Atlas, Part 1 (A Four Horsemen Companion Duet)

Chapter 14

The familiar landscape of the military base settled Conquest. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said nowhere on Earth was truly safe. Not anymore. Every minute that Atlas went unguarded by an Immortal, he risked death. If Atlas died in this war, Conquest would be the one to do it.

Until then, he belonged to Conquest, and no harm would come to him without extreme retribution. Conquest curled a hand over Raziel’s hips. His Angel briefly looked up and smiled warmly before going back to flipping his weapons in his hands, as if he needed something to distract himself with.

“How bad?” War asked, pulling Feud up short.

Famine circled to his right, with Paul curled into Justice’s mane, his head buried in her hair. Conquest moved to the other side of War, bracketing him in. Protection and a need to be close to him. It was good to have him back, and Conquest had a lot of questions.

“Half the Earth has been destroyed,” Conquest said. “Deaths in the millions.”

“Why are we going to see the mortals about this?” War asked, frowning. “And how are we doing it without mortal vessels?”

“Diablo did something,” Famine explained. “He’s blanketed the entire Earth in some kind of power that’s allowed his Demons to roam without it being an issue.”

Conquest didn’t know if he truly believed that Lucifer was responsible, but either way, he was grateful for it. The supreme satisfaction of fucking Atlas in his own form was more satisfying than it would have been in a vessel. Raziel would agree. He hadn’t discovered the “joy” of inhabiting another body. He doubted his Angel would find it a pleasant experience, and it was one Conquest would avoid if at all possible.

“That doesn’t make any sense if his goal is to kill everyone,” War pointed out as they slowly made their way toward the main building in the military base. “It would be easier if they just revealed themselves, and ta-da, everyone dies.”

He and Famine had considered that already. “Which means he has another agenda beyond decimating mortal life,” Conquest said, shrugging. “We haven’t worked out what that agenda is yet.” Something to do with Famine, Conquest knew, even if Famine continued to be adamant it wasn’t. Diablo hadn’t come at his brother so blatantly for a long time. Except that if he’d wanted to, he could have thrown the might of Hell at them to claim Famine. While they would have made a valiant effort, ultimately, even as strong as they were combined, two Horsemen of the Apocalypse weren’t enough to keep back the tide of that kind of force.

Was he biding his time? That kind of patience didn’t sound like Diablo, but stranger things had happened in their existence. War had spent a whole decade wearing kilts for no reason, Famine had spent almost six years underwater in a meditative like state, Paul had worn a backpack full of snacks for another few years, refusing to let anyone take it off him as soon as Famine had clipped it on. Diablo being patient could go in the same box. Something brief that would pass.

“What’s God doing about it?”

“He doesn’t seem to be involving himself,” Famine said quietly. “We’ve seen some Angels helping innocents get clear of buildings. They’re helping with rescue efforts, but there are so few of them that it’s not amounting to much of a difference, not for this scale of violence.”

Raziel twisted, coming up on his knees, leaning against Conquest as he studied Famine. Conquest kissed the top of his head, knowing exactly what he would see. Famine had lived with that pain for a long time, forced repeatedly to confront the demons of his past and relive them every time he saw Diablo. Conquest would end it for him—if only to end the torment—but removing Diablo from the equation would only make it worse. And give God too much power, without such a formidable enemy.

There was no satisfactory ending. Not for them or for Famine and Diablo.

“Raphael was spotted in Japan about a week ago,” Conquest said. Raziel wobbled, and Conquest held him steady. “Zadkiel in Russia. They weren’t there to rescue anyone.”

“They’re searching for something. They aren’t interested in helping,” Raziel said bitterly.

“Why do we care?” War asked bluntly. “If there are no mortals, then the Apocalypse is complete.”

If only it were that simple. Conquest would have helped Diablo if that’s all that was in their way. Anything to get them all home again. Of course, Atlas threw a spanner in the works. Taking him to their dimension through the fog wasn’t impossible ; however, the risk outweighed the benefit. Conquest would find a way that wouldn’t result in a human corpse at the other end.

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Famine said. He stroked Paul’s head, reaching under his chin as the spider curled back, stretching out like a cat. “Whoever summoned us started the chain of events that are our duty to complete; we must do what is demanded of us. This was not caused by us, and Hell is not constricted by the mortal chains the way that we are. We’d be stuck in limbo because we haven’t completed our tasks, but they would be free to do whatever they want. Do you want to never go home, War?”

War scowled before patting Feud to urge her to continue forward.

War would be the only one stuck here if that happened, the ability to return home taken from whoever’s “turn” it was. Another unpleasant aspect of their punishment. Conquest, Famine, and Death were free to roam. It didn’t matter; they would never sacrifice one of their own to keep that freedom. It was all of them or none of them. Loyalty to each other was more important than where they put down roots. As long as he had his brothers, and Raziel, then he would call anywhere home.

Conquest thumbed the side of Raziel’s throat, his skin smooth and warm. Where did their mortal fit into that equation? Would Raziel want to stay on Earth until he passed of old age? There wasn’t a single ending for them that wouldn’t end in tragedy. Did Raziel fully understand that, or was he deliberately ignoring it so that he didn’t have to face the reality?

