“We’re not dying without a fight,” he says, his voice low. His eyes, however, dance with dark excitement. The angel of war practically thirsts for this. “And no matter how deathless you may be, you need a weapon. Ready yourself.”
Ready myself? For what?
My hand closes over the hilt of the dagger just as Pestilence raises his bow toward the sky. He pauses only for an instant, then shoots.
The arrow arcs high into the sky. For a second, I think that it’s going to hit Death, but a gust of wind blows it off course.
Thanatos doesn’t so much as look our way, though in the distance, I hear a thunderous groan, and then another building is falling— BOOM!
The ground beneath us shudders.
Not missing a beat, Pestilence nocks another arrow, then releases it.
Again, a gust of wind blows it aside.
Pestilence releases an arrow then, adjusting his aim, fires another shot to the left of the horseman.
When Death’s wind blows the first arrow aside, it propels the second arrow on course. The projectile skims by Thanatos, slicing the outer edge of his leg.
Death falters in the sky, then rises higher. As I stare up at him, the clouds begin to gather, looking like mottled bruises.
“He’s moved out of range,” Pestilence says. “I won’t be able to hit him, unless …” Pestilence scans the horizon. All around us are buildings.
Crumbling buildings.
Pestilence’s eyes settle on one in particular. I follow his gaze. An abandoned high rise sits just off to our right. The structure looks as though it is already halfway to the grave, the thing leaning precariously.
“I can get him from there,” he says, nodding to it.
“Brother, he’s destroying the buildings as we speak,” War argues.
As if to punctuate the thought, a nearby church collapses, its spires disappearing into the rising plume of dust.
But already Pestilence is jogging towards the boarded up structure.
“Fucking fool,” Famine mutters, but it’s Death the Reaper flashes his lethal look to. “Let me give this bastard try,” he says, malevolence lacing his voice.
A strong wind kicks up, but as soon as it comes, Death seems to counter it with one of his own.
“Going to have to do better than that, brother,” War says, flipping his sword over and over in his palm, clearly impatient to do something.
“Calm your tits for a fucking moment, will you?” Famine says. As he speaks, a drop of rain drips onto my head.
The Reaper raises his arm, and a bolt of lightning spears directly into Death. I gasp at the sight. For a single instant, I see a winged skeleton and not my horseman.
Thanatos’s wingbeats falter, and I tense, waiting for him to collapse out of the sky. He falls several feet, then rights himself.
His wings spread wide once more, and he looks … unharmed.
“That’s better?” War scoffs.
“That should’ve worked!” Famine says.
“Your power is his power too, and he’s immune to the effects of it.”
Death turns his attention briefly to Famine, his eyes unfocused as though he’s not really seeing his brother.
An instant later, another lightning bolt slices through the sky, slamming into the Reaper.
THA-BOOM!
Swallowing my scream, I stumble back as the blinding light blasts Famine ten feet away. He lays on the asphalt, unmoving.
So much for being immune to your own power …
“He will be fine,” War reassures me. To the Reaper he calls out, “Get up, brother! You have more war to wage.”
Famine groans. A moment later, he rolls to his side, then pushes himself up. He sways a little, his feet unsteady.
A sound like thunder roars all around us.
The Reaper frowns as he comes over to War and me. “That’s not my storm.”
“No,” War says darkly, “That would be mine.”
I glance over at the horseman. “What do you mean, yours?” I ask uneasily. “I thought your powers were stripped from you.”
As I speak, the ground quakes violently, nearly throwing me off my feet.
Famine catches me by the arm, meeting my eyes as he rights me. He gives a single, solemn nod. Asshole or not, the two of us are in this together.
War glares up at Death, who looks as untouchable as ever.
“You dare to turn my old allies against me, brother?” War bellows at the sky.
Thanatos doesn’t so much as glance down, his expression remote.
To me, War says, “You better get ready with that knife. We’re about to have a lot of company.”