We ride.

We ride to war and to ruin and to the ending of the world.

Energy crackles between the Four and I recognize this new feeling as righteousness. We are righteous in our unity, in our knowledge that protecting ourselves by protecting the innocent is what must be done.

Back in 1945, we destroyed. Did we protect? When have we ever protected? A new feeling.

A new Apocalypse -- revelation.

This is our purpose, after all.

Scream the battle cry. Ride harder. Watch your back and flanks of your fellow Four. Protect the innocent with all your might.

And Hell follows with.

We rage and wing and fight and all the world screams around us. I can hear the death -- the storms, the fire, the ice. All of it, like it is the only sound in the world. Ichor and aether spills across this ice, staining it black and gold, though none of humanity would see it. To them it must look as though a hurricane smashing against a tornado -- and all spreading out towards the rest of the world.

I hear Hyun’s feet as he moves around, forever at Lucifer’s flank, protected. But for how long? When his father and Michael clash, for they always do and shall, what then?

Ramiel? Myself? Some other Prince of Hell?

“Don’t worry about the human,” Gabriel easily dispatches a soldier with a swing of his sceptre; it goes down with a cry of pain, wing bent. “Stay down,” the archangel sighs at it, before winking at me.

I swing down from my mount with a groan, muttering, “Archangels.” Silver snorts in agreement, before looking back at me. I simply nod at him, Do as you will. He roars up onto his hind legs and lets himself join the fight, kicking at any angel fool enough to get close to him and more than ready to shred angelic skin with his teeth.

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“We really are a right awful brood,” Gabriel laughs breathlessly on my left, before quickly pulling me into his side in a spin to swipe at another soldier who had come up from behind me. “You okay?” he asks with something almost like concern behind the grin. He is close enough that I can see my own face reflected in the gold of his eyes.

I push myself out of his arms with a small cough, and whip my scythe in a downward arc at my side, “Death is always okay in a fight.”

“Don’t even think of trying to appear noble, Gavri’el. You just want to stick it to Mikha’el,” Raphael appears, spinning his staff. “At least I’ve got decent intentions in this entire mess of a conflict.”

Gabriel laughs, “You always were the goody-two-shoes, Rafe. Oh -- heads up!” Gabriel pushes Raphael out of the way as Uriel’s flaming sword swipes a wide arc. “Watch yourself, Yuri!” Gabriel yells.

A ball of fire shoots out at the Messenger, though he bats it away with his sceptre towards a lower angelic soldier. The soldier in question bursts immediately into flames, burning away into a shower of gold dust. It is beautiful in its tragedy, and I expect to see more of it tonight amidst the throng of bodies.

“That’s for calling me, Yuri,” Uriel growls at his siblings before turning the opposite way and disappearing into a thicker area of the fight.

Raphael smiles beatifically, “He’s having so much fun.”

Fun. Of course this, to them, is merely fun. I am disgusted, my rage spilling out and I swing my scythe without mercy, slicing an angel from neck to navel, watching golden aether pour a river from the gash until, again, I watch the angel vanish away in a gold shower. I think Gabriel and Raphael say something, but I do not hear them -- how dare they make light of my purpose. How dare they mock the titles of the Four...how dare they treat the Apocalypse as little more than a game between brothers.

This is my life; this is Hyun’s life; this is humanity’s very existence on the line. There should only be rage and sorrow at the dying of such light, especially should we potentially fail. Over the din of battle, I can hear War roaring, Famine laughing, and the whistle of Conquest’s arrow. I smile, looking at the chaos around me; even Gabriel nudging me conspiratorially is not enough to dim my grin.

“It’s good to see you finally smile, Death,” he laughs with as much delight as I have ever heard, or perhaps that is my own euphoria.

When Death smiles, all tremble