Death - Healing

Agony ripped through his back, his innards, and it was all Death could do to bite back a scream as the tip of Semyaza’s sword punched through his chest amid a garden of ashen scraps of flesh.
Death was no stranger to pain or injury. The eldest surviving Nephilim had been dealt ostensibly fatal blows from weapons nearly as potent as Harvester or Chaoseater, and scarcely even slowed down. But this … This was something new. This was a torment he’d never known, and it was only the Horseman’s pride and adamant will that kept him silent.
His vision blurred, as though the entire world were an old tattoo that had begun to bleed and fade. Harvester shook with the tremors in his arms, and only by leaning on the haft of that weapon did Death manage to stay on his feet. It felt wrong, that wound. Burning, feverish, corrupt, as if it had been left to fester in filth for weeks. He could consciously feel his supernatural essence attempting to knit the injury shut, and some external power that fought his body’s efforts.

(...)

The Horseman’s “stumble” turned into a forward roll, so that he abruptly stood some paces away, beyond Semyaza’s immediate reach. The tumble across the stones only widened the wound in his back, but Death’s posture was steady, and the scythe equally so. Already he felt the first twinges of relief now that the weapon was no longer corrupting his innards. In a relatively short while, the Rider should have recovered fully from the weapon that had permanently maimed even the mighty Abaddon.

***

Chapter 12