Maybe Atlas would ascend, become the Angel he’d been born to be. And maybe he wouldn’t. Their current situation was unlike anything they’d ever experienced, and all the rules were changing. Who knew what it would look like once the dust settled?

Two guards stood at the entrance of the building as if they would be any protection if they were attacked. A futile show of their weakened strength.

Raziel slid from Victory first, sheathing his sai as he hit the ground gracefully. He moved so much more comfortably in his own skin now, his confidence a physical change.

“The new armor looks good on you, Raz,” War remarked. “You been lifting weights?” He squeezed Raziel’s upper arm and winked.

Conquest’s lips turned down in a half snarl. What the hell did War think he was doing? “Careful,” he growled, dismounting and tugging Raziel against his chest. The “mine” in his stance better be a beacon that could be seen on the moon, or he and War might need to continue having unpleasant words. They hadn’t tangled in a long time; Conquest wouldn’t mind testing their strength. “I know where your weak spots are.” And he could make new ones.

“Worried he’ll leave you for an upgrade like me?” War flexed his arms like a bodybuilder. “I’d be worried too, big guy. I’m prime choice.”

While he had bulk that more than a few Demons found appealing, if Conquest were worried about Raziel leaving him for anyone, it was Atlas. The journey of discovering where Atlas fit was still a rocky road that Conquest couldn’t see the end of. If a choice had to be made, and Raziel chose the mortal, Atlas would still die one day, and Conquest would return for his prize.

A pathetic response, but he couldn’t deny that he would never be rid of his need for his Angel, no matter what either of them put each other through. He understood Famine just a little more now than he ever had before. He didn’t plan on letting it come to that.

“Oh, brother,” Famine said, rolling his eyes with exaggeration. He plucked Paul up into his arms and cradled him. “Let’s go before you topple the last building in this place.”

Raziel turned in Conquest’s arms and reached up for a kiss, leaning up on his toes and arching his back. “It’s okay,” he whispered against Conquest’s lips. “I like you better.”

“How lucky for me,” Conquest drawled. He tugged on a strand of Raziel’s black hair before tucking it behind one of his small ears. “Stop being a brat.”

Raziel beamed, and after one last kiss, took Conquest’s hand and tugged him toward the building.

“About the building thing,” War said behind them. “How come this one is still standing?”

Raziel glanced back at them and almost stumbled on the walkway that led to the front doors. Conquest righted him with a hand on his elbow. “Alright?”

“Just excited.”

To see Atlas? They’d barely been gone two hours. It was a good thing that Raziel never needed to have a poker face of any kind. Subterfuge would fail.

“I’m keeping it safe,” Famine said, answering War. “This is the last major line of defense for the American forces. It’s important we protect it.”

“Riggghhhht,” War said, dragging out the word. “Protect it and then what, destroy it? Are we really helping the mortals so we can turn on them later?”

“We’re here to help them so that later we can complete our sworn duty,” Famine said.

Raziel’s steps faltered, and he frowned sadly. He went to stop and turn. Conquest kept him moving with a quiet, “Later.” They would talk about what it meant that they couldn’t turn from the path they were on—even if they wanted to—but now wasn’t the time. A far cry from who they had once been in Purgatory, they now had no choice in the tasks they had to complete. Not that the mortals were worth saving. Regardless of who had summoned them, something in the Earth Dimension needed fixing. This iteration of the Cycle was the worst he’d seen so far, depravity of the kind he hadn’t even thought mortals capable of. It wasn’t the bloodshed itself—if that were the criteria, there were a few other Cycles that had been worse—but more the darkness creeping into even the most innocuous of thoughts. Disregard for each other and casual hatred that spread like wildfire. No. This Cycle needed to end. Raziel would be made to understand.

“The countries are still fighting separately,” Conquest said. He waved the guards out of the way and held the door open for Raziel, who smiled cheekily at him. He went through too fast for Conquest to swat his ass. “What should be causing them to rally is only making them dig their heels in harder. They were already at war, thanks to the Archangel’s actions at the UN Summit, and none of them are willing to put down arms to work together against the next threat. It means your job will be easier once Diablo’s forces are dispatched.” Atlas’s attempts were admirable, but none of the other countries were willing to ally themselves, no matter how many times he spoke to those in charge. In all likelihood, they were thinking of ways they could use this to their advantage and come out ahead.

The soldiers they passed on their way to the map room gave them a wide berth, speculative stares aimed at War. Considering his on-fire braid, and the unnatural glow to his armor, Conquest couldn’t blame them. They were all intimidating in their own way, but War was aggressive about it.

“What about within the countries themselves?” War asked.

“The civilians that are still alive are divided. They’re still in shock from the initial attack,” Famine said. “It came from nowhere and out of their worst nightmares. They all have different ideas about how the governments and militaries should be handling it.”

War snorted. “How long were Uri and I gone?”

Too long. Conquest was getting sick of cleaning up the messes. He’d played his part already, and if War hadn’t fucked off to who knew where with the worst Archangel that had ever lived, then maybe this would be done already. And Atlas wouldn’t have turned him and his Angel inside out.

“Two months, give or take,” Famine replied. “How long were you there?”

“Four days, tops.”

