Chapter 7
Conquest stood on the edge of the lake, looking over the still water as if it could give him the answers he searched for. He found only empty space and lingering sadness.
The Horsemen Dimension had once been a barren wasteland. He and his brothers spent years turning it into something they could call home. They’d been trapped but not broken.
Famine had created the vast lake, spending hours sitting at the bottom of it, his soul torn apart and shattered into a thousand pieces. Suffering simply because he’d chosen to love.
As if any of them had chosen this.
Love wasn’t a choice—for Conquest, Raziel was proof of that—and neither had their fate been.
Victory trotted up to him, her tail flicking, contempt written across her face. She nudged his shoulder harder than necessary. He’d left her idling here too long and could hardly blame her for being upset at him. Conquest never liked being stuck here either.
“I’ll take you with me when I go back,” he promised. He’d wanted to observe first before he put her in the middle of it. And he’d wanted protection for Death while he made himself far too vulnerable. Death’s Power reached far, but the sheer strength of it meant it ran out fast. Short bursts, with little longevity.
Another flick of Victory’s tail smacked him in the cheek. She didn’t try to bite him, though, so he counted that as a win.
“I needed you here to watch Death,” Conquest murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. She snorted hot breath on him, and he smiled. She’d been his companion for so long, healed the angry wounds he’d carried after God’s betrayal. “I may have a new charge for you.” Her ear twitched. “You’ll probably like him. He’s as ornery as you are.” She pushed his cheek with her snout.
“Conquest.”
Conquest lingered against his mare before straightening to face his oldest brother. He wore his hood down, in a way he only ever did here in this place they called home. Conquest always preferred it. He’d never touched his brother, but he would look upon his face.
“Death. You look tired,” he observed. Searching for War was taking more energy than it should. Where the hell was he? And how much did Death have left before he ran out?
“I can’t find him.”
“You will.” Conquest had no doubt in Death’s abilities, and he wouldn’t allow Death to give in.
“And if I can’t?” Death wondered, his milky white eyes flickering.
“Then we find another way.” They weren’t pathetic Archangels, sitting around and waiting for someone else to do their job for them. They would search for War until there was nowhere left to look, and then they would keep looking. They wouldn’t leave one inch of existence unturned even if it took them the rest of eternity.
Death nodded solemnly. He studied Conquest’s face in a way that made him uncomfortable. Those unusual eyes always saw too much. “Something is bothering you.”
“You mean other than Diablo declaring war on the Mortal Dimension, more than three quarters of the human population dead, and our brother missing who the fuck knows where?”
“Yes,” Death said simply. “Those things don’t bother you, not like this. We’ve done worse to the mortals; they always rebuild. That Cycle is inevitable, whether it happens now or later. And War will survive where he is, no matter how long it takes to find him.” Death smiled lightly. “And you never venture out here.”
The silence and the still water didn’t soothe him the way it did Famine and Death. He didn’t like swimming, and when he was upset, he killed things. Contemplation had never been his style.
He hesitated before saying, “There’s a mortal; his name is Atlas.” Just saying his name wasn’t enough for all of Conquest’s emotional turmoil to rise to the surface once more.
“The one coordinating the American armed forces?” Death asked. He wrapped his hooded cloak further around himself as if he were cold. “Famine’s spoken of him a few times. He seems to be doing an admirable job, considering that survival is all but impossible.”
Only because he was stubborn and determined and surviving on pure spite.
Conquest crossed his arms over his chest. Ripples appeared in the water as if reacting to him. It said too much, spoke too little.
“Diablo would never share Famine.” It didn’t matter that they weren’t together and wouldn’t be again, through no fault of their own. They were tied forever, and there would never be anyone else for them even if that meant being alone for eternity while they pined for a love long gone.
“Diablo doesn’t know the meaning of that word,” Death said in amusement, not faltering at Conquest’s abrupt change in subject. He probably knew what Conquest was going to say before he even said it. “He wouldn’t share a drop of water if someone were dying of thirst. In fact, he would drink it in front of them, with glee.”
Perhaps that was a bad example. “Raziel feels something for him. The human,” he clarified. Not Diablo. Then Conquest really would have to kill someone.
“Ah.” Death was silent for a long moment, both of them watching the water move without the wind to guide it. “And you, Conquest, do you feel something for him?”
“He’s mortal,” Conquest said gruffly. A human . Weaker than Angels. Weaker than the lower gutter scum of Hell. Conquest had guided the dead of the most powerful beings mortals had to offer. Royalty. Presidents. Conquerors and Emperors. If they were their best, then the rest weren’t worth a single glance. Conquest had never felt anything but contempt for any of them. Atlas had shoved his way through all of that and demanded to be seen.
