Failure—an unfamiliar emotion Death hadn’t experienced in over a century. But now it stared her in the face as Nyxen escaped into a narrow side street.
“Four Pales!” she shouted, brandishing her scythe in the air. “This creature of destruction won’t consume what we’ve worked to uphold!”
“Let’s show him why everyone whispers the name Four Pales in fear and respect,” Valerie yelled. “We will show all the demons why we are gods!”
Sorcha and Rowan hollered as they all mounted their beasts. Bony snorted and tossed his head. As soon as Death sat, he reared. Hooves struck the air, lashing out at the ending night. Taking advantage of such a display, Death rose straighter and held her scythe high.
She was the god of death and the underworld. Men openly wept when they saw her. Women cried out in terror. The demon would soon know those feelings.
“Embrace the void!” Styx yelled before her mount exploded into movement.
Hooves pounded the pavement, rippling through the streets like death on the wind. Typhon beat his powerful wings, rising abruptly. The thunderous thumping churning the air into a tempest. Somewhere behind her, the other mounts scrambled into movement, their nails scratching across the road.
Nyxen shot them a single smirk, before his magic twisted around a manhole and heaved the heavy metal away.
“Stop him!” Styx yelled.
Typhon sent a blistering fireball, but the demon was gone by the time it scorched the pavement.
“Fuck,” she spat.
“That’s an access hatch to the subway,” Rowan said, coming up beside her. Kiyomi snorted and shook his patchy head. Rowan leaned forward and scratched behind his ears.
Sorcha stopped and glowered. “We have to follow. But it’s all cement and metal down there, so at least I won’t be rotting anything important.”
“Not like when we had to go stop the Kappa,” Valerie snickered. “Remember the look on the poor farmer’s face after Famine got there?”
Death looked up at the circling dragon. The subway tunnels weren’t suitable for a dragon. The hulking beast wouldn’t even fit with a shrinking spell. But to lose War, would be a devastating blow.
Before Styx could decide, however, Valerie screamed and dove from the saddle. Her wings splayed outward and with a subtle plunk, dove into the hole.
“Why does she always do that?” Sorcha asked. “It’s like her signature move. Remember Singapore?”
“Singapore was nothing,” Rowan said, adjusting her feathers. “Remember Troy?”
“That was a cluster fuck,” Sorcha sighed.
“I guess we’ve decided,” Death said.
She raced toward the subway entrance a few feet away, the Pales clattering down the stone stairs after her.
The few humans they passed only shot them weary glances. Their magic was potent enough that they only saw blurs of light or passing shadows. If someone were to stop and study the apparitions, they might catch a glimpse.
Death smirked as they passed a rather delinquent looking teenager. With a casual flick of her fingers, the obscuring spell faded. The teenager’s mouth dropped open and horror spread across his face.
Death towered before him, scythe in hand, cowl shading her features. Darkness gathered around the edges of her cloak. It swirled and rolled like mist. The teen took one look and screamed. He scrambled backward and nearly knocked himself out, trying to get away.
“Remember to floss!” She yelled out before the spell snapped back.
“Was that necessary?” Sorcha asked. “You probably scared that poor kid shitless.”
“Not probably,” Rowan said. “I can smell his refuse from here. The boy needs more fiber.”
Styx chuckled as they entered the subway tunnel. The cold condensed air was a far cry from the open streets. At least above ground, a breeze could wash away the odor of human detriment. Here, nothing could disperse the scent of man, machine, and industry.
Kiyomi snapped at Katsuc, the bear nearly taking a chunk from the Warg’s flank. These close quarters made their mounts anxious. Not that they should. Subway tunnels were an excellent source of deaths. In fact, she could feel a few ghosts lingering.
To me, she called out. To me.
A tiny smirk spread across her unseen lips. Those entities would be of great use.
“Prepare yourself, Pestilence,” Death said telepathically. “I’ve sensed some ghosts.”
“Let me guess,” Pestilence responded. “You’re summoning them to help, and I’ll just have to deal with it.”
“Yes, they’ll be an important ally.” Death responded.
“Thanks for warning me.”
