Who the hell is he anyway?
He never really talks much,
Never concerned with status,
But still leaving them star struck,
Humbled through opportunities given despite the fact,
That many misjudge him because he makes a living from writing raps,
Put it together himself,
now the picture connects,
Never asking for someone's help,
Or to get some respect,
He's only focused on what he wrote,
His will is beyond reach,
And now it all unfolds,
The skill of an artist.

-Fort Styles feat Styles of Beyond, Remember the Name

12

To say that Death's day had been... interesting just didn't seem to fully reach out to how extremely weird that it was.

Currently he sat on the couch, glaring at the disgusting drink that Jessica had brought him yet again. A blanket had been draped over his shoulders -it actually hadn't moved all day- and he was wearing a thick, itchy faded red sweater that Jessica had unearthed from Lord knows where. It still smelled like dust. The entire day he had spent here, sitting on this couch. The only time that he was 'allowed' to get up on was when he either had to use the bathroom, needed to get Jessica, was hungry, or felt like he was going to vomit. He was forced to go outside when Jessica had to feed her insane chickens, where she had claimed that the fresh air would do him some good. The only thing that he had gotten out of that entire event was that:

A) Jessica's chickens were crazy. They literally attacked him when they saw him and he had to fend for himself with the blanket that he refused to part with while Jessica laughed nearby and he cursed the birds to eternity in several different languages.

B) The so-called fresh air had smelt like chicken dung and probably hundreds of other animals. The 'fresh' air had failed to do anything for him besides from giving him a large headache that he was still struggling to get rid of.

C) Don't go anywhere near the chickens. They pecked the boots that he had been given and had pulled a small hole in the leg of his jeans.

D) Never trust Jessica to assist him in life-or-death situations.

E) And, lastly, all of Jessica's animals were crazy and probably all needed to die or deserved to burn in hell.

Besides from being attacked by chickens, Death had learned a few things. Jessica seemed content with leaving him trapped inside of her house for the time being. She had explained to him, while she had been giving him another round of endless pills halfway through the day, that he most likely had a serious case of the flu. His fevers, which was why he felt so cold but his forehead was burning, and countless of other symptoms were just plain signs that he was sick. Every human caught it, she had told him. Apparently, even though he was a Horseman and a Nephilim, he was no exception. So, as a result, Jessica refused to let him step outside the house or do anything, as a matter of fact, until he was healthy again. Which really wasn't fair. His two younger and much more irresponsible brothers (War had accidentally triggered an End War and Strife just did everything wrong) were interacting and being trusted with complicated jobs on a delicate system such as Jessica's farm, where, if they messed up, could possibly cause Jessica, John, the Horsemen, and the animals to have no food supplies.

Yeah, that was smart.

Death turned his nose up at the steaming cup of tea that was before him. Jessica had already given him three cups today to try and assist in clearing up his sinuses and soothe his sore throat. The tea didn't work -it just burned whenever he drank it. And it tasted awful. After the second cup, Death had just responded by slinging the contents out one of the windows. Jessica thought that he had drank every single one. He wasn't going to be the one who told her that he actually hadn't.

Sitting as quietly as he could, Death determined that Jessica was rummaging in the kitchen again, probably making even more food. She always seemed to be in that kitchen. When she wasn't roaming about the house, fixing seemingless pointless objects and doing countless loads of laundry, she was to be found in the kitchen, singing softly to old records and cooking up fascinate meals. Not that he would ever tell her that; Jessica would pick on him to the end of time. Even now the smells that wafted from that area of the house caused his stomach to growl almost constantly. Even despite the sickness that he still felt, the scent of those delicious foods caused him to think that he had been starved for all of his life. Which he probably had been, having been immortal and all. Even as a Nephilim, before he was immortal and a Horsemen, he hadn't needed to eat as often as the Kingdom of Man apparently did and what he have were tasteless, nutrient-enriched meals.

Death double-checked one more time before standing carefully. His muscles strained against the action and he pulled the blanket closer to his shoulders to try and stop the shiver that shook through him. He had came to the conclusion that he hated being sick. That plain and simple. But the tea wasn't helping him like how Jessica said that it was supposed too. If anything, it felt like it was worse.

