(A/N: Haven't abandoned my other works, just no muse activity from those areas. This is mostly the result of playing Darksiders 1 & 2 repeatedly in order to entertain my dad. Easily 100+ hours / 2 different saves, all the DLC.. for DS2 alone. Yep, bound to get some type of muse showing up.. Don't expect anything regular on posting of chapters, even though I'm working on chap 4. I have an idea of where it's going, but nothing pinned down as of yet so things can, and do, change as I go along. Story title taken from the name of a fantastic musical group, highly recommended. Some of the chap titles are also song names from my large collection of music. Thanks for reading.)

01

"Where we are now…"

The Horseman sat casually in the saddle, surveying the land from atop his steed. The plateau around him was dotted with high mesas and buttes interspaced with deep winding canyons, small secluded valleys and flat plains. Nothing seems to have altered the landscape since he was here last, almost as if the land was frozen in time. The problem was, everything as far as the eye could see, was coated in a light dusting of snow, giving the land a grey-white hue as ominous dark clouds that roiled and churned, rotated slowly around a fixed point somewhere on the far northern horizon.

Swinging a leg over the saddle he dropped down to the ground and walked a few paces to the edge of the cliff to look down. He crouched, then gathered a handful of earth and brought it up to eye level before letting it go, watching as it swirled away in the wind. It was supposed to be high summer; sun-scorched earth, dust tainted winds, merciless heat and everything that went with it. The land was suppose to be the same overall earthen color, with smattering of gray-greens of scrub bushes and dark greens of cacti. The reds, blacks and tans of the rock layers that made up the mesas and buttes creating an almost soothing backdrop to the blinding brightness of the mid-day sun. Instead, everything was washed out, faded to shades of dingy grays or dirty whites. A bitter, biting cold wind blew in from the northerly direction. A cold that seeped into a being's core and refused to let go, slowly sapping everything but the blackest of despair and hopelessness.

The steed snorted, pawing at the ground a few times before it shook it's head and snorted again. It's hot breath coming out as clouds of steam as it expressed its unease and displeasure of the entire situation.

"Yeah, I hear ya," the rider murmured as he stood back up, brushing the clinging dirt and snow off his hand as he did. With ease of eon's of experience, he swung himself back up into the saddle before he patted his steed's neck. "Miss a decade or so thanks to a pain in the ass mission that went sour all because of an overeager idiot of a brother and everything goes to hell in our absence," he grumbled softly under his breath. "Even some of the lowest, dumbest denizens of Hell could tell something's off kilter here. Bet even War could figure it out. Eventually."

The steed's sides heaved as it blew out a gusty breath in response to it's rider's comment.

"Oh fine, be that way. Yes, he's smarter than he looks. I'll give you that," the rider conceded. "But he still can't finesse his way out of trouble. Even if the Creator lead him by the hand. He's great to have when you want to get to the heart of the matter and don't mind destroying everything in your path to get there, but when you want or need to be sneaky or take a good long look at the entire picture from a distance… it goes right over his head." The steed turned it's head, giving its rider a side-eyed look before bobbing its head once in agreement. "Guess we should get moving. Whatever is going on won't solve itself for us…" With that, Strife reached up and adjusted his scarf, wrapping it a little tighter about his neck and shoulders as he let Grief choose their path of travel.