Time manipulation like that shouldn’t be possible. Where the fuck had they been?

“Anyway, it sounds like the mortals are fucking things up nicely,” War continued. “Civil war?” he asked, with a hopeful tilt to his voice, like he was relying on the mortals to do his job for him. In all honesty, they had been and were still playing right into his hands.

“Not yet,” Famine said. He pushed open a door to their left and went inside.

Conquest kept the door open for War and then Raziel to go through, following directly behind them. His gaze instantly zeroed in on Atlas, standing with two other men—luckily, neither of them was the one that Conquest would gladly pull out the entrails of—at the large round table in the middle of the room, where the maps were laid out. He wore a different outfit from before, now in full battle uniform and a flight cap. His black hair peeked out from beneath the cap, and the two beauty spots on his left cheek stood out on his pale face. He had the cap perfectly level on his head, every stitch of clothing in place. A true leader of men. And nothing like the begging, pleading mess of a man he’d been under Conquest not hours ago.

Conquest wanted to wreck him again. Bend him over the table in front of everyone and fuck him until he screamed, show them all just who Atlas took orders from.

Raziel went to Atlas like a puppet on a string, smiling wide. “Atlas!”

Atlas looked up the second he heard Raziel’s voice, and the answering smile twisted Conquest’s insides. Unfiltered pleasure to see them. That kind of devotion could quickly become a necessity.

“Raziel. Conquest.”

The way he said their names was pure sin, predatory and meant to seduce. The things that Conquest wanted to do to that mouth. The things he wanted to watch Raziel do to it. Madness that he’d already succumbed to. He had no business going anywhere near a mortal . And neither did his Angel.

Conquest should have stopped it long before it had gotten to this point. Now it was too late.

He settled himself against the wall, crossing his arms with a perfect view of his two men. Regardless of how he felt about it, the turmoil and conflicting emotions he still sifted through, Atlas belonged to him now, and no one else would touch him. Especially not some useless soldier playing games. That man was more than lucky that Conquest hadn’t ripped out his spine and snapped him in two. He might yet if he decided to.

Famine moved through the room without a word, seating himself in the corner. Paul stood on his lap, did two circles, and then curled back into his arms, settling himself for sleep. They weren’t being interesting enough, it seemed.

Atlas’s hand grazed the small of Raziel’s back as he stood straighter, a minute hidden gesture for them alone. “You’re the fourth? War, was it?” His eyes flicked to Conquest’s for a brief second. “I’m Lieutenant General Atlas Brandt. Pleasure.” He stuck out his hand, and Conquest smirked. Such a polite human gesture. A pointless one as well. War wouldn’t take it.

He didn’t. “I’m the second .” Conquest bit back a snort. “And you’re not a fucking general, so try again, major .”

Conquest tapped his fingers on his forearm as he watched Atlas take on War. No fear as he stood his ground, just like he had when they’d first met. In a different lifetime he would have been a formidable enemy, a worthy ally. A pleasing lover to keep for eternity.

“Hasty promotion since the rest are dead,” Atlas said dryly. “So I’m what you get.”

“We might as well just lie down and show fucking throat.” The twinkle in War’s eye was familiar; he was goading Atlas, seeing how he ticked and just where he drew a line. He had an exceptional talent for finding that particular line quickly. How long would it take Atlas?

Anger flared in Atlas’s eyes, and his jaw twitched. His warrior, trying so hard to stay composed instead of lashing out. If Conquest had spoken, Atlas would have already been in his face. It was pleasing to know that he alone could make him lose control that way.

“By all means,” Atlas said, “you’re welcome to do that. I, however, am gonna fight this fuckin’ war and win. Door’s that way.” He turned and dismissed War completely, and Conquest wanted so badly to put his hands all over him. Get rid of the cap, mess up the hair, put him on his knees in front of Raziel.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” War unsheathed his sword, flames racing up and down the length of it, and stepped forward with intent.

Raziel moved before Conquest did, getting in War’s way and placing a hand on his chest beseechingly. He would never have dared stand up against War before they’d met. How his baby Angel had grown.

When War twisted that scowl to Raziel, Conquest pushed off the wall, a growl erupting from his throat, seconds away from summoning his own weapon.

“We need him,” Famine interjected diplomatically. “There aren’t a lot of mortals left of any significant rank.”

War turned his head a fraction toward Famine, eyes blaring angrily. “We’re in charge here, not them. The mortals need our help, not the other way around. So this pisspot Cherub fucker can shut his goddamn mouth.”

Conquest clenched his hands into fists at his side in an attempt not to plant one of them in War’s face. He’d fought his brother over less and would do so again to protect his mortal. Atlas’s death—and his life—belonged to Conquest.

“You think I won’t admit that we need you?” Atlas said angrily before Conquest could intervene and put a stop to War’s hissy fit. “Yeah, we fucking need you. I’ve seen what’s crawling out there.” An understatement since the little idiot kept actively looking for it. “Your sword’s impressive, but I won’t kiss your ass to get your help.”

There would be no kissing of anyone’s ass. And if War even suggested such a thing himself, he was getting thrown in the nearest lake.