Up ahead, Death felt War. The Valkyrie was following the demon, sending bolts of magic through the concrete structures. Occasionally Styx could make out clips of crashing and shouts of anger.
They rounded a bend and spotted the two in the distance. War and Nyxen were fighting in earnest now.
“Rowan, I want you to prepare now. Sorcha go to the surface, block off any escape.”
Death’s shout echoed through the darkened tunnels as she charged into the fray, scythe raised. Up ahead, War grappled with Nyxen, exchanging blows amidst sporadic bursts of magic that blistered the walls.
The screech of metal echoed through the dark tunnel as Nyxen’s blade glanced off the tracks. Sparks erupted in its wake, raining down in sizzling pinpricks on Death’s cloak. She inhaled the acrid tang of scorched iron that mingled with the stale underground air.
It reminded her of death, and that was a glorious thing.
From the platform’s edge, frigid subway winds buffeted her frame, offering fleeting relief from the sweltering magical energy that charged the restricted space. The erratic bursts of light from magical strikes cast the weathered concrete pillars in alternating patterns of shadow and illumination.
Somewhere down the tunnel, the rhythmic rumbling of an oncoming train built, underscoring each resounding clash of blades. The ceaseless noise amplified the confined feeling, like being trapped in a metal tomb.
Death steadied her grip, the worn bone familiar against her calloused palm. With a primal scream, she pressed the offensive, and the sound echoed ominously through the underground tunnel.
The violence spilled out onto a station stop, mortals fleeing before the erratic bursts of light and electric bolts.
With a sweep of her spectral wings, War hurled the demon against a concrete pillar. It cracked under the force. Roaring, Nyxen rebounded and slashed with his cursed sword. War swiftly evaded, the blade cutting through the air, grazing a feather from her wing.
“You fight like a coward!” War bellowed, igniting her sword with divine flames.
She slashed downwards, but Nyxen sidestepped, letting the blade glance off the rails with an ear-piercing screech. Sparks erupted in their wake.
Seizing the distraction, Death launched at Nyxen from behind. Her scythe cut a deadly arc through the shadows. At the last second, the demon whirled, steel meeting bone with a resounding clang.
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“Two on one?” Nyxen taunted, his fiendish grin visible even in the dim light. “Hardly seems fair.”
“You wouldn’t know fair if it impaled you,” Death spat.
With a vengeful shriek, Death pressed forward, forcing Nyxen back under a barrage of strikes. Behind her, she sensed War taking to the air once more.
The smell of electricity and magic hung heavy. It fed off the potent human emotions that lingered. Cracks of electricity bounced off the metal rails and danced along the ceiling.
A roar reverberated as a subway train approached from the tunnel ahead. Its brilliant light cut through the darkness. The wind whipped as the train came closer, transforming the stagnant space into that of a battlefield.
“Nowhere left to run, demon!” Death yelled over the growing din.
Nyxen’s eyes darted between the oncoming train and the advancing horsewomen. Snarling, he grabbed the fairy hostage.
“If you want her to live, stay back!”
Death hesitated. In that instant, Nyxen hurled a ball of vile magic. It exploded against the ceiling, raining down rubble and dust. Coughing, Death raised her cloak against the debris.
She heard the train screeching in protest as it slammed on the brakes to avoid the onslaught. The ground quaked as the massive hulk of metal and man ground to a halt.
Vision clearing, she saw Nyxen’s silhouette retreating down the adjacent tunnel. With an echoing cry, War ran after him.
Styx sprinted to follow, vaulting over discarded bottles and refuse. She raced past ancient graffiti, signs riddled with holes. Her passage was only evident in the blur of light and the rustle of debris caught in her flight.
Bounding up the stairs two at a time, she burst out into the fading night. The cool air sharply contrasted with the oppression of the underground tunnel.
Early morning was beginning to grip the human world, with mortals waking and preparing for their day. Ahead, she found War and Nyxen locked in heated combat once more. Death tightened her grasp on the scythe. Now was the time to strike.
But before she had a chance, the comforting chill of the dead caressed her skin. Goosebumps prickled across her arms as the oncoming ghosts came near.