Why couldn't he be healthy, like his other siblings? He could hope that Fury was alright. Her disappearance caused him much pain; sometimes, when the sickness had managed to drift away for small amounts of time, he was able to feel the pressing anxiety on his chest. It squeezed his lungs, making it difficult to breathe, and forced him to lay down just to attempt the once unneeded action. He didn't plan on telling Jessica. He was assuming that it was just worry causing him to act like this, that it was just some weak human trait that would eventually past. The episodes, however, lasted for a couple of minutes, sometimes longer. They took his breath away and left him wheezing, completely powerless. Just thinking of the conditions that his sister could be living through triggered the attacks, so he had resulted in trying to cease all thoughts of Fury. And it killed, worrying about his sister. He worried about all of his siblings; War because he was so stubborn, Strife because he was so annoying and so easily flustered, and Fury because she was bound to get into some sort of trouble. He was the Firstborn, he was meant to worry about them anyways.

The window made the outside look strange and Death sat for a moment on the stool that was beside it. The cup did have one nice thing about it; the warmth was nice in his cold hands. Outside, with the setting sun lowering over the corn stalks, it looked peaceful. But Death knew its secret. It was hiding a painful world, one that had been tortured since the days of the End War, causing the Kingdom of Man to mature into a Kingdom living off pain, stress, danger. It was the world that Jessica and John had grown up in. The sun, the beautiful view, the stalks of yellow corn, the colored sky. All hiding the true, actual tone of Earth. As a Horseman, he had been ignorant of it, never considering just what the damage might have caused -he had always had more promises than the worry about the Kingdom of Man. Perhaps the Balance relied more upon Man than they had earlier believed.

Once the warmth had resided from the cup, Death sighed. It was time. Jessica was still in the kitchen; her clanks and clangs filled the air as she messed around, singing along with some song that Death had no idea of who sang it or what year it was made. He slowly opened the window, after placing the cup aside, and pushed it all the way up. That even seemed hard. His arms strained and, when he glanced at them, his muscles were taut. Sighing and rolling his eyes yet again, Death carefully picked the cup back up, roaming his fingers over it and relishing in the last bit of warmth. The memory of the taste caused him to lean out and hold his tea out over the bushes without any regret.

There was a soft noise as the cup's contents slowly flowed out. Just the color of the tea caused his nose to curl in disgust and he shakingly lifted a hand to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen into his face. It was when he had closed his eyes that he heard the shout.

Even then the noise caused Death only to pause for a second, his mind still extremely sluggish from the fever, leaning slightly forward to wonder why something had made a noise. Bushes didn't make noises. He was more than surprised to find a white-haired individual cowering in the vegetation. His eyebrows rose and he blinked once, studying the cup for a moment, before slowly tilting it back up and not allowing any of the liquid to fall out. Sighing, he recognized the figure he'd just pour tea on and it took him a second to formulate a greeting.

"Azrael... Long time no see."

Pale eyes turned up toward Death, the tattoo to represent his occupation as an Angel around the left one glowing in the falling light. White hair framed a perfectly crafted face, graced by a small goatee on his chin, and fell in chopped waves to frame his face and collarbone. Death wasn't surprised when a pair of glistening white wings, touched by soft, delicate white feathers that were similar to that of a bird's but much lighter and contained a glow, rose from the bushes from the man's shoulders. The elongate robes and expensive highlights in fancy fabric that Death had gotten used to seeing the Angel in had been replaced by simpler clothes; the blue robes were almost domesticated compared to what they had been and lack the elaborate designs that had became an Angel's norm. Apparently the disappearance of the Charred Council was affecting more than just the Horsemen. It wouldn't surprise Death if the Angel was mortal too and had came here to ask the Pale Horseman how he was coping with it. The grace that the Angel had always acted with was still there, though, mortal or not. There was an almost innocence that had stained his face as the Angel peered up at Death, a look of hurt in his face as tea droplets rolled off slowly. Perfectly manicured hands reached up to brush away a drop of tea. The Angel was sitting almost childishly under the window; his legs were pulled up into his chest and he looked like he had been sitting there for a long time. There was still a slight glow to the Angel in the dying light that took Death a few moments to notice; he was still immortal.

"Death," the Angel greeted, flicking away a droplet. "I trust that these times have been treating you well."

The Horseman continued to stare at the Angel that was hiding underneath the window, cup in hand. A frown spread across Death's face. Another chill rushed through Death and the Angel of Death's comment annoyed him, both adding to his current frustration of not being able to do anything and now knowing that his situation was painfully obvious to everyone that saw him. Raising an eyebrow, Death tipped his cup to the side once more and allowed the rest of the liquid to pour out. As Azrael wiped it from his face, sputtering, Death remarked dryly, "Does that answer your question?"