“General,” one of the women sitting at the computers said, twisting in her chair to face Atlas. “There are reports of activity around the Capitol. Captain Stanva says they don’t have enough men to withstand another full attack.”

“Send some men their way. There’s a troop of men ten clicks east of there.” Atlas pointed to the map on the table, sharing a quick fleeting look with Raziel. “Here. They have two Abrams and some light armored vehicles. Tell them to report to Stanva.”

Conquest knew that contingent held one of the last separate lines of defense that Atlas had. If they went down with the rest of the soldiers at the Capitol Building, they’d be all but defenseless. Whether Atlas wanted to accept it or not, their war was almost over.

“Yes, General.”

“And then get the French president back on the phone. This isn’t the time to be divided, and I’m gonna keep hounding him till he shuts the fuck up and listens to me,” Atlas ordered.

Not an idle threat. Atlas had a spine of steel and more determination than everyone on the entire continent combined.

The man Atlas had addressed didn’t move, prompting a barked out, “Now!”

“But, General, the president—”

“Our president is fucking dead,” Atlas said, his fingers digging into the table and highlighting the strength in his forearms. The president had been one of the first casualties as if the Demons had known how to create the most chaos in the least amount of time. Take down the hierarchy, and the rest would scatter. A sound strategy, and it should have worked more effectively. “And the politicians that are left have their heads so far up their asses they’re not going to be tasting anything but shit for months. Not to mention they’re holed up in the Capitol Building, so they can suck it up and deal with making allies. Now get him on the fucking phone.”

The Demons hadn’t counted on Atlas.

“Yes, General.”

Conquest crooked his finger to Raziel, who immediately came to his side, sliding against him, a perfect fit. He slid a hand into the folds of Raziel’s armor, fingering the warm skin of his spine, where his wings broke through when he brought them out.

“How many soldiers do you have left?” War asked. “I’m talking about the entirety of your country, not just this city, Major .” The honorific was deliberate. If Atlas wanted War to treat him like a general, he would have to prove himself. Conquest had no doubt that he would, in time.

Atlas shrugged. “There’s no way to know a clear number”—Conquest knew he’d tried, but the deaths came in more quickly than they could reasonably spend time counting them—“but roughly thirty thousand, maybe, from the military services. Four of us were promoted to general, and we’re all just… we’re just trying to keep civilians safe and everyone alive.”

“Good job,” War said dryly.

“Fuck you, Viking,” Atlas said, pointing a finger at him. “I didn’t see you here doing anything!”

War shot Famine a look. “We sure I can’t kill him?”

Conquest stiffened, preparing to step in if required. War might be angry, but he wouldn’t lay a hand on this human.

“There are plenty of others you can kill,” Famine replied, absently patting Paul. “Target practice is outside.”

“I don’t fucking need target practice,” War muttered. “Tell me about the Archangels.”

“What about them?” Atlas asked, frowning in confusion.

“Have they been spotted?” War asked. He ran his eyes across the spread-out map, finger following along with them. Conquest could practically see his brain thinking, the strategist in him connecting dots none of them had hopes of following. Except this time, he had a different thought in his head, one clear as a bell.

“You’re talking about Uriel,” Conquest said in disgust. War didn’t care about Raphael and Zadkiel. He’d only ever had tunnel vision for one white-winged asshole. It’s what had gotten them in this mess in the first place. “You ready to explain what’s going on?” He had questions, and he wanted answers.

“It’s none of your fucking business.” War tapped his fingers on the table map, gaze deep in thought. So many looked at him and saw only brute strength, but it was a trap, hiding the cunning mind underneath.

In this, however, it was very much Conquest’s business. Association with an Archangel as hateful as Uriel affected all of them. Not to mention, Conquest planned to rip off his fucking wings the second he had a chance. “Don’t get attached to that asshole.”

“Fuck off, Con.”

Conquest had a lot of ways he could reply to that, and none of them were fit for polite conversation.

“Another Archangel?” Atlas asked, sharing a look with Conquest. “Our intel hasn’t shown that. We’ve been keeping an eye on when they appear, but they haven’t made a move to approach any personnel.”

Had they been spotted in America? Enough that the mortals had noticed? Curious. Had they run out of other continents to search? Why hadn’t they started here?

“They won’t talk to mortals,” Famine said. He stood, shifting Paul to his shoulders, and approached the table, sliding in between Atlas and War. Deliberate? “Trust me, if any of your soldiers had met Uriel, you’d know. They wouldn’t be here.”

If Uriel went anywhere near Raziel or Atlas, Conquest would feed him his entrails after he tore his wings to pieces. And that would just be the start. He’d had plenty of time to think of creative ways to hurt the Archangel.

“I thought Angels were the good guys?” A soldier handed Atlas a clipboard thick with papers, and he murmured a quiet “thank you.”

Famine pushed one of Paul’s legs out of his face, where it was trying to poke him in the eye, and said, “You’ll find looking at anything in terms of black and white is to your detriment. Those that reside in Heaven are good, in the sense of ‘good and evil,’ if it is in their interests to be. Their goals are ultimately pure. Their methods are whatever they need to be.”

Before Atlas could respond, and by the look on his face, it wasn’t going to be a favorable response, one of his men turned from their computer. “General, Captain Stanva is asking for air support. They’re attacking from three sides!”

