Death invoking the Divine -- the highest of the Divine. Death calling to God themself...what a sight it must be.

“Is this supposed to move the might of Heaven? Would having the highest audience make you feel proud of your transgression?” Michael asks. “You are not the first rogue Horseman, nor shall you be the last -- nor are you the first to invoke such a gesture.”

“Hell is now in motion, rapidly assembling--”

“Do you believe me unaware? That I enjoyed the order to end an individual’s life?”

I shake my head, “I have never believed such, General. But--”

“Making the decision to end one...to end a life is never easy,” he sighs, the grief in his expression old and weary. “But for the greater good, for the safety and prosperity of my Father’s creations, the decision was made.”

“And yet--”

“I am sorry, Death,” Michael says.

I pause. I blink. I feel my lips part, the muscles in my jaw slowly slackening. None apologize to Death, not even the archangels -- least of all the very archangel that commands the might of Heaven and its divine army.

“I should not have entrusted an already broken Horsemen to go against the force of the Apocalypse.”

“Already...broken?”

I feel hollow. I feel insulted. I feel angry and sorrowful and I feel everything. Everything all at once. It crashes upon me like a great title wave; a great, yawning pit of emotion that opens up from within me. My hands clench into fists tight enough to crack a man’s skull and crush it into powder. I know, for I have done such a thing before, a long, long time ago. Even so, I recall the feeling of bone beneath my fingers. I hear within my skull the raging and screaming choruses of the Horsemen before me; their ghosts cry out to me from the other side of the River of Oblivion to not join them -- not yet.

“The Seals are no longer breaking,” Michael says. “They are broken. The moment you brought the antikhristos here, you -- yes, Death, you shattered the final seal. War’s rebellion, your own doubts -- the reason that veil of memory clings ever tighter to you. All those Horsemen you sent to Gavri’el...and all for doing the very thing that you have done, that you have now brought upon humanity.”

The realization runs ice through me: Michael does not know. He does not realize, even now, that he had asked me to commit both murder and suicide in one fell blow. The General of Heaven believes I did all that I have under the influence of cracked seals and an influx of power and authority that clouded my judgement. How is it Gabriel kept such a discovery secret for so long? Why did not God tell Their eldest son of their decision for us?

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“Stop,” I find my voice. I raise my eyes back to Michael’s. I feel my shoulder blades draw themselves tightly against each other, the pull of gravity upon my scars. I stand before the general in absolute deference and absolute defiance.

If the Apocalypse is upon us, I would show our God the boy They sent me to. Let God see the truth of the act They asked of me.

“I would still demand judgement and counsel before our God by right of my title,” my voice again echoes up into the high-vaulted dome. “Exceptions were invoked, and all I humbly request is audience.”

A moment of silence rings out between us. Death and the General stare each other down. The world holds its breath.

And nothing happens.

“Exceptions were made,” Michael says, “so that my Father need never be aware of this -- need never pain himself with making the choice I did.”

The floor falls away.

“You...do They...not know?” Everything sounds muddled, as if listening with my ear pressed against a glass cage. Past. Present. Future. Erchou.

Wrath.

“These were my orders, made in my Father’s name,” Michael says, his brows knit together at my own confusion.

“I thought...I assumed they came from--”

“I am the Commander of the armies of Heaven, the one who must battle in the wars with Hell,” Michael’s jaw tightens, eyes glowing bright. “You doubt my authority?”

“Only a fool could,” I reply, still dazed. My head feels heavy, my body light; the slightest whisper of the past may blow me away into dust. “But…”

But you are wrong. But you asked me to die.

I do not say it -- I do not have the chance. Michael’s posture changes, straightening and his eyes go immediately to the door of the inner sanctum, a satisfied smile stretching across his face to reveal his teeth.

The door opens hard enough that the glass cracks, and Conquest leads the way, followed by Hyun and a skipping Famine; Sa-do brings up the rear.

“What are--”

“We have had a rather unexpected paradigm shift,” Conquest says, their eyes never leaving Michael.

“There may or may not be a brawl going on in your personal “inner sanctum” right now,” Famine mimes quotations around ‘inner sanctum’ as if she finds the term amusing. “We kind of figured we would have better chances with God than lost in your head with a handful of demons.”

“Demons?” How was such a thing...no, it could not be possible. It--

“You cannot keep the antikhristos within your walls and wonder at when Hell slips in the door,” Michael says, that smile falling back into a tight line. The news of demons within a Horseman’s sealed inner sanctum likely troubles him as much as I. Was I wrong in believing it safe?

“But Hyun’s not the Antichrist, General,” Famine steps to my side, cleverly keeping Hyun shielded from Michael. She does, at the very least, give an awkward bob-like bow to the angel. “I’m sure God had his reasons, but killing him would--”

“Famine,” I stop her, and something grows in my throat. Something that threatens to steal my voice, but I manage to admit, “God...gave no commands.”