Category: Fanworks
Fury’s Embrace — A Darksiders Story
The maker tree from Darksiders 3 was only one of many. Strife and Ulthane had been running a global rescue operation since the beginning of the Apocalypse, but Fury’s arrival attracted unwanted attention and signaled the beginning of the end. Bereft of hope and purpose, Strife pays Fury one last visit in the realm where the remnants of the human race are hidden, and makes her an offer she cannot refuse.
Cover: my very own!
Fury’s Embrace
A Darksiders Story
The maker tree from Darksiders 3 was only one of many. Strife and Ulthane had been running a global rescue operation since the beginning of the Apocalypse, but Fury’s arrival attracted unwanted attention and signaled the beginning of the end. Bereft of hope and purpose, Strife pays Fury one last visit in the realm where the remnants of the human race are hidden, and makes her an offer she cannot refuse.
Darksiders Timeline
The only date firmly set in the canon is the one for Death’s Door. Everything else is from my own research and assumptions. In particular, the dating of The Abomination Vault is informed only by the period of 500 years of Death’s absence mentioned in the book, so it could take place much further (but not earlier) in the timeline. Likewise, the dating of the Apocalypse is arbitrary.
Canon entries are shown with bold typeface.
The source of my “biblical” dates is the internet (rounding mine).
Continue reading Darksiders Timeline
Stitching the Wound — A Darksiders Story
Stitching the Wound
“You’re wounded,” War says, startling me. We’ve both been quiet for so long, I’ve forgotten I’m not alone. I’ve forgotten where we are, and why, and when. Deep enough inside my head to drown.
I pull hard on the reins and May stops short, giving me a jolt. “Huh?”
War catches up, glances at me, then juts his chin at May’s rear, pointing behind me.
It takes me a moment to figure out that the bloody trail on the ground is somehow related to what he said. I look down. My saddle is slick with blood.
“Huh,” I repeat. Must be mine. I examine my chest and abdomen and — “Yeah, ok,” I say, wincing. Something there, just under the ribcage. “Damn. Didn’t feel a thing.”
War dismounts. “Let us rest and see to it. We cannot be sure what lies ahead.”
Continue reading Stitching the Wound