Raziel tensed, twisting to stare up at Conquest. He ran his knuckles down Raziel’s cheek. They would need more information before he decided on the best course of action.

“There aren’t enough pilots left to get them all in the air. We only have three pilots here.” The man standing beside Atlas swayed closer to him, and if he got any closer, Conquest would ensure they had one less person fighting on their side.

“Four,” Atlas corrected. “ Fuck .” He ran a hand down his face. “Okay, call General Plaid. He’s in charge till I get back. If I don’t come back—he’ll know what to do.”

“General—”

Conquest took hold of Atlas’s upper arm, halting his forward motion. “Where do you think you’re going?” There was no fucking way he was letting him get in one of those death traps. Why on earth mortals thought flying in them when they had no wings was a good idea, he would never understand. If they wanted to die, Conquest would be happy to oblige them.

“Where the fuck do you think I’m going? If we lose that building, we’re as good as dead; every person who’s going to help us rebuild America once we’ve won this is in that building. I’m going to fight.”

Still so sure humanity wasn’t already doomed. How many times would Conquest have to tell him that his hope had no place in reality? The world he’d once known was gone forever, and every mortal would die, whether by Diablo’s hand or theirs . The Apocalypse was coming, and their time was dwindling fast.

“Why the fuck would you put every important person you have left in one building?” War asked incredulously.

Conquest barely heard him, eyes locked with Atlas’s light blue. A battle of wills, one that Atlas would fight valiantly but ultimately always lose. “How do you plan to fight?” he drawled. Anger and a flicker of something else crossed Atlas’s gaze. He didn’t like the way Conquest challenged him, owned him. He fucking loved it.

“What do you mean, how?” Atlas asked. “I’ll take a Warthog.”

Asinine name for such a fragile piece of machinery. And not his usual ride, Conquest knew. Had they run out of the Eagles?

“The fuck is a Warthog?” War asked, frowning.

“A-10 Thunderbolt. It’s a fighter-bomber aircraft. I’m a fucking pilot; what else am I going to go in? You didn’t read my credentials in that little file your brother gave you, Conquest? You think I don’t know you know everything about me? I’m going out there to protect my country.”

Conquest let that slide, considering he hadn’t even been the one to ask the question. He liked that Atlas’s attention was still so focused on him despite War attempting to antagonize him further. Not to mention, no file had exchanged hands. Where had he gotten that idea from? Conquest didn’t need Famine to supply him with everything . Atlas’s mind opened for him like a flower under the sun. Once he got his crown back, he would be able to dive even deeper.

“That’s not how leadership works,” Famine said. “Putting yourself in the line of fire is unwise.”

“Yeah? Fuckin’ watch me.” Atlas yanked his arm from Conquest’s grip, only able to because Conquest allowed it. If Atlas pushed him now, and they fought, the airman would find himself bent over the map table and begging for Conquest’s cock in front of all the men he commanded. Maybe Conquest would do it anyway, simply for the enjoyment factor.

Raziel sighed as Atlas shoved out the doors and disappeared. He stretched out his magnificent wings, the tips brushing across Conquest’s chest and making him want to bend him over the desk as well. He could put them side by side, take turns while they screamed for him.

“I’ll follow him,” Raziel said, “keep him out of trouble.”

Would he, now?

Conquest placed his forefinger under Raziel’s chin and lifted his head. He smoothed his thumb across the soft skin, eliciting a small gasp. He bent, giving Raziel a long, slow kiss, making sure he made the underlying message clear: make sure you both return. Conquest wouldn’t be far behind, regardless.

“If you two are about done, I got shit to do,” War said. “I’m fine with it if the idiot mortal gets himself killed. One less fucking headache to deal with.”

Raziel bit his lip as they watched War and Famine go, Paul scrambling after them, legs slipping under him in his haste.

“What happened to him?” Raziel asked. “Where was he?”

Conquest wished he knew. He didn’t like how many unanswered questions were floating around. “I don’t know; he didn’t say. We’ll have a chance to interrogate him about it later.” Conquest would take delight in it. “Right now, we need to stop Atlas from getting into his aircraft.”

Raziel tilted his head, bright-blue eyes blinking in confusion. “Isn’t he a pilot?”

“He’s safer on the ground.” The last thing he wanted was Atlas in something he couldn’t easily get out of. The Demons that roamed the skies weren’t to be trifled with, and Atlas didn’t have wings.

Raziel danced away from him, a thoughtful look on his pretty face. “Isn’t that like clipping his wings? The same as asking you not to fight at all, or me not to care? I don’t think it’s fair to ask him to give up those parts of himself.”

“You think I wouldn’t clip your wings to keep you safe?” It wouldn’t be Conquest’s first option; that didn’t mean it wasn’t an option at all. He would do quite literally anything to keep Raziel by his side. He could be selfish, even cruel, so long as the result meant that Raziel remained here, safe.

“No,” Raziel said simply. “I know what you’re capable of, and I know how you think. But I also know that you would leave the world burning behind you before you did that.” Raziel’s smile turned lopsided, a beautiful red flush over his cheeks. “Let’s make that plan X, okay? Clipping my wings as plan Y.”