“He’s Angel-born.”
“That doesn’t matter.” It wouldn’t, when he died. The memories would remain, like a film played out in his mind. Whatever he thought he felt for Raziel, that would be gone. Did Raziel understand that? The futility of what he wanted. To love a human was to cut out his own heart. Nothing but pain led down that path even if by some miracle, after all this, Atlas was let into Heaven. Raziel would have to wait centuries for his soul to find his way there, and then when it did, it would look nothing like it did now. Sometimes the memories were enough for the feelings to return. Sometimes they weren’t.
“It means his soul isn’t lost in the Cycle forever.”
Conquest took a deep breath. It didn’t matter. “He’s going to die in this war. And that will be the end of it.” The end. Right. As if it had ever started in the first place.
Death held out his arm, black lines of shadow dancing over it and then outward, across the lake. His mare, Valkyrie, trotted past him and across the water, outward ripples following in her wake as she followed Death’s Power. “Will that be the end of it?” he asked.
Conquest bristled. Hated that he knew the answer already, and that it wasn’t the one he wanted. For himself or his Angel. Raziel’s attachment to the man went beyond surface level. Its roots were already deep, and pulling them out would only hurt them both.
“Do you think it’s wrong to be developing feelings for someone other than Raziel? That it will somehow diminish what you feel for your Angel, or water down what you mean to each other?”
“I don’t feel anything for the human.”
Death hummed. He clenched his hand and stroked his chin. “Valkyrie can’t sense Atlas’s future.”
Conquest whipped his head around in shock. “That’s not possible.” Valkyrie saw everything. Not always in a useful way, or one she could communicate even to Death, but she was all-seeing. Death’s companion and their guide.
“Shouldn’t be,” Death agreed. “Famine senses something different about him as well. More than just him being Angel-born. I can’t give an opinion without having met him, but I trust Famine’s judgment. Watch him carefully, Conquest. We don’t know yet what part he plays in this.”
Watching him wasn’t the problem. And the only part he would play was dying. No matter what happened here, this Cycle for the mortals was over. Whether through Diablo or the Horsemen, the cleanse had begun, and nothing could stop it. If Diablo failed, then he and his brothers would finish the job. If Diablo failed to kill Atlas, their hands would be the ones to shed his blood. And what would that do to Raziel?
“Love is… elusive,” Death said into the silence. “I don’t know what it is, or what it means to feel it. I was destined to be alone from the moment I existed.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What you’ve found with Raziel is precious. And fragile. That doesn’t mean there isn’t room for more. Atlas doesn’t have to be a threat if you don’t want him to be.”
He was already a threat. To too many things. Conquest should have killed him the moment he’d met him. Now it was too late. When he finally left this world, he would leave scars that couldn’t be healed.
Victory nudged Conquest’s shoulder, and he pushed her away. “Stop that.” She did it again. “I said , stop it,” he growled.
She snorted and attempted to stand on his foot.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Conquest snapped. “You want to get left here again?”
She bit him on the shoulder and then turned, trotting away haughtily. Conquest rolled his eyes. And everyone thought he had attitude? “I have to get back before Raziel gets himself into any more trouble.”
He opened the fog and then stopped, one foot through it, one hand holding it open. “Do you need more energy?”
Victory pushed past Conquest and into the fog, flicking him in the face with her tail again. If she did it once more, he was cutting it off.
“Not for the moment. I’ll take what I need from Famine. If we need more, I’ll send for you.” Death looked up at the sky, contemplative. “Conquest, when you think of them together, what do you feel?”
Jealousy. Hunger. Anger. Pleasure. A deeper emotion he refused to name. Raziel responded to him like an old friend, an old lover. As if they’d met before in a past life.
Impossible. Raziel had no memories before he’d risen from the ashes of Abaddon’s blood, because he simply hadn’t existed. No mortal memory to pull from, no past lives. Abaddon’s death had paved the way for his creation.
So why did he respond to Atlas so viscerally? Conquest refused to believe it was Atlas’s pretty face alone that had turned his head. Either of their heads.
“Too much,” he finally answered. Too much .
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss something merely because it’s outside of your expectations or something you’ve never considered before. He may surprise you.”
He already had.
CONQUEST FOUND FAMINE AND Raziel in the map room on the military base, which Atlas seemed to be using as the main staging area of the war. Famine multitasked at the table in the center of the room, where the large map of the city was spread over it. One hand typed on a laptop while he played with a yo-yo for Paul’s benefit. The spider, utterly fascinated by the up-and-down motions, wiggled his large arachnid butt in anticipation of pouncing.
