Chapter Text
The little warrior that Venomshank claimed finally arrived at the top of SFOTH. Even with all his training under his brother, Sword had taken the expected hour climbing the heights. Darkheart watches as the mortal slouches over from exhaustion, murmuring something to himself.
Darkheart decides to drop down from his roosting place and onto the ground in front of the mortal, careful not to alert the demon quite yet. Sword eventually lifts his head off the ground and his eyes meet the deity. He stumbles back and almost falls back down, but Darkheart’s swift reflexes throw out their wing and catch the mortal, putting them back upright. They manage to catch a glance at their face, and he’s pleasantly satisfied at the reaction.
“So easily frightened,” they laugh, “you mortals need to learn to be better.”
Sword catches his breath, still reeling from the jumpscare. “Sorry?”
They move on from that event and take a seat on their usual table. One spot was left in the middle, its usual occupier not among them.
“Hey, usually Venomshank arrives first.” Sword notices his absence. “Where is he?”
“Where is he, indeed,” they only reply.
Darkheart summons his gear that slides over a new brand of tea he bought from this place near Thieves Den. Zuka had mentioned the place in passing, but they weren’t quite sure which type would fit the occasion, so they had just fished up the shopkeeper’s recommendation and left it in their inventory.
Sword looks at them expectedly. “Do... you know where he is?”
Darkheart sends a connection to Venomshank, receiving an immediate no signal. They hide the concern in their face and turn back to the mortal, simply replying, “Nah,” as he pours out a cup of tea for himself.
He’s lying.
Sword looks at him puzzled, darting his eyes around to see if he was hiding anywhere. “…Well, could you tell me a story about Venomshank instead?”
Darkheart chokes on the tea. Oh, of all times he’s busy…
“Maybe one about him going…” Sword skips over his moment and trails off, making a biting motion with his hands, a code they both recognize easily.
The deity sets down their cup, causing a flinch in the mortal. A breeze blows between the heights as a misplaced silence takes its place.
“Bold questions you’re asking today, aren’t you?” His head tilts at the right angle, doubling as a way to correct their hat, yet also to intimidate the mortal.
“You know how secretive he is, Darkheart.” Sword continues, exasperated. “If I were to ask him about it, he’d shrug it off and ignore me.”
Darkheart takes a moment to observe Venomshank’s kid. His expression was rather amusing, and it’s rare for the kid to actually ask for things as well.
They eventually relent, nodding to the notion. “We agree, Venom never talks about himself.”
He pours a glass for Sword while sending another connection to Venomshank, receiving yet another no signal.
“…So?”
“Ay, we’ll get to it, let us enjoy our drinks first.”
“Darkheart, are you sure these outfits work?”
“‘Course they do!” They immediately return the message to Venomshank, laughing that he had actually played along. “Why? Something wrong, Venom?”
He’s lying.
Venomshank lets out a sigh. “I’ve been getting some nasty stares from the mortals, and I’m not really in the mood to slice them down right now.”
Darkheart chuckles, drawing up an image of a powerful deity getting bullied by mere mortals. “What, the great Venomshank can’t handle a couple looks?” He tilts his freshly enchanted gear to the side to slide one of the bags on top.
“Just feels weird,” Venomshank replies. “You’re telling me these are the mortals that worship us?”
They grin, unaware of the unnerved shopkeeper. “You get used to it. Besides, there’s always the last resort of telling them that you hold power beyond their comprehension,” he says, single wing flapping in stride. Darkheart hovers his hand over a couple of shining rocks. They’re cool from the touch, although he attributes that to the shaded shop over some inherent magical properties.
“Can we meet up in a bit? I’ve finished my endeavors.”
Darkheart’s runes tingle as he hovers over to another part of the store. They take the opportunity from Venomshank, teasing, “You just want to leave already.” A grin takes shape on their face, one they only realize after the shopkeeper gave them a thrice-over.
“One hour?” Venomshank ignores their antics and finds a hidden message.
They frown. Darkheart picks up a deck of small, laminated papers laid out with the other products. They’re rigid, but the back of each sheet was decorated with a fascinating piece of art. The deity does not decipher the local language, but they shrug it off, opting to ask the seller later.
“Uh… Dark?”
“Yeah, yeah, let us do one more lap.”
Leaving with a normal— to the deity, at least— amount of things dangling off their gear, Darkheart remembers to contact Venomshank. It rings once, but then sends a new, unfamiliar message.