"A response would have been nice," Azrael complained under his breath.

"I don't have time for this." Death moved back into the house, placing the now empty cup onto the safety of a nearby desk top, and began sliding the window down. He had half a mind to call out to Jessica to grab the nearest shotgun.

"No! Wait!"

Hands reached out, grabbing at the window, and forced it to remain open. Death was in no mood to fight; he stood, glaring at the Angel of Death as Azrael made sure that the Horseman didn't slam the window shut. "What do you want?" Death snapped.

Azrael's brow furrowed. The Horseman knew that he was being short with him, but who does this? Azrael had the ability to teleport to places; why the hell would he appear even a mile near Death, who was more than happy never even seeing the Angel? Death could conclude that something might be horribly wrong and that Azrael might be warning him of something, but Death couldn't bring himself to truly care. Jessica had done that much to him in the last day. Why care about anything when the human woman literally did all of that for him? Besides, Azrael really only spoke about redirecting beams -War had complained about that for at least five hours after the siblings had all gathered together on Earth before separating once more. "Redirect the beams, my ass," War had commented, curling his nose and gesturing at Strife. "He was worse than you singing."

"I must warn you of something, Horseman, that is extremely important."

"Good. Otherwise I would have cursed you for all time if it wasn't something 'extremely important.' Why not speak with War? I'm sure he knows by now how to redirect those troublesome beams."

Face falling, the Angel of Death frowned before leaning forward slightly, studying the interior of Jessica's house curiously. His eyes focused back upon Death after a few seconds. "This has nothing to do with beams."

"It better not. Or I'll have Strife show you what his pistols' bullets feel like in your chest."

"I've heard that's rather unpleasant."

Death's eyes narrowed. "It is." Death growled, once again moving to close the window with annoyance. "Angel of Death, Annoying Azrael, Burd Brain, if you don't have anything interesting to tell me, then you can stick whatever you want to say up your-"

"Death? Who are you talking too?" Jessica's voice basically registered through the Horseman's head. A spike of fear shot through Death as he glanced over his shoulder, half expecting the human woman to be standing there in the hallway connecting the kitchen and the living room with a confused expression on her face. It didn't matter that Azrael was an Angel; Jessica didn't need to see anything that was supernatural compared to human culture. She would probably shot Azrael anyways and Death didn't feel like hearing him complain for the next few centuries when this was all over.

Azrael shot Death a look. "Are you going to tell her the truth?" For some reason, Death felt like the Angel was testing him.

"Uh... Myself," Death said after a moment's silence.

The Angel gave Death a disappointed look as Jessica laughter rang out from the kitchen. As Death sighed in relief at Jessica's ignorance with the situation (because Death would definitely talk to himself), Azrael snorted, crossing his arms on the window sill and placing his chin upon them. Death's eyebrows furrowed as he glared at the Angel. "I must admit, Horseman," the Angel began in a sing-song voice and a small grin. "I do so believe that you are scared of this little daughter of Eve."

Eyebrow lifting again, the sides of Death's mouth turned downward before grunting and reaching up to the locks on the window above him and snapping it closed over the Angel's hands without a single regret as pain flashed across Azrael's face.

Scared. Scared. Scared of little Jessica? The woman hardly reached his collarbone. If Death wanted too, he could literally wrap his arms about Jessica and squeeze her to death. She was so little. There was nothing, nothing scary about Jessica. Even when you made her mad. Death had already succeeded in doing that a few times today. She was the type of person who fumed, turned red in the face, would narrow her eyes, but never exploded when someone could hear or see her. But her face did get just a little intimidating. It was just one of those expressions where you knew that they were mad and were taking every bit of control they could have possibly have to keep themselves from saying something. And, when she did explode, it was fully of nasty comments (she'd told him he looked like a zombie like in the walking dead with his pale skin and sickly complexion) and then, after she had already said everything, she looked incredibly guilty. But nothing about Jessica scared Death -besides from maybe her tea. She was opinionated and strong, but definitely not scary. Just... No. Death wasn't scared of anyone. Except for Jessica's tea. That stuff was scary.

