Augh, I don’t feel good -- and it’s not because I’m travelling at a very dangerous speed on the back of a massive black horse that is, conveniently, the mount of a Horseman. Said Horseman is technically doing the riding...steering. I just cling on to Famine’s dress for dear life, and try to avoid any accidental skinship.

The last thing I need is to pass out from extreme hunger and plummet to my death -- especially not after everybody...yeah, I’m not prepared to deal with that yet.

Coach is Lucifer. Coach is my father. Coach and Death are now fighting Michael, the archangel, the freaking General of Heaven.

Something flies past us, dangerously close to my face. My heart stutters to an almost stop before spiking again it’s jagged, rapid rhythm of terror.

“That wasn’t an accident!” Famine calls over her shoulder with a never-failing giggle.

“No shit!” I call back.

Famine banks hard, bringing us down to the ground -- a forest I can barely see in the dark. I keep my head down because I don’t plan on getting knocked off this horse by an errant low-hanging branch. Apparently I didn’t need to worry though, because the trees part and we’re riding across open plains -- no, wait...that’s not grass.

It’s ice.

We’re riding across a frozen lake. I’m not too sure...but I think we’re riding across Bomunho Lake. It’s hard to tell at night without all the cherry blossoms that appear in spring.

Every strike of the horse’s hooves onto the surface makes me think of my dream. I wait to hear the dreaded crack.

The horse screams. Everything tilts right and smack! we’re on the ice. We slide, and I can only think to wrap my arms around my head and neck. I eventually come to a stop and, thankfully, nothing hits me. I open my eyes.

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Famine crouches like a feral cat, shining black discs in each hand. Opposite her is something bright and shining. Did I smack my head or are the stars shining a little closer? No...they are closer; I’m not imagining things. The ice is smooth beneath my fingers, like silk. I breathe in the night air and push myself up with a groan. My side hurts from the fall; yeah, that’s probably got a bruise at best. Famine’s mount snorts, blocking my way, but Famine herself is occupied. Whichever angel she’s fighting...well, no offense to her, I think she might be losing.

Death said War was the youngest, but I guess Famine is the most rusty. She constantly shakes out her limbs, bouncing around like a fighter, trying to get her muscles all warmed up; the angel opposite her, however, moves like he eats people like her or me for breakfast. Oh God, I’m fucked. But as annoying as that giggling psycho is, I really, really don’t want her to lose. But what else can I do? I’m literally fucking useless and defenseless. Yeah, I’m a hwarangdo athlete, but I’ve never trained to fight a dangerously-armed archangel!

Snow starts to fall and an icy wind rips across the lake at my back. Great, just what we need: it’ll probably blow her away. It blows again, harder, swirling the snow in loops that glitter in the bright moonlight.

The moonlight.

Not a cloud dots the night sky -- how else could I see those too-bright stars and that big-ass moon? Can angels control the weather?

Famine and the golden blur are bracing themselves against the wind. Is it really blowing that hard? But it gives me a moment and, for the first time, I get a good, clear look at whoever followed us.

Oh...shit.

It’s the same one I saw when I first met Famine in front of my class building. The one who smiled like a tiger stalking its prey -- does that make me dinner in this scenario? The angel grins to show his blinding teeth, and it’s like someone turned on the heat out here. Sweat pours out of my skin as the temperature rises far too high for winter. If it keeps doing this the ice is likely to…

Oh fuck.

CRACK!