Death’s following the human -- guess I should call him the Antichrist, actually. Antikhristos. Fucking wings being pretentious with the Greek. Please. As if the name has any more or less power in a different language.

Bello. حرب. Krieg. Πόλεμος. 戦争. 전쟁. Guerra. Война.

War.

Same word. Any of those sound more or less intimidating? Does one sound better or worse than another? No. Because the words and meaning are the same. They’re all me.

Antichrist. Antikhristos.

Same difference.

Death. Horseman.

Different words, and yet, until this week...I’d have called those two words synonymous. Because Death represents all that we other Three are meant to be. Not that she’s ever said as much, but it’s pretty easy to figure out.

I mean...oldest Horseman who’s been around for who knows how long; the only one who speaks regularly with the Wings and even the Bats; never balks in the face of duty...until now.

The world around me is red. Red with anger and hate and frustration and...blood. Fire and blood and the sweet, sweet song of arms clashing against each other. The beautiful notes of steel on steel -- oh, how it sends a fucking shiver down my spine.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

OW!

I clasp at my neck, the seal that brands my neck and marks me for what I am stings as if jabbed by a molten poker -- fuck, that was unpleasant. I feel at the subtle ridges of my seal, the centre still too tender for me to touch directly. The red lines weave and swirl intricately...and they’re hot to the touch.

The fuck…

I look up and there’s Death, watching that kid. Waiting. Waiting for what? Take your shot! Be the Horseman you’ve always been and do what the General ordered...what you agreed to do!

What God has commanded.

It was probably wrong of me to sneak after her and listen to what she and the General had to say, but I don’t fucking care. She doesn’t tell us anything; she just carries out those secret orders and hides. Hides behind those big pale doors of hers.

Always does her thing and tells us what to do -- so do what you are supposed to do and end this nonsense!

But, no, she stalks him all day -- and I, her. I stalk her so long even Conquest appears at my side, saying nothing. Only following me as I follow her. And that’s when we see the lightning arc from nowhere to knock Death flat to the earth. We see the cloud of shadows and light appear and hear the voice of whoever masks themselves within.

There’s no time. We rush -- no, I rush to action; I do not even bother to see if Conquest follows me. I chase but catch nothing save for searing air; it’s like breathing in a volcano’s fire. It makes me see even more red, makes me ready to spit that fire back out.

Whatever Conquest is saying to Death, I don’t care. I’ll give her a piece of my mind. How dare she just--

Death disappears into a wisp of pale dust and shadows. She doesn’t say anything to me. She doesn’t even look at me. It’s like I’m not even there.

We are left alone...always fucking alone.