“What’s plan Z?” What were all the plans before it? Did Raziel have them written in a book? He’d like to look at it.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Conquest snagged him around the waist before he could move out of reach. “Watch him, and be careful. I’ll meet you on the ground.”

Raziel raised himself up on tiptoes and kissed Conquest softly. He smoothed his hands over Conquest’s forehead and then down his cheeks. His worry wouldn’t be so easily soothed. “I’m a good flyer.”

“That’s debatable. Anything in the air will have years of experience on you. Don’t make foolish mistakes, and make sure he doesn’t either.”

Raziel nodded seriously, and then he opened the fog, disappearing through it without hesitation.

He’d come a long way from the Angel who had almost thrown up after his first journey through the fog. Conquest would take all the credit for that.

Atlas had spent more than a lifetime’s worth of hours flying during his time in the Air Force. Flying while someone with wings flew around him, however, hadn’t even been on his bingo card of weird shit he wanted to try. It was unnerving as fuck. If he shifted the wrong way for even a second, he could injure Raziel.

Raziel didn’t seem to have the same fear, zipping around them and then disappearing every so often to who the fuck knew where. Atlas didn’t have time to look around to keep sight of him, or he risked losing concentration as he worked his way in circles around the building and aimed for the mass of Demons swarming the Capitol Building.

He did his best to thin them down, but there were so fucking many of them, he didn’t know how they could hope to fight them off. Too many of them, not enough of Atlas’s people. A goddamn shitshow. They’d never been attacked in force like this, not since the initial slaughter.

He jerked in surprise as a creature attached itself to the canopy, right above him. It had scaled red skin and looked like some kind of fucked-up gremlin, staring at him with large black eyes and teeth dripping blood. It twisted its head unnaturally, all the way around. Atlas felt like he was in The Exorcist .

He swung himself sideways, dipping suddenly through the air. The Demon’s claws dug into the acrylic, cracks appearing as it hung on. Fucking hell. The pressure his canopy could withstand should have kept him safe.

“Get the fuck off my plane,” Atlas growled, trying another maneuver.

Not only didn’t it work, but more creatures swarmed around him, deep blood-red eyes staring with creepy intensity, their claws scratching. Atlas did a barrel roll to get them off, but they didn’t budge. Fucking cockroaches, the lot of them.

The plane dipped to the side, and red emergency signals erupted over Atlas’s screen. What the—His eyes widened at the flames coming from his left wing. What was left of it. Shit, fuck .

His only option was to go down with the steadily nose-diving plane or eject. He’d never had to eject before, and he would have preferred going his whole life without having to. This was going to hurt.

Nothing for it. He took a deep breath, curled his hands around the ejection levers, and then jerked up. The canopy instantly propelled outward, and Atlas flew out of the aircraft.

As soon as he was out of the safety of the cockpit, he realized his error too late. As much as the canopy had been ready to give way, the creatures had unfiltered access to him now, and he had nothing but his knife to defend himself with, too high in the air to ever be able to make a safe landing, and his parachute automatically activated, and his seat fell away. Unfortunately, it took less than a second for a Demon to swipe at the parachute and render it obsolete.

The parachute tried valiantly to slow his fall, even with the holes in it. Ultimately, his fate would be the same: a stain on the ground. Not the way he’d have chosen to go.

His heart skipped a beat as he saw familiar black wings soaring through the sky, cutting down each creature like they were a mere annoyance. Then Raziel was in front of him, and Atlas had never seen a better sight.

“Unclip yourself,” Raziel yelled, circling him.

“Are you crazy?” The parachute might not have been doing much, but it was all he had. Raziel wanted him to get rid of it?

“Trust me.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Atlas squeezed his eyes shut and then did as he was told, pulling his arms from the straps and essentially making himself a living projectile.

Raziel twisted around him, and then he found himself in the Angel’s arms, flying in the opposite direction, with more of the Demons hot on their heels. Atlas had never been carried before he’d met Raziel and Conquest. He didn’t know how he felt about the fact it seemed to be becoming a common occurrence.

“Hang on,” Raziel said, right before he twirled and twisted, rocketing higher and then diving down.

More than a second’s notice would have been nice. Atlas had never gotten air sick before, but that looked to be changing. Not even his trickier flights had this much turbulence.

Raziel turned his head and smiled. “Don’t worry, I would never let you fall.”

It was a false platitude since no one could ever truthfully say they could keep a person safe. No one could control everything. Somehow it made him feel better anyway. Like simply because Raziel said it, it was truth.

Atlas had an inexplicable urge to kiss the Angel. He couldn’t since distractions could have them both tumbling to their death. But he wanted to.

The second they landed safely on the ground, Atlas did. His feet hit the ground, and then Atlas yanked him closer, slamming their lips together. Raziel moaned, instantly going pliant, hands fisting Atlas’s G suit, wings curling around him, cocooning him in.

“Are you alright?” Raziel gasped between kisses. “You weren’t hurt?”

“No.” Atlas slid his lips down Raziel’s throat, tasting his sweetness. “No.” Their lips met again. Raziel’s fluttering touches and sensual lightness drove him wild. He couldn’t get enough. He could live as many lifetimes as they did, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Two weeks without them had been torture; what would being without them for the rest of his life be like?