Rowan, she knew, would hide behind a barrier now that they approached. Not that she blamed the druid, Pestilence and the undead didn’t mix.
“Hold him off for a moment,” Death shouted to War.
“What do you think I’ve been doing!?”
War pressed the attack, her sword ablaze, forcing Nyxen backward. He parried each blow, cursing under the onslaught. With a beat of her spectral wings, War vaulted into the air, feathered limbs spread wide.
Nyxen seized the opening. A bolt of acidic magic burst from his palm, striking War’s thigh as she hovered. She cried out as her armor sizzled, the stench of corroded metal filling the subway tunnel.
Staggering from the glancing hit, War landed awkwardly. Nyxen pounced, his jagged blade carving across her shoulder. Ichor, the golden blood of the gods, flowed from the wound, the sweet scent mingling with acrid smoke.
Hissing in pain, War shot upwards, tattered wings angling to ride the drafts. She arced just over Nyxen's follow-up strike; the sword finding only air as she glided out of reach.
Death smirked and welcomed several ghosts. They looked at her with wide-eyed wonder. Without speaking, she pointed at the demon with her scythe.
Now that blood had been spilled, they’d become more violent, the frenzy of that life source overtaking any calm notions in their blank minds.
With a roar, War unleashed a devastating series of overhead slashes, forcing Nyxen onto the defensive.
The Valkyrie’s strikes rained down unrelentingly, spitting sparks with each collision against the demon’s blackened sword. Nyxen backpedaled under the onslaught, struggling to weather the storm.
Since the ghosts were there. They pawed and grabbed at the demon, but before they could do any actual damage, Nyxen laughed.
“You’ll have to do better than that, god of the dead,” he said with a smile.
“That’s right, I am the god of the dead, and now they will…”
Before she could finish, a strange wave of an unknown magic filtered across the space. When it fizzled, Death watched in something close to stunned horror as the ghosts stopped.
Nyxen appeared to be conversing with them, and one ghost even burst into laughter that sounded like a bark.
“Great,” Valerie sighed. “They can talk to the dead, too. Yay.”
Now instead of following her instruction, the ghosts turned and focused on War.
“Shit, Valerie, get out of here. They’ll feed off you!”
War held her blazing sword aloft and for a second Styx thought she’d stay and fight. But rather than doing something so foolish, War split and ran.
Nyxen chuckled, the noise echoing off the old walls. “Looks like you’re lacking…again!”
He scooped the fairy off the ground and laughed as he moved further down the street. With a whispered curse, Styx darted forward and sliced each ghost with her scythe.
It took precious time to banish them, but now she didn’t have to worry about them going after Valerie or Rowan.
Death scrambled behind him, slipping in the pool of War’s blood. She swore as she raced to follow the demon, bursting around the corner a minute later.
Frantically, she scanned the area, desperate to find any glimpse of him. There he was!
“He’s entering the parking garage! To me!” Styx shouted needlessly.
The familiar magic pressed in tighter, approaching from all directions as the other Pales came near. War now sat atop her dragon, golden blood still dripping from her wounds.
Famine inched closer, rotting magic dripping from her fingers. When the drops found anything organic, the material bubbled and decayed. The brown and green decaying mist spread outwards like a flowing veil of rot.
Pestilence emerged from the subway, the bone charms dangling from her belt clinked together. All the feathers woven into her long braid fluttered in the wind. Her expression was one Styx knew well. Annoyance and Rowan hated feeling annoyed.
Typhon shot a fireball into the parking garage. Instantly, several cars burst into flames. The tainted smell of burning metal and gas blocked out everything pleasant.
“Let’s get donuts after this,” Valerie said. “Kane’s is just around the corner.”
“Awwwwww, don’t talk about food. I’m so hungry.” Sorcha moaned and rubbed her stomach.
“Perhaps we should address this first.” Styx emphasized the statement with a roll of magic.
“Fine, then let’s kill Nyxen. I’m hungry.” Valerie dismounted Typhon and gave his head a pat as she walked past. The dragon snorted a ball of steam.
Death, War, Pestilence, and Famine entered the burning structure. A disgusting odor of melting plastic and melting electrical components was stronger inside, despite the open structure.
