anyone still living.

  “The Charred Council, therefore, has no alternative but to assume that the pair of you are still colluding, and that Belisatra is serving your interests. As such, in the interests of maintaining the Balance, you’ll have to be declared an enemy of the Council. We are now at war.”

  Lilith’s eyes grew wide, and perhaps just a bit wild. “Wait just a moment—!”

  “You’ve no friends in Heaven, Lilith. Precious few among the Makers, or even, at present, in Hell. It seems to me that you can’t really afford the Council’s enmity just now. If, however, you were to offer us incontrovertible proof that Belisatra is not, in fact, your servant any longer … Well, then, the Council would have no need for open hostilities against you.”

  “Proof such as what, precisely?”

  “Oh, I imagine that a heartfelt, concerted effort to aid us in stopping Belisatra would make the point unmistakably and undeniably.”

  Her fingernails dug long, shallow furrows in the stone arms of the throne and the scalp of her nearest pet—and then, with an abruptness that startled even Death, she laughed. No gentle, seductive sound, this, but ugly guffaws that left her bent nearly double where she sat. Long and loud they echoed through the vast chamber, until the curtains seemed to rustle with their passage, and all the creatures at her feet had ceased their undulations to stare in confusion at their mistress.

  “Oh, Death,” she said when she could manage a breath, wiping a tear from her eye, “you should have been a demon. You played that magnificently.”

  “Your approbation means everything to me.”

  “I’m sure.” Another few laughs, and then Lilith swiftly sobered. “I do not fear the Charred Council, Horseman. But you’re correct that their attentions would be, ah, inconvenient just at the moment. So … Belisatra …”

  She paused a moment, lost in thought, then made a short, sharp sound that could only be described as a bark. Instantly the demons gathered about her throne turned and made their way—walking, crawling, slithering, flopping—down the side of the dais. There they vanished into a narrow cavity in the back wall, largely hidden from view. It was a moment more before their weeping and sobbing faded with them.

  “Relationships such as ours deserve some privacy, don’t you think?”

  “Belisatra,” Death prompted again with a faint tinge of revulsion.

  Lilith smiled. “Of course. I made Belisatra’s acquaintance some millennia gone by. I was struggling to learn and master those gifts of creation to which you earlier alluded, and as those are Makers’ arts, I had determined that I required a Maker to teach me.”

  “Gulbannan,” the Horseman interjected.

  “My, you have been studying, haven’t you?”

  “I’d heard of your dalliance with him, yes. And we both know that you never offer yourself to anyone unless there’s something to be gained.”

  “Oh, not true, Death. Sometimes it’s just fun. But yes, I was seeking Gulbannan’s secrets of Making. And in the process, I also spent quite a bit of time with his apprentice.

  “A fascinating specimen, Belisatra. In some ways, I think, the purest Maker I’ve ever encountered.”

  “I’d hazard a guess that you and I have very different definitions of that word, Lilith.”

  “Do you want to hear this or not, Horseman? I have plenty else I could be doing.”

  Death sketched an exaggerated bow. The motion caused Harvester to lean, nearly dislodging an irately squawking crow. “My humblest apologies, oh Queen.”

  “Hmph. My point was this: Belisatra possesses a burning intellectual curiosity without much in the way of emotion to cloud it. She’s focused, fascinated, and utterly unburdened by anything resembling conscience or loyalty. She wants to know everything, and she thinks nothing of shedding blood to learn the tiniest morsel. It’s not even that she enjoys violence; it simply means nothing to her one way or the other. I’ve no idea what she told her partner to justify her interest in the Grand Abominations, but I can tell you her true reason: She’s curious about them, how they were created, and how they function. And if seeing that function requires the obliteration of a few realms, well, such is the price of enlightenment.”

  Little in Creation truly had the power to disturb the Rider called Death any longer, but he felt the slightest urge to shudder run its fingers down his back. Bad enough to destroy worlds, consign whole races to extinction—he knew, for he’d done both—but to do so without any cause …

  And abruptly, Death picked up the other implication of Lilith’s words. “It wasn’t you who slew Gulbannan when you were done with him, was it?”

