“They shoot on sight,” Fury muttered, watching a living man in a torn raincoat club another for a can of beans. “Pathetic.”
“No soul to take,” the Rider whispered to himself. “And no soul to give.”
“You fear the end of days,” Death said, his voice like grinding stones. “But you are already living in the aftermath of something worse. You are not fighting for survival. You are fighting for a world that forgot how to die.” darksiders dayz
“They are not our prey,” Strife said, sighting down his massive pistol. “They’re just… stuck.”
He mounted his pale steed and rode back toward the ridge, leaving the survivor alone with his empty rifle and the moans of the hungry dead—neither Heaven nor Hell caring which side won, because neither side was left to keep score. “They shoot on sight,” Fury muttered, watching a
The sky was the color of a fresh bruise, churning with ash and the dying light of a sun that had forgotten how to warm. Four horses stood on the ridge overlooking the ruins of a coastal city. Not just any horses—the pale, reeking mounts of the apocalypse. But one saddle was empty.
“He’s late,” grumbled War, his gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of a sword too large for any mortal to lift. Below, shambling figures dotted the flooded streets—not demons, not angels. Just men. Hollow-eyed, starving, infected with a quiet, desperate madness. “But you are already living in the aftermath
Down in the city, a survivor crouched in a fire station. His name was forgotten. His gear was mismatched, his blood pressure low. He heard the distant, unnatural clop of hooves on wet asphalt. He raised a scoped rifle, sweat dripping into his eyes.
The survivor pulled the trigger. The bullet passed through Death’s cloak, harmless. Death turned, skull-face impassive.