A Demon came at them, and Raziel sliced it in two with his wings. “We need to get somewhere safer.” He eyed Atlas. “And find you a weapon.”

He’d get no argument from Atlas. “Is Conquest here?” He could have sworn he’d seen his purple magic blasting through the hordes.

“Yes,” Raziel said, confirming it. And then there were no words, the battle finding them and forcing them to focus on survival. They found a fallen soldier nearby, and Atlas closed his eyes in a moment of staggering grief as he took the weapon from him. So much senseless death, and he hadn’t been able to stop any of it.

He checked the ammo and shoved some spare magazines into his pockets along with a combat knife. No strap, but there was a sheath that stopped him from stabbing himself.

He had an easier time defending himself now that he’d armed himself, but for every Demon they cut down, another six took its place. Atlas and Raziel were coated in their blood, and they just kept coming, throwing themselves at the two of them like they were fodder.

Atlas couldn’t see a sign of Conquest. He had to be here somewhere. The idea that he might have been cut down by the swarm was laughable, at best. He couldn’t imagine anything felling that beast.

A blade sliced across Atlas’s upper arm, and he hissed, moving out of its path. He shot the Demon in the head, then kicked it away before surging forward, tripping it and slamming his boot into its face. Raziel appeared beside him a moment later, flushed, with blood streaked across his cheeks.

“Where did he get you? I’m so sorry,” he said in horror.

Atlas buried his combat knife in a Demon’s throat and yanked across, tearing it open. “I’m fine, it was nothing,” he said. Not something for Raziel to blame himself for. “Is there a plan, or do we just keep fighting till we die?” He couldn’t spot any fellow soldiers amongst the Demons. Were they closer to the building? Had they moved closer to protect the civilians?

“Is there another kind of plan?” Raziel asked. He dug his fingers into a Demon’s face. The Demon screamed as his skin melted off, and he slumped to the ground. Raziel’s wings shook, the same acid he’d just used flicking from them. A drop landed near Atlas’s boot, the cement sizzling as a hole formed.

“Neat party trick.” Those soft hands felt un-fucking-believable when they were sliding over his skin; hard to remember how lethal they were. The only melting that happened when they were having sex was the metaphorical kind.

Raziel wiped his hands on his outfit as if that could erase what he could do. “It’s not—I would never hurt you.”

Did he think Atlas thought he would? “I know you wouldn’t.” Not intentionally. The pain Atlas anticipated wouldn’t come from a physical hit.

Conquest appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the collar of Atlas’s outfit and using the hold to throw him to the ground. Before Atlas could protest and ask what the fuck , Conquest’s body covered him. Then growled, “Stay down,” in his ear shouldn’t have sent a thrill across his skin. But most of his responses to this giant, hulking man were nonsensical, so why would this one be any different? Of fucking course Conquest using his “obey-me” voice made his dick hard. Why not?

Atlas struggled against him anyway; he wasn’t going to lie here while everyone else fought around him. “Let me up!”

“Not unless you want to die.”

A shift in the air sent an unpleasant shiver through him. It was as though the light had been sucked from his soul, and death traveled the length of his spine, wrapping around his heart and squeezing. Another layer came over them, wisps of black moving around Conquest as if in search of prey. Atlas hissed as pain stung his skin. Conquest curled further around him, closing any potential gaps. Atlas clung, wanting to get closer and away from the nausea in his gut. What the hell was going on?

The screams started then, abrupt and high piercing. They cut off as new ones began, a tsunami of terror and pain. Atlas renewed his struggles. He shifted his arms, spreading his hands on the graveled concrete in an attempt to use the leverage to get up. Conquest bit down on the curve of his neck, and all his fight instantly disappeared, the tension in his shoulders leaving.

“Stop it,” Atlas hissed. How dare he use that at a time like this? Conquest needed to get the fuck off him.

“Behave,” Conquest ordered gruffly.

As if that demand had ever worked before. He managed to twist himself enough that he could peek out. The agony hit him instantly, his bones locking up, and his breath leaving him in a painful gasp. Conquest shifted, shoving him back into the protective cocoon he’d made with his body.

It had only been a split second, but he’d seen enough.

The Demons were dying.

Every single one of them was twisted, emitting anguished screams, black mist settling over them. Their bodies jerked grotesquely as they hit the ground, nothing but blackened husks that turned to dust on the wind.

“What the hell is going on?” Atlas demanded, coughing as his heart started back up again, lungs searing as he sucked in breaths. Where was it coming from? Was it going to stop? Atlas couldn’t stay under here forever.

“Death.”

“What?” Death as in they were dying—he didn’t need Conquest to tell him that, he’d fucking seen it for himself—or Death as in Conquest’s brother ?

The feeling of darkness got worse, sneaking in through Conquest’s defenses, and Atlas groaned, curling up as he tried to get away from it. Christ, he’d never been in so much pain, and he’d once broken his leg in three places when he’d been a kid.

“Raziel,” Conquest ordered.

Wings covered them, the tips of feathers peeking in from under Conquest’s arms. The pain stopped, and Atlas sighed in blissful relief.