  “Such a clever mind you have! No, I had only just learned that my dear love had finally realized that he’d taught me, told me, far more than he should; that he was planning to reveal the full extent of his indiscretion to the other Makers, in hopes of making amends. I honestly hadn’t decided whether to take steps against him or simply to leave when Belisatra took the matter out of my hands.

  “I found her holding one of her master’s prized weapons, coated in a fine spray of his own blood, yet calm as a drugged statue. She told me that she had done this so that nobody would interfere with my own plans for creation and Making, and that she would be fascinated to see the results. She’s been one of my more useful and reliable servants ever since. Until recently.”

  “Let me guess. Her interest waned when the Charred Council scoured that knowledge from your mind.”

  “You needn’t sound quite so gleeful every time you reference that, Death.”

  The Horseman shrugged. “I find the image to be a soothing one.”

  Lilith’s face pulled in three different directions at once, until she apparently decided it wasn’t worth taking any further offense. “And yes, you’re correct. Belisatra was more frustrated by my loss of ability than I. Oh, I fumed for a time, I won’t deny it. But I’ve moved on.

  “She has not. Long after I told her to abandon it and focus her energies elsewhere, she’s continuously searched for ways to restore my creative powers to me. Or perhaps to earn them for herself; it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “And you allowed such overt disobedience? Why, Lilith, are you growing soft in your old age?”

  “You are truly straining the last of my patience, damn you!”

  Death gently shook his head, so that a few locks of black hair drifted across his mask. “I don’t believe that.”

  “You don’t believe that you’re straining my patience?”

  “I don’t believe that you have any.”

  Again the demon’s lovely face twisted in a very unlovely scowl. And again, just as quickly, she burst out laughing.

  “You truly enjoy having the better of me in this little discussion, don’t you, Death? Very well, I can be a good sport.” Her mirth vanished as surely as if the Dark Prince himself had appeared to claim her soul. “So long as you understand that this is a hand you only get to play once. Try to coerce me in this fashion again, and I’ll destroy you and everything the Charred Council can throw at me, even if I die myself in the effort.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good. Well. There’s little more to tell, actually. Yes, I tolerated Belisatra’s obsession with the matter, because she still proved useful in creating all sorts of goodies for my soldiers and me throughout the centuries. And because, of course, if she did find a means of undoing the Council’s edict, I certainly wanted to know of it.

  “All this finally came to a head a short while ago, when that peculiar angel arrived.”

  For all his efforts, Death couldn’t quite keep the sudden blaze from his eyes. “Angel?”

  “Oh, yes. He thought I wouldn’t be able to tell, just because he had his wings strapped down and hidden be
neath a voluminous robe. Ha! I can identify any creature alive by the way it moves, speaks, even stands.”

  “Or the smell of its musk,” Death added helpfully.

  “He’d hoped to enlist me as an ally in his little quest,” she continued, ignoring him. “Naturally, I had no interest, and told him as much. But that was the last day I saw Belisatra.”

  Death began to pick idly at the traveler’s dirt lodged under his nails—mostly because the width of the stairs wouldn’t allow him to pace. “Then you were not surprised when I told you. You knew what Belisatra was doing.”

  “I suspected. Given the timing, how could I not? But no, I didn’t know for certain—and I didn’t know that you knew.

  “Nor do I know precisely why Belisatra would be interested in the Grand Abominations, aside from her insatiable intellectual curiosity, but I can offer a supposition or two. She may believe they have sufficient power to force the Charred Council to do as she asks. That was the leverage I was promised, after all. But as I said, I think she’s mostly just fascinated. Doomsday weapons, built from the remnants and the potential of a dead race? I’ve no doubt she’d kill all of us just for a chance of learning how they work. I’ve no idea if her partner actually plans to use the devices or simply to wield them as leverage, but I can promise you that she wants to see them used.”

  “Then it’s in all our interests to find her before that happens. You’ve known her better than anyone else. Where would she go?”

  Lilith pondered for long moments, one hand on her chin; the other gently caressed the soft material of her gown, as though, even unconsciously, she couldn’t long pause her efforts at overt, vulgar seduction.

  “Gulbannan’s realm has long since been claimed and parceled out by other Makers,” she answered eventually, “so she cannot return there. She’d want a workshop, somewhere she can study the Abominations and tinker with any other crafts or constructs they require. She’d settle for one of angelic construction if forced, but she’d prefer … Ah!