As Azrael stood outside the window, shaking out his hands and cursing, Death opened the window slowly and tried to pretend that he wasn't pissed. "Scared of a daughter of Eve?" Death repeated dryly. "I do not care if she was the daughter of Uriel or Lilith. Jessica is not intimidating. She is just a daughter of Man. I could leave her any time that I wish." The Horseman began to disappear back into the room.

"Is that true though?" Death's eyes snapped onto the Angel's. "I am beginning to wonder if you are starting to rely upon this human's generosity." When Death didn't answer, thinking silently upon what had been presented to him, Azrael beamed and seemed to forget the fact that his fingers were still incredibly bruised and already slowly healing. "Hm. Never thought that Nephilim would ever accept a human as much as they would their own. Hm. You weren't ever considered a normal Nephilim, I suppose."

"Are you here to insult me or to actually tell me something?"

"Oh, yes. My apologies, Horseman. I understand that you want to return to the care of this Jessica." Azrael gave Death another wide smile and Death felt the sudden urge to slap it off his face. "I do have something to tell you. It is very important."

"Then tell me, Goddamn it."

Mouth gaping, Azrael recovered after a few seconds, Death smirking knowingly. The Angel of Death cleared his throat. "The ash that brings you so much trouble, it brings forth trouble for everything. You have seen some of how it had affected Earth. Devouring souls whole, changing everything that it touches to its disease, reincarnating Demon Lords." Death's head snapped up, slinging a few strands of hair, and felt a small slice of fear shoot through his heart at the words when Azrael nodded to confirm it. "The ash's power is growing as every day passes. But there is another matter, too." The Angel paused. "Archangels... They're disappearing."

"Wait, wait. Slow down," Death's voice shook. "Reincarnation? Which Demon Lord?"

"Does it matter?"

To Death, there was a very large difference. There were several different Lords from Hell; Dukes were a level underneath those and there were countless of them. But each Demon Lord was different. Now there were a number less; the death or transformation of the four remaining Demon Lords born to High Demon Lord Rasha and Demon Queen Lilith had caused the Balance to even out -which had been Strife's goal- and those Lords weren't due to return from Hell for another few centuries, if not thousands. But every Demon Lord was different and that was what worried Death the most. There was Legion; that Demon was several combined and could split into different bodies, occupying different frames easily, reaching several ends of the galaxy without any issues. Legion was one of the more challenging Demons to kill if Death ever had too. As far as he knew, the Demon had only ever been killed by Jesus; by a simple wave of His hand, the Son of God had made the Demon enter a herd of pig from the man that he had inhibited and drowned every single last one of the Demon's souls. Coyote, like Legion, was powerful, but not quite as much. He shifted into a large, demonic coyote; he was taken down by several groups of Native Americans that had grouped together to kill him. Mormo was a witch; she was the third most powerful Demon Lord that Death knew of and he had personally ended one of her lives with Harvester through her heart. The cases of witchcraft in Europe and the outbreak of the Black Death, or the Bubonic Plague, had been made by her hand. A Demon Lord that was almost completely harmless was Asmodeus -to simply put it, he just loved sex. He wasn't that much to deal with. If he was on the loose, Death probably wouldn't have blinked twice. Others existed, but seemed to be more isolated.

"As a matter of fact, it does." Death glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Jessica wasn't hiding anywhere. "Now which one is it?"

"Alooc. But I've heard rumor that the others are roaming here as well." Azrael glanced around before looking at Death again, who now had his face in his hands, trying to keep in the scream of frustration that was threatening to escape him. "I suggest that you take the necessary precautions to face them and warn the Kingdom of Man and your fellow Horsemen." Azrael paused again. "Oh, and could you keep an eye out for any Archangels? I would look for them, but I can't."

Death looked up from his hands, ignoring how he could feel the beginnings of another anxiety attack creeping in. "And why can't you?"

The Angel of Death didn't answer. Instead, he gave Death a small smile, slid shut the window with a small wave of his hand, and disappeared before the Pale Horseman could speak again. Alone, Death dropped back onto the couch as he pulled his blanket about his shoulders more, speechless at what he had just learned. As another anxiety attack slammed into him, he closed his eyes and managed to calm himself before any sufficient damage could happen.

<<<•>>>

A small rapping noise came from the front door.

Death's eyes flickered open immediately as a confused Jessica walked into the conjoined space between the two living rooms, hands resting on her hips. He focused on her as he tried to figure out if he had been imagining it. Sleeves rolled up and her brown hair pulled up into a messy bun, an apron had been tied about her waist and was already stained with several different concoctions of whatever food she was cooking up, all failing to hide her curiosity. There was a sweet smelling drifting from either her or the kitchen -Death was betting on the kitchen.