“Will someone explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

“Death is clearing the field,” Conquest said, his breath tickling the back of Atlas’s neck.

Clearing the field? What did that mean? Atlas tried to get up again, and this time, Conquest slid a hand around his throat.

“I told you not to move. Do I have to force you?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?” It didn’t help Atlas’s train of thought to feel Conquest’s large cock snug against his ass, remembering not that long ago when they’d been in a similar position, and Conquest had all but broken him. He shivered, the memories like a cascading waterfall. Not the fucking time; calm down.

“It’s almost over,” Raziel said, a sad tinge to his tone that put Atlas on high alert.

Almost over ? Did that mean they were all dead, in one sweep? Death held that much power, and he wasn’t using it to help them?

“What about everyone else?” Atlas asked, heart in his throat. Who was protecting the other humans? There weren’t an infinite number of Conquests to shield them all. What about the soldiers that had been fighting to protect those inside?

Conquest took a second too long to speak, and Atlas already knew before he said quietly, “They’re all gone, Atlas. They were already gone.”

Heaviness swamped him, limbs like lead weights. He stopped resisting, and Conquest’s weight settled firmly over him.

They were all gone. How many of their soldiers had been fighting? Too many. They’d thrown more than half of their fighting force into this battle. He’d sent Jeremy, Cory, and Liam here to help aid them. Now they were dead. Because of his orders. They were just… all dead?

Atlas squeezed his eyes shut against the despair threatening to overwhelm him. Heat prickled the back of his eyes, tears forcing their way through.

His throat worked, struggling to get words out. He finally managed to say, “What about inside?” Had they lost all the civilians as well? Was this truly the last of them?

“Everyone inside is safe,” Conquest said. “Death shielded the building. Organic material outside isn’t so lucky. He’s able to move around us, relatively, since our Power is a beacon for him to guide around. Mortals are too small for his Power to differentiate between, not when it’s released on this scale.”

Atlas had only survived because of Conquest. A lucky circumstance and an uncontrollable connection had saved his life. Had it been worth saving? All he did was continuously get people killed.

The darkness squeezing his chest disappeared, the air smoother, easier in a single heartbeat.

Conquest relaxed, and then the weight against Atlas lifted, giving him his first look at the destruction. Atlas swallowed hard, a hint of fear rising in his throat. Hundreds of Demon bodies, some just piles of ash, others twisted in pain, limbs wrenched in the wrong direction. As far as he could see, there were bodies.

None of them were human.

“Where…?” Where were the bodies?

“They couldn’t have withstood Death’s Power,” Conquest said. “He didn’t kill them, but he did destroy them.”

Nothing to bury. Nothing to pay their respects to.

An empty mass graveyard. The entire world would become nothing but a mass graveyard.

Atlas didn’t want to look at this anymore. He took Conquest’s offered hand and rose, dusting himself off. “A little warning would have been nice.”

“If I’d taken the time to warn you, you’d be dead.”

Comforting.

Conquest and Raziel didn’t look to be in a hurry to leave. What were they waiting for?

His question got answered before he could ask it. A figure walked through the destruction, a large black cape flaring behind him. He moved as though part of the wind, a specter that didn’t belong on this plane. Atlas already knew his name; he didn’t need to ask.

Death .

A strange sense of knowing flooded him, like he’d seen this before. A weird sense of déjà vu.

As he got closer to them, Atlas realized he couldn’t see Death’s face, even with his head held high and his hood wide. The darkness seemed like it went on forever, an abyss inside the cloak. Some kind of magic to stop anyone from seeing what he looked like? Did he have a figure, or was he merely darkness itself?

Atlas took an instinctive step back when the hood turned, certain it looked right at him. Unnerving not to be able to see what lay underneath. What was looking at him?

Then the hood shifted toward Conquest, and Atlas could breathe again.

“I’ve put protections on the building, but they won’t last forever,” Death said. His deep voice held promises of the pain and sheer power he held. When Atlas had met Conquest, he’d been drawn to his power and the strength palpable around him. An intoxicating seductiveness that Atlas wanted to consume him.

With Death? He wanted to run in the opposite direction. As far and as fast as he could.

This is what they faced when Death stared them down, when their time came to an end . Atlas clenched his hands and shoved them in his pockets to stop from wrapping his arms around himself and giving away just how off-kilter Conquest’s brother made him feel.

Raziel placed a hand on the small of his back, seeming to understand, or perhaps simply because he wanted to touch Atlas. Either way, the light touch was enough to settle the last of his nerves. Death’s presence inspired terror, but he was an ally. Brother to the man sharing Atlas’s bed.

“You must be Atlas.”

Atlas bit down his fear and stepped forward, hand out. “General Atlas Brandt. You must be Death.” Lieutenant General, to be precise, but who really gave a fuck about the specifics of rank anymore? They’d put him in charge.

The hood shifted down, then up. He didn’t take the hand offered. “I don’t touch.”

Atlas took his hand back. “Fair enough.”

Conquest stroked his beard, fingers curling in the long strands. “Time to regroup, then. Atlas can work out how much of his force still lives, and now that War has returned, we need to work out our next step.”

Now that War has returned .

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, four once more. Did that signal the beginning of the end?