No signal.
They tilt their head in confusion. That’s not supposed to happen. The only messages that the deities should send and receive is an outright denial or an actual response. Unless it was a prank, Venomshank should have…
Darkheart opens their mouth at the realization. Very clever, Venomshank, very clever.
Shrugging off the incident, they begin to stroll to Venomshank’s last known location, a communal dining area if his intel was right. As they walk, however, Darkheart watches an influx of demons rushing towards the opposite direction, frantic expressions plastered on each face. He’s only seen demons run away like this from themself, but he doesn’t believe he’s intentionally doing anything at the current moment.
As if things couldn’t get weirder, he receives a message from Firebrand.
“Hey, does anyone know what’s happening in the desert?” His tone is calm, but worried for a deity, which in turn worried them. He’s in the desert now, and the mortals are all running for some reason.
They send a message back. “No, we’ve got no clue.” The other deities also respond with various alterations to their own message. All except Venomshank.
And Windforce, he supposes, but she’s always with Firebrand anyway.
Darkheart drops off their legal purchases in their abyss and cleans off his gear. He’s usually not one to worry about things like these, but something tells him to be cautious, especially now if his brother is MIA.
He arrives at Venomshank’s last location and freezes at the scene. Zombies shuffle about, bodies string across the floor, and blood paints the rocks. In the middle of it all, Venomshank stands, hunched over something.
They swallow in their worries. Darkheart approaches his brother cautiously, yet he makes no sign of acknowledgement of their obviously loud footsteps.
“Hey… buddy…”
Venomshank suddenly bolts towards Darkheart and he jumps to pull out his gear. However, by the time they had armed themselves, Venomshank had skittered and terrorized a cowering demon.
“Err, Venom?” Darkheart makes a cautious step towards his brother. “You’re making quite the ruckus here, you know.”
The deity moves and lunges towards a wall behind him, continuing this prank of his. When he doesn’t respond, Darkheart decides to throw on a tease for good measure. “If we hadn’t seen it, we would have thought Windforce did all this.”
This seems to trigger something in Venomshank, as he slowly stood up and faced them. If he couldn’t tell that something was wrong before, they definitely could now.
Venomshank’s disguise had reverted to his usual godlike uniform, and his glowing eyes accompanied this change. His usual toothy smile was… too toothy? The same— or what looked to be the same— acid that would usually gush out of his gear ran down his mouth, and his eyes felt like they were…longing? Unsatisfied? They settle on furious.
“…Venomshank?”
Venomshank, as if by his words or by coincidence, suddenly pounces at Darkheart, pushing him back by surprise. They manage to stand their ground and block with their gear, but Venomshank’s glowering face oozes a nauseating scent. If his blade hadn't been enchanted that day, Darkheart had to admit that he wasn’t sure if it would have withstood his bite.
“Brother, chill!” He attempts to pry away their gear from his mouth, but Venomshank continues to lock them in place. The deity steals the chance and headbutts into their legs, knocking Darkheart into the ground. Venomshank towers above them, and they consider if they had really fallen, just like that.
Darkheart quickly scans through all of their past spars, wondering if they had a chance. He knows that Venomshank has dueled with the other deities, and Darkheart personally had also fought with some as well, but he realizes that they never fought one on one. He has no idea how to counter him, what ticks him off in battle, what strengths he has against him.
Before they consider concentrating on a teleport, a beacon of purple flashes in front of them. The light fades and reveals a godlike Illumina, draped in robes and runes and resisting his brother’s attack.
Oh great, Illumina. Their actual brother. Their enemy. The reason his wing was—
Although twitching, Illumina does a motion with his free hand and shoots out runes in front of him, surrounding and encasing Venomshank. They swiftly dance and pin him down, all while the remaining deity sheathes his gear.
Darkheart cautiously gets to their feet and adjusts their hat, unamused at the new arrival.
“Illumina,” he scowls.
He turns his back from Venomshank, satisfied at the damage, and faces them.
“Darkheart,” he returns.
They summon his gear back in his hands. “Why are you here?” Darkheart demands, the question serving more as a bitter greeting than a way to gain information.
“Doing my duty, of course,” he replies anyway. “Doing your duty, actually,” he feels the need to add, as if Darkheart were merely a kid that needed to explain why the sky was blue.
