In the innermost sanctum, in the most sacred space in the Hall of the Horsemen, I wait, face still tight from the ghost of the tears I shed. I never before appreciated the stillness here -- the quiet, I always relished. But the stillness...just me and the silent guardians. Beautiful, painfully-lifelike stone reminders of the protection this place is afforded. Protection from the demonic, those chaotic forces that sway us towards unwarranted action. Even the angelic, reserved only to the sacred spaces, unless a Horseman should transgress. Unless they should be summoned to the Messenger, stripped, and...

I now know what becomes of a stripped Horseman and where we go when we are no more. But there are things I still cannot help but wonder. Is it peaceful? Does it hurt at all? I shut my eyes and see...nothing. Only blackness broken by scattered bursts of gold.

The ground shakes and I smile. Erchou. I open my eyes and the darkness remains. The light has turned to shadow -- Heaven moves, Hell with it--

"Death."

Michael's light blinds. He steps forth from nothing, and the darkness retreats, cowering at his presence. The eldest of the archangels stands straighter than a column, shoulders tense. I see the shimmer of his great wings and the great blade strapped against his spine; a dagger rests at his hip. He already knew I was here, knew it the moment I set foot upon the floor of this most holy of spaces.

"You summon me, General," I go down upon one knee, a fist over my chest -- a gesture of respect and of goodwill.

He says nothing. The air is thick with unspoken words, with energy and anger tinged with deep, ancient disappointment. All that wrath, too, follows with.

It pains me to feel it, to have that disappointment rake across the back of my skull and down my neck, my spine. I grip at the floor more tightly, though there is nothing to grasp, and the fingers of my hand ball into a fist that I press deep into the marble.

"Rise," he finally speaks.

I do. I rise to my feet and stand at attention, hands clasped behind my back, to stare directly into the General's eyes, not with defiance, but with all that I have: unyielding, unflinching honesty. One cannot fool Death, and so, too, does Death tell no lie.

“The antikhristos is gone.”

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

“That is correct: he is no longer on Earth.”

“You are no Deceiver, Death,” he says quietly, eyes blazing with righteous fury. “Do not test my patience.”

“I was not there.”

“You disobeyed a direct charge: the antikhristos yet lives.”

“My first commandment is not to your orders, but to my title, and I was not there,” I repeat. “I cannot go where I am not, and I do not take those for whom I am not yet there...even if you make attempts to engineer my presence.”

“Do you doubt me?” Michael asks, the fury dimming, dulling back into that old disappointment.

“No,” I shake my head. “By the barest bones of what is written, Hyun should be the antichrist: son of the first Fallen, a non-believer who hides in plain sight amidst those around him who do believe. And yet that is all,” I press before Michael may speak. “Hyun is but a child, living a normal, human life--”

“Human?” Michael shakes his head with a sad sigh, “Be not so fooled, Death. The Deceiver, too, can hide his face and his intentions well behind a mask of humanity. He has always been well-versed in disguising subtle manipulation in the form of interest, in making you feel special, until it was far too late for you to realize you were deep in his thrall.”

“And you would believe me so easily beguiled?” My teeth clench together. “I have never met the Morning Star, but I am Death, and I have been for longer than any Horseman in our history save but the one who taught me. I am not so pathetic as to let pretty words steer me towards forcing actions beyond my title, warranting it stripped from me.”

“Your actions over the past few days alone warrant your title stripped,” Michael snaps, eyes flashing. But the bright spark, from which has burst so many a mighty flame, immediately cools, and the great General shakes his head. “Do you recall what happened the last time, to that War?”

Which one? My first War? All the Wars and Conquests and Famines in his wake? All the Horsemen I sent to the Messenger?

“I remember everything,” I answer quietly. “I will always remember and I will never forget. We Horsemen left behind live even harder -- we are obligated to do that in return for the camaraderie we received.”

I raise my hand and my scythe appears in a swirl of pale shadows; I slam it into the ground, letting it stand alone. I pull to me the crown of Conquest and the scales of Famine. If I had it in my possession, so too would I offer forth the sword of War.

A show of peace. A show of humility. It is an old gesture, too old for this Conquest and Famine to know themselves...but that the Horsemen of their own pasts have known. Nolo contendere.

“I would invoke the ancient rite of no contest. I demand an audience and fair judgement before the Lord, our God.”