Her shoulders shrugged when she noticed that he was looking at her. "Must have been no one," Jessica proclaimed, her footsteps following after her voice as she returned to the kitchen. Sighing, Death closed his eyes again and shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch as he pulled his blanket up underneath his chin.

It had been exactly three hours since Azrael had came and had broken the news to Death. The Pale Horseman had had a hard time looking at the daughter of Eve ever since then and she had visited him a couple of times to check on him, one time even bringing more tea. In a way, it was like acknowledging that there wasn't much hope left, that Jessica was definitely much too weak to handle herself against Demon Lords and Archangels. She was human. And, if one of those Demon Lords were one of High Lord Rasha's children... All hell was eventually going to break loose.

When another round of rapid knocks came from the door, Death sat straight up.

He glanced over at the kitchen. Jessica probably hadn't heard anything through her horrific screaming that she called singing and wouldn't most likely be coming over to check whatever was at the door. It would seem that Death would be acting as the responsible one.
Standing to his feet, his knees cracked painfully and he paused for a moment, allowing the pain to reside before he made his way to the door, fingers playing with the colorful tassels hanging from the ends of the blanket. He straightened and ran a hand through his thin black hair, half expecting it to be Strife or War on the other side of the door. He could see Strife now, complaining about humans. War would probably be angry at how something hadn't happened the way that he had been guessing that it would have and wanted to voice his opinion to his oldest brother. Because Death actually listened to him (only when he was in some sort of trouble, at least).

But they weren't there when he opened the door.

Instead, his eyes fell, first, upon Abbygail. The woman was smiling; her black hair had been braided back into a long French braid, causing her wide face and large smile to be even more visible than before. She was dressed in the same clothes -a white shirt with a black jacket. But it wasn't her that his eyes were drawn to seconds later. It was the other woman behind her, standing with her arms crossed across her chest as she stood tall, a purple sweater much larger than her frame hanging from her body, two matching necklaces hanging from her neck, and a frown settled across her face as her blue eyes studied him, completely unfazed. Death found his own frown pulling at his face as he glanced over this new person. He was surprised when the sides of her mouth quirked up into a small smirk, her hand reaching up to brush back a strand of light hair as quick as lightning.

"Nice blanket," she said, her stern voice touched just slightly with a hint of amusement. Death continued to stare at her, not finding her comment even a tad bit funny.

"Is Jessica here?" Abbygail broke Death of his daze when she leaned forward, just entering the doorway and causing the Pale Horseman to cringe away from her presence. He hadn't realized that he had reacted the way that he had until Abbygail had frowned and lifted her arm up to sniff at her sleeve curiously. "Do I smell or something?"

Before Death could respond, the woman behind Abbygail mumbled loud enough for them both to hear, "You always smell like plumage. Perks of being a griffin, apparently."

"What?"

Jessica had pushed him aside by then, a ridiculously huge grin spread across her features as she spread her arms open wide in greeting to both of the women. Hair stuck messily out of her hair's bun in almost every direction and there was a smear of food across her cheek. Abbygail didn't seem to mind the fact that Jessica smelt like several different spices (Death had to lift a hand up to ward off an oncoming sneeze) as Jessica pulled her into a swift hug before she could protest, doing the same to the other smiling woman. Slightly shocked, Death watched as Jessica smiled again, gesturing for them both to come in.

"Abby! Sera! I haven't seen you two in so long! How are you? Come in, come in! I'm cooking Sera's favorite, by the way; bacon and pot roast!"

"Amazing," Sera stated, noticeably completely emotionless.

Death choose to look at the women as they both entered Jessica's house, ignoring the warning that Jessica uttered to him as she purposely walked by him, hissing something about not saying anything sarcastic or acting cruel. Neither one glanced around the large house and acted like they knew exactly where they were going. They'd been here before. His assumption was proved correct when the three women entered the kitchen; Sera sat down in one of the wooden chairs by the table with a loud huff as Abbygail immediately walked over to one of the cabinets, pulling out dishes and silverware to place along the table in certain places. After considering the consequences, Death sat parallel to Sera, who seemed intent on chewing a piece of bacon Jessica had just handed her. Yes, they had certainly been here before and most likely very often. If Death had learned anything about Jessica with the two days that he had been stuck with her, he knew that she was a woman of habit.