Raziel had his own laptop, half bent over the desk as he peered intently at it, lips in a determined flat line, the tip of his tongue peeking out.
“Who gave you that?” Conquest asked. He flipped the screen around to see what he was doing. He blinked at the array of pictures on a site called “Pinterest.” What the hell was he doing? “Cake?”
“ Birthday cake,” Raziel corrected. “Which apparently tastes better than regular?” He shrugged and beamed. “I don’t make the rules. I don’t really have a birthday. Creation day? I don’t know when that is. Abaddon… he had a birthday once, right?”
“He was mortal once,” Conquest said. So for all intents and purposes, yes. He would have had a birthday. He didn’t know more than that. Had no desire to. He was dead, and good fucking riddance. A more horrifying, depraved Demon had never existed. The only things he could tell Raziel about the creature he’d been born from would make him sick. Something dark had always driven the Demon, and the horrors he’d inflicted… Raziel wouldn’t want to know about them.
“Do you know when it is? Was?”
“No.” Conquest doubted that Abaddon even remembered. It didn’t matter. His mortal memories were buried along with him. “Pack it up; we need to leave.”
“Why?” Raziel asked, gathering the laptop back and turning it off. He looked around and then moved, putting it on the seat he’d just vacated. “This is my chair. I want it back when we come back.”
To look at more cake, no doubt. If Conquest thought there was one left on the planet, he would have found it for him. But baking was the last thing any human was thinking about right now.
“Atlas has left the base, and I want to speak to him.” Conquest couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he was, which meant he’d gone out of range, the idiot. If he had his crown, Conquest could find him in the blink of an eye. The restriction on his Power grated. When they found War, Uriel could rot, after Conquest retrieved his Focus. And he’d take Uriel’s fucking bow again for good measure. Run him through with it a few dozen times. Then pluck his wings like a fucking chicken before cutting them into tiny pieces. He had a long list of things he was going to do to him, and as time passed, it only grew longer.
“No, he can’t have left. He said he was only going to check on—” Raziel paused, face falling. “He lied. Why?”
Anger curled under Conquest’s ribs, sticking there. Lying about where he was going meant he went alone . A sin to take from his flesh when they found him. “You can ask him when we find him.” After Conquest was done with him.
Paul’s patience ran out, and he jumped, headbutting the yo-yo and taking it with him as he skidded across the table. Laptops and paper went flying, and as he toppled over the other side of the table, one leg caught on the large map and dragged it off with him.
Famine managed to rescue a bowl of chocolates just before it went with the rest. A small smile graced his face as he leaned back in his chair, surveying the chaos without making a single move to clean it up.
Raziel gathered Paul into his arms and deposited him on the table, gently untangling the yo-yo string from around his fangs and head. “How did you know he wasn’t here?” he asked, glancing up.
“Atlas is Angel-born,” Famine said. “Which means his aura is all but a beacon for Conquest.” He deliberated over the bowl of chocolate and then picked one from the bottom, biting off the end of it. Gooey caramel oozed out that he licked up with his tongue. “He can’t go anywhere that Conquest won’t be able to find him even if that means only a vague sense of direction.”
Raziel placed Paul on the ground once he was free of the yo-yo and started putting things back onto the table. “Is he in trouble?”
“It’s not safe outside of these walls. Not completely safe inside, either, even with Famine’s protections. Outside of it? He’s always in trouble. Every time a scouting party goes out, their chances dwindle every minute. Atlas is by himself.” Conquest was sure of it. The tendril of fear making its way up his spine was unwelcome. He was going to show the human just how much that displeased him.
Raziel looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “What?” he whispered. “He went out by himself? Where would he go?”
“Somewhere sentimental, perhaps,” Famine mused. He lifted the bowl in his lap so Paul could climb up and drape himself over Famine’s legs. He rested it atop Paul’s head. “He has no living family left, but he may have gone to their homes? To somewhere familiar to him. Or he’s simply gone out to find any survivors.”
Atlas would have taken a team with him if he’d gone scouting. Besides, there couldn’t be survivors out there on their own, not after this long. Those whom they had found already, and were protecting within certain walls around the city—most notably the Capitol Building—would be all that were left. The human population was so depleted now that there was no coming back from it. Conquest didn’t know what the other cities in America, or the countries around the world, looked like. He doubted they were faring any better, especially not without him and Famine. It was the end for all of them, no matter how hard they fought. A new era was coming.
“Where did he live?” Raziel asked. “Nearby? This city is very big.”
This is why humans were more trouble than they were worth. So predictable. So completely fucking stupid . “I know where he went.”