He scoffs, spitting, “Right, like showing your face to the land of the living and not the heights of higher beings is your duty.” They instinctively hover their free hand over their absent wing. Upright asshole.
“Says you two slackers,” Illumina adjusts his gloves, “all you ever do is ruin everyone’s plans.”
He closes his eyes in what they assume was a broadcast to the other deities, and it drives them insane. They don’t even receive the announcement and he assumes Illumina hadn’t even bothered to include them in.
The deity in question readjusts his robes, opening his wings to make way for his pretentious self.
They smash their gear against the ground, furious at how this was just another incident for him. “You never leave me alone! I had it taken care of!”
Illumina hesitates, not long enough for any other demon else to notice, but long enough for them to catch. He crosses his arms, sternly quipping, “...Clearly you didn’t.”
Before they continue the one-way screaming match, a nearby force drags their attention away from each other as Windforce and Firebrand arrive at the scene. Did he seriously think that they were that weak? The audacity of this guy…
Windforce makes their usual, forceful appearance. “What the hell are you guys doing?”
“Disputing,” Illumina calmly says.
“Yelling,” Darkheart screams. Arguing, they wanted to say. Phighting, they wanted to do. He won’t lose this time.
Firebrand steps up from behind. “Now is not the time to be arguing guys. One of our own is not acting like himself,” he says, as if stating and gesturing the obvious would resolve things.
They cross their arms, still glaring at Illumina. “Maybe he would be back already if someone here hadn’t decided to butt his head in our business.” Darkheart considers their chances. What if he just attacked him right now? Then what, huh? Then—
“You did not have things under control!” Illumina snaps. “Learn to step back for once!”
His wings flare up, almost mocking Darkheart’s lonely one, while his runes start whirring around his horns as Illumina glares back at them.
Everyone besides Darkheart had their back on Venomshank, but Darkheart side-eyes him, quickly realizing that the runes were off. Illumina’s wing spread haphazardly in front of him as he continued to expect Darkheart’s response.
“Venom, you have the opportunity to do the funniest thing right now.”
“Long story long, Venomshank did the funny thing and bit off his wing, sucker lived though, end of story.” Darkheart concludes, getting annoyed at how much time he had spent discussing his brother.
Sword lowers his cup of tea as his eyebrow raises. “Wait, I thought Ghostwalker ripped off Illumina’s wing.” Darkheart freezes at the mortal’s ability to discern between his exaggerations and stories.
He’s lying somewhere.
“...Did we? You must be misremembering.” Darkheart taps his chin dramatically.
“What— You literally told me this last month.”
“Hmm? We weren’t here last week though.”
He’s lying.
Sword stares at them. “…Nevermind then. Do you have any other stories about him?”
“My, we do!” Darkheart hastily latches onto the outing and begins rambling about the other deities. From the chaotic discovery of Icedagger and the chaotic—a lot of things get chaotic when he’s around— spawn of Windforce’s kid, they weaved tales of grandeur as Sword patiently listened. Something in the back of their mind kept telling him that it was obvious that the mortal knew that something was up, but they continued regardless.
The sun peers behind the mountains before Sword decides that it’s time for him to leave, using the classic excuse of an upcoming phight and a special someone.
“I should really get going now,” he points vaguely to somewhere—why do mortals do that, like where are you even getting at— behind him, “I’ve got people waiting.”
Darkheart chuckles, asking, “A lover, perhaps?”
Sword’s face becomes flustered as he hides behind his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
After the whole tease, Darkheart waves off the mortal as he descends away from the heights and into the rest of the mortal plane. The deity sends a careless request to Venomshank, seeing if he had finished his business.
Venomshank appears from a crevice, leaning against the wall. His eyes glowed from beneath the plague mask and his gear was dripping in acid.
“You missed your son, Venom.” Darkheart strikes right at the heart of the matter, looking back at Sword’s previous location. He expected that Venomshank would have been the one to follow their schedule, but now his kid has to wait another month—
“Did you tell him about me?” Venomshank strikes right back.
Darkheart frowns but looks back, hesitant. “...Yeah, we did. What are you gonna do about it?”
“Nothing.” He denies their attempt to rile him up. “Although I wish you had consulted me first.”
Darkheart turns away and shrugs, ignoring the scattered scratches that laid on his uniform.
“Well, there was no signal,” he chuckles, “what was I supposed to do?”