"So, what's been going on?" Jessica spoke up almost the second that Death had sat down. "I haven't seen you two in... what? Two years now? Maybe even three?"

"Four," Abbygail corrected her with a sad smile. "We've been out and about. Duty calls more often than not, I'm afraid."

Death narrowed his gaze at Abbygail. The black haired woman meant his eyes and pursed her lips, shaking her head. As he cocked his head to the side, confused, Sera spoke up. "As expected, both Demons and Angels have become a more common occurrence lately. You know how those military officers are. Once they have a taste of success and you wipe everything out, they just want you to keep coming."

"Military?" The word slipped out before Death realized it and both Sera and Abbygail shot him a bone-chilling glare. He shut his mouth immediately, placing a hand over it to keep any other questions from escaping him. If they wanted to hide something from Jessica, then so be it. Everyone seemed to be hiding their own secrets from the Kingdom of Man.

"Yeah. They're Commanders of the ASAMA. Against Supernatural Attacks Military Association. It's a worldwide effort to try and defeat all of the Angels and Demons that have been attacking us recently. Sometimes they travel around the world to help with things on other continents." Jessica paused in her explanation. "Where did you go this time?"

"Norway."

Snorting, Death tried not to notice the way that Sera produced a growl just loud enough for him to hear in warning. His feverish mind recognized the name Sera, but couldn't put two and two together. And her comment with Abbygail being a griffin was still fresh in his head. He could tell by looking at them that they weren't mortal. Their movements were too crisp and their skin practically glowed; plus, they had no scent, which was a dead give away that they were immortal. He knew that they were lying. Abbygail's answer had been too rehearsed for someone who seemed to speak so truthful. There was something that these two women were hiding from him and Jessica.

Jessica glanced out the window after she had finished placing a large hunk of meat onto a plate that Abbygail was holding up for her. Death was so absorbed in trying not to smell the scent of the roast -it was upsetting his stomach- that he hardly heard Jessica when she announced, "The sun's almost done setting. John should be bringing everyone back here soon."

"They're already on their way." Death looked at Sera, who had finished her bacon and was now studying a fork, turning it in certain directions to look at her reflection. "We saw them heading up when we were walking here."

"You know who Strife and War are?"

A glimpse of white and purple caused Death to narrow his eyes as Sera tilted the fork in his direction. He had seen those colors before. Not expecting anything to happen, Death picked up the cup in front of him and held it up, pretending to be examining it. He was about to make up a question about it when he froze. There it was. The white and purple. The purple was stripes, running down a pearl white hide. He started, twisting the cup more so he could see better.

What he saw surprised him. Now sitting in the same chair that Sera had been was a large tiger, ears flicked forward as she listened in on Jessica and Abbygail's current conversation about the two youngest Horsemen. A very familiar tiger. Sera. That's where he had heard the name before; when he had first met Abbygail, Sera had been the white tiger that she had introduced, the tigress that he had knocked unconscious. The purple stripes and her freezing cold gaze were the exact same. Pulling the glass away, he almost dropped the delicate cup when he found that the woman Sera was staring at him now rather intently. Lifting the glass once more, he placed the glass to where he was looking at half of the tigress and half of the woman as carefully as he could without appearing too noticeable. He watched as the tigress's whiskers twitched; the woman's eyes cut along with the tigress's. The tigress was the woman's reflection. The tigress was the woman.

When the realization hit, the glass slipped through his fingers. He was surprised when Sera darted forward, somewhere racing around the side of the table and making it in time to swipe the cup from the air. She stood before him, eyes flickering between purple and blue, as she placed the glass cup back onto the table top. "Better be careful," she said softly, eyes narrowing and boring into his orange ones. "You wouldn't want certain things to break."

Death had a feeling that if he mentioned what he saw to Jessica, he would be the one breaking.

His fingers were trembling when he reached out for the cup again as Sera sat back down, her eyes having settled once again back on the blue that belonged to her human form. He glanced over at Abbygail before doing the same that he had done with Sera. If he had been surprised by the tigress, then he was left speechless by what shone through the glass with Abbygail. A griffin. A heavenly mount in Jessica's kitchen. It was the same size as the tigress, making it slightly smaller than the average size of the creature, and it's feathers were pitch black, the fur on its waist down was even blacker. Maybe, if he wasn't terrified for his life, he would have found the griffin cautiously picking utensils from a drawer as it rested back on its haunches, tail twitching, strangely comical. But, when Sera was giving him the worst glare he had ever seen in his life, he didn't feel like laughing.