Death gasped as they turned the corner and, instead of encountering just one demon, they faced the entire hoard. A figure stepped forward, and Death knew who he was.
“Rowan,” Asher hollered across the garage. “Pestilence always looks so fierce. Though perhaps not as fierce as War. Valerie sure knows how to look impressive. Look at those rippling muscles.”
“Come closer and say that to me,” Rowan snapped.
“Come on, Asher,” Valerie shouted. “It’ll be fun to have a little wrestle. I’ll break your arms off.”
Asher chuckled, a remarkably human sound for a demon. “No thank you. I’ve heard too many rumors of your wrestling prowess to attempt that. Besides, I’m sure Sorcha will try to melt my face off or something. She’s got those wicked Famine powers.”
“Enough chatter!” Death shouted.
“Styx! So good to see you. Intimidating as always. I love you as Death. The grim reaper vibe does a lot for me. But you see, we have things to do and places to be. You know, standard stuff.”
“Not until you return, Aelina.” Rowan pointed to the hostage.
“Sorry, but we need her,” Asher called out.
“We need help to remake the realms,” Nyxen said. “That takes some assistance from unwilling participants.”
Asher chuckled, and with that, he melted back into the horde, and they all clustered in a circle.
“No!” Rowan yelled.
She darted forward, and Death scrambled after her. Without a second glance, Pestilence pulled the pouch from her belt.
“Don’t think about it!” Death shouted at her companion.
“I will not fail!” Rowan responded.
Now the scent of earth magic mingled with the odors of the human world. Words tumbled from Pestilence, whipping the magic into a heightened frenzy.
“Pestilence! You cannot unleash such a spell here. Not with Aelina so weakened, not with War’s blood exposed!”
But her companion didn’t hear her. Instead, she worked the building power, molding it, and crafting it into the superb weapon it was meant to be.
Now only seconds remained before she’d release it into the world. It would probably work. A spell of that magnitude had a slim chance of failing, but the result would be devastating.
Behind them, War grabbed onto Famine, twisting her body to shield Famine with her massive strength. Death tried one more time to yank Pestilence away from the growing vengeance. But her grasp just barely missed.
Death braced herself.
Pestilence began the irrevocable final steps of the spell, whispered words that whipped the developing power into a frenzy. It was seconds from completion when an unfamiliar magic ripped the area apart.
Blinding light erupted from the demons, drowning out the world in its brilliance. Then came a bone-rattling boom that rocked the very foundations of the garage.
The deafening vibration of the blast wave slammed into Death, flinging her body against unforgiving concrete. Ears ringing, she struggled to rise as debris rained down in stinging projectiles.
The parking garage trembled under the force of the explosion, metallic groans joining the ear-splitting shatter of glass. Gouts of flame engulfed vehicles, spewing waves of blistering heat. Acrid gasoline fumes mingled with scorched paint, searing Death’s nose, and throat as she gasped for breath.
Blinding smoke obscured the demolished garage, burning her eyes. The other horsewomen lay strewn amidst the flaming wreckage, their divine powers unexpectedly stripped away. For the first time in eons, stark mortal terror gripped Death, no magic left to shield her immortal form.
Styx remained trembling, the shock of losing Death was almost overwhelming. While both forms were natural, being yanked so abruptly out of Death was disconcerting.
Scorching winds whipped as Styx blinked blood from her eyes, trembling at their unbelievable defeat. Their arrogance gone, the gods now cowered, helpless as the humans they protected.
“Looks like we lost,” Valerie said. Even stripped of War, she was bleeding from several wounds. Gold dripped to the cement where it sparked against the broken cement.
“What happened?” Rowan struggled to kneel. The powerful spell that she’d been working on was now nothing but the faint crackle of energy dancing along her fingers.
Sorcha moaned and held her head, as a few cuts dripped sickly green blood. Valerie handed her a handkerchief, which Sorcha eagerly accepted.
Full of unfamiliar emotions, Styx punched the only standing column. An enormous crack developed, and the support tumbled down to join its brothers in destruction.
“We have to tell the fairy empress we failed.”
Destruction [https://i.imgur.com/iwiGFkU.png]