Abbygail replaced the griffin as he set the cup down, dumbfounded with disbelief. How was that even possible? To seem one way and then, when something as simple as a reflection occurred, they were something completely different? They weren't human. They weren't any race that Death could possibly think of.

What were they?

There was a small scratching noise at the door and Jessica beamed, disappearing as quickly as the sound had disappeared. Even though he hadn't asked, Abbygail explained as she sat down beside Death, sitting across from Sera. "She's letting Goliath in while John and your brothers finish up with the horses."

"Guardians," Death blurted as he remembered how Abbygail referred to themselves, keeping his voice low. "What are you?"

Abbygail's eyes narrowed as Sera growled. If either were going to answer, they didn't get the chance. Jessica's cooing and then scratching from Goliath's paws on the wood floor caused all of them to fall silent just as the large black Newfoundland burst from the hallway. The dog paused for a second in the entranceway, brown eyes darting between the two women and pink tongue lolling. It was then that Abbygail leaned forward. Death just heard the words of another language, one that most have been so long forgotten that not even he knew, before Goliath barked, tail wagging, and dove toward Sera for loving before moving onto Abbygail.

"Amazing how he still remembers you two," Jessica said as she walked into the kitchen, smiling as she petted Goliath's head affectionately. When the dog looked at him, Death's nose curled, but he still reached his hand out for him to lick. "He was just a little puppy when he first meet them. Still teething on Marcus's shoes." She trailed off and Death glanced over at her curiously. Her movements were slow and her gaze had focused upon nothing rather blindly, a look of pain forming in her eyes. She shook herself out of it rather quickly, looking out the window to the blackness outside. "Shouldn't be much longer before John comes over with Strife and War."

"Indeed. I wish they would hurry, though," Sera grumped. "I want that pot roast."

"Keep your whiskers in check," Death grunted, smirking when Sera shot him a glare. "When my brothers are concerned, especially Strife, perfection is a necessity."

"Should've known. The look that he gave me for giving him that plaid yellow and gray button-up shirt with the brown cowboy should have been my hint," Jessica commented as she placed a few more dishes of food on the table. A bowl of tan string-like food was rested before Death. His nose curled in disgust as they reminded him of intestines. "These are called noodles, Death. Spaghetti noodles. Nothing harmful. It should help with your stomach."

Before Death could comment with 'like your tea,' Abbygail beat him to it. "Aw," she mocked. "Is Deathy-Weathy sick?"

"Never call me that again."

"Parece como si la muerte ha alcanzado a la misma muerte." Sera joined in with Abbygail's teasing, causing Death to scowl at them in hatred. When everyone else looked at her in confusion, she rolled her eyes. "It would appear that Death has caught up with death itself."

That actually made sense. "Careful what you say," Death scowled.

"Careful on how you breathe on people. You might give them your disease." The tigress gave him a bright smile.

A small motion caught Death's eye and he turned in his chair to face the kitchen window as Goliath lifted his head from where he had laid it in Abbygail's lap. As Death began to notice the shape of a wolf's head that was way too tall to be looking into the kitchen window, the Newfoundland began to growl in a low rumble, the black fur along his back bristling as he began to follow the now rumble that was outside. Death half stood, the blanket about his shoulders sliding off just a tad bit, as he recognized the hunched shoulders of a werewolf.

Werewolves. Death personally had not seen a werewolf since he had visited Earth perhaps seven hundred years ago, back when knights still roamed and winged beasts that breathed fire were still a common problem. They were incredibly powerful; while they had human qualities, the wolf part was particularly strong and, when mixed with human traits, was faster, stronger, and smarter than a normal wolf. But the worse part was that the human was still inside. When they shifted, the wolf would take control; Fury had told him once that it was possible for the human to retake control when they shifted, but it required certain things that sometimes killed the human side all together and they would never be able to shift again. How he was guessing that it worked was that the human had all control until a full moon, when the wolf shifted. If the wolf managed to consume the human's mind all the time, there was no hope. The wolf had won and the human would never be again. Fury had said that the transition was rather painful and, if the human managed to get full control over the wolf side, they would still shift on a full moon no matter what. There was only so much leeway that the humans could get when it came to werewolves.

The glow of the werewolf's eyes as it leaned near a window appeared and Death glanced over at Jessica with a growl. "Where's Harvester?"

"Who?" She shot him a confused look. Her hand was slowly making its way to one of the cabinets. Goliath had, surprisingly enough, sunk down to the floor, ears pinned flat against his skull as his fur bristled and he stayed exactly where he was, now in the middle of the room connecting the hallway to the kitchen. "I don't know who Harvester is, Death."

Sera had hardly moved since the appearance of the werewolf, but, at the mention of his weapon, she leaned in her chair with a frown. "It's his weapon. That scythe of his."

"Oh yeah. I, uh, might have hid it."

"What?"

He glared at the woman as she pulled a pistol out from between two bags of flour, clicking the safety off of the gun with a mumble. "I was scared that you would cut me in half after one of your dreams. Did you really not notice that it was gone after you woke up with it in your hands and almost killed me with it?"

Pausing, his eyes flickered over to Goliath when the Newfoundland gave a large warning bark as scratching noises ran down the side of the house. Jessica mumbled a curse word when the noises stopped, grumbling about how those marks must look and how she would have to fix them later. It was then that he noticed that Abbygail was beside Goliath. She was whispering softly, her hand hovering over Goliath's shoulders as she crouched beside him, her eyes focused on the glow of the werewolf's. Curiosity flashed through Death as he watched as the werewolf almost seemed to pause as if to consider whatever Abbygail was saying.

And then smashed through the wall.

The effect was immediate; Goliath was yelping, jumping back, as Abbygail dove forward. The lights died, causing everything to turn pitch black in the room and he cursed his weak human eyes. Everything happened so fast then. Death yelled out as a piece of debris struck him across the chest, ripping a small hole in his sweater's arm, and he stumbled back. Jessica leapt for Goliath out of the corner of his eyes, but Death managed to grab her just in time as the werewolf's arm swung at them and he yanked her back before it could hit her. She fell back into his arms -which hurt like hell- and he was surprised when he glanced up in time to see a flash of a black wing, gold eyes, and a feathered tail in the one remaining light over the kitchen sink.

Jessica gasped and climbed further up into his arms, clawing at him in fear. Both the werewolf and now griffin rolled close enough for them to see clearly; while the werewolf clawed at the griffin's shoulder, the golden eyes of the feathered dragon locked upon him and Jessica, a flash of concern flickering through them just long enough for Death to notice it. Her beak opened, as if to explain, but then the werewolf was latching onto her short neck. A roar particularly shook through Death as Abbygail drew back, her pupil now nothing more than a slim slit, and she lifted up a clawed front leg, revealing a set of massive claws. Before she could strike the werewolf though, Goliath was barking, causing her to pause long enough for the creature to slip through her grasp. It was darting away before anyone could respond.

Abbygail remained her griffin, looking over at Jessica and Death almost apologetically. The woman in Death's arms was panting now in fear and almost ripped through him when the griffin leaned toward them slowly, head tilted to the side in a bird-like way. The dragon cringed at Jessica's reaction as Death clawed at her to get a better grip on the human and jerked back, snapping her sharp beak once. She flicked her ears up and grunted. I'm sorry, Jessica, for never telling you the truth. With that, she was gone, jumping through to get outside.

Death blinked several times and dropped the woman in his arms when he realized that Jessica was still holding onto him. She stayed where she was even when Goliath nudged her gently. "Shit. I'm surrounded by maniacs," she said in a daze. "I'm housing three men who have stupid names. And apparently one of my best friends is a... bird."

"Griffin," Sera corrected. Death looked at her to find her eating again, this time on a small piece of the roast. "If it helps, I'm a tiger."

Jessica scowled. "No, no it doesn't. Anything else I should know, while we're at it?"

Sera's gaze turned to Death. It was calculating and Death narrowed his eyes, silently daring to her say anything. "Well, not that I know of, but I'm not too sure. Could be a few more secrets that I don't even know about."

"Well, you better start coughing them up."

"Not until sickly does here."

Death growled when Jessica's eyes raised up to his, a judging light to them. "You're going to be waiting a long time, cat."

A sad look appeared in Sera's blue eyes and she suddenly seemed much more entertained by the remaining bite of meat in her hands. "That's something I never seem to run out of."

Next chapter will have some more characters that y'all gave me! It won't have all, but what ones are there will be freakin' amazing!

This chapter was NOT supposed to be this long.... Sorry :)