I cannot stop this sickness taking over
It takes control and drags me into nowhere.
I need your help,
I can't fight this forever,
I know you're watching,
I can feel you out there.

-Starset, My Demons

3

The Pale Horseman cracked open an eye as he groaned, feeling a sharp pain pulling at the side of his chest. Grass shifted under him as he moved and he sat up slowly to mind his shoulder. And that's when it occurred to him.

Death hadn't felt actual pain in centuries.

Propping his weight on his uninjured arm, Death panted and ran a hand over his pounding forehead as he searched for clues as to where he was, his fingers tangling into his pitch black hair. A small fire laid about ten feet away from him, crackling and snapping as it burned bright orange, red, and yellow. Nearby he could see horses. But only three. Before he could process what he had seen -one large white horse, one that was only noticeable by the white of their eyes when it turned its head because of its dark fur, and one that glowed red from markings along its neck- his eyes had wandered to the large man that was sitting near the fire with his back turned to him, scraping a rock against a massive sword. Confusion filtered through Death's mind for a moment. He didn't recognize the person at first. Long white hair spilled out from a red hood. Armor of yellow, dark grays, and light grays outlined the contours of his muscular body. The shadow made by the fire caused the man's arms to look even larger and the gauntlet on his left hand looked terrifyingly gruesome as it dragged a rock across his sword's length. Already a path had been cut through by the sword in the underside of the rock that was being slid across the sword. It clicked in Death's mind, however, when he grunted again and the man turned his head at the noise.

War. Out of the four of the Horsemen, War and Fury looked the most alike. Their faces were slightly round, perfect, and angular. The look of perfection for a child of a demon and angel. They shared the perfect nose; a simple, diagonal tilt that was the perfect length to their countenance. They still shared characteristics with their other two brothers; the somewhat same shaped chin, the perfection of features that happened to grace them. Death and Strife had the more sharper of the features, with pointed noses and a more angular face. The pitch black hair that looked better in length and cut neat. Even their tempers had similarities. Death and Fury, when provoked, had so much anger, that they could see red. Strife needed more poking than them before he snapped, and War was an immovable stone and normally remained emotionless. Both Death and Strife had a statistic attitude to them. War and Fury stuck to their honor and pride. But, even with all of their differences, they were still brothers and sister though.

"You are awake."

War's deep voice caused Death's headache to flare and the elder of the two lifted a finger, signaling for the other to remain quiet so he could recover."Unfortunately," Death muttered as he finished sitting up. "What happened? I do not remember much after my shoulder was wounded."

His brother's ice blue eyes narrowed and he turned his attention back to Chaoseater. Death felt himself tense as the metal rang out into the silent of the night as War sharpened it. "We were battling the new creature that we found when you were struck by a tentacle of some sorts and was knocked unconscious. We brought you here, away from the creature, and where Orion, the Stag of these woods, thought that we would be from harm's way."

Memories rushed back to him. He could see himself rushing through the masses made of ash, slicing through them with his scythe. His attention had been pulled away from the fight by Strife; the White Horseman had claimed to see something moving in the shadows of the trees and had broke away from the fight despite Death's wishes. Death had even caught a glimpse of the new creature -it was as white as a ghost, purple streaking down its hide, and had been as quick as lightning. By the time that Death had lifted a hand from Despair's neck, attempting to correct his brother, he had felt a prickling in his shoulder. The next thing that Death had known he was being hit by a large object across his chest that he had not seen coming. Apparently it knocked him unconscious.

"Fury had to attempt to heal you."

"Why?" Death curiously asked. His hand found the piece of cloth that had been part of someone's cloak -most likely Fury's- that was lying across his chest, ripping it away to reveal a nasty, still bleeding laceration. He stared at it for a little while, dragging his fingers across his pale skin to feel the wet, warm blood. Bleeding. He was bleeding.

"We are losing our immortality. The creature made of ash that we fought has some connection to it, or at least Fury seems to think so."

Looking up, Death peered at his brother for a moment. War didn't seem affected by this announcement; his voice had been just as calm and emotionless as it always was. Losing immortality does not take a few hours. Death couldn't even think of something like this happening before. The greater of the angels and demons did not ever lose their mortality. So, then, why would the Horsemen, created by the Charred Council, the ones that protected the very balance of Heaven and Hell, lose their immortality? The eldest Horseman reached up to place a hand over his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"It does when the source is directly injected into you, things will work much faster." Death's eyes narrowed, torn between this new knowledge and the fact that he had spoken his thoughts out loud without meaning too. "You've been unconscious for almost sixteen hours, Death. Fury thought for some time that you weren't even going to make it through. Every hour you would take a fever."

"She thinks that we can die?"

"Mortals, Death." War once again paused in running the rock down Chaoseater, this time lifting the sword up to examine the blade. Death watched him silently as his youngest brother sighed, placing the weapon beside him before he turned to face Death. War opened his hands wide -this was when Death knew that the situation was affecting him. "We are even shrinking in size. Fury doesn't just believe that we have lost are immortality, but that we are also becoming human."

Death stared at War in disbelief. How could that even be possible? "Human," Death repeated slowly, running it through his mind several times. "How would that... happen? We are the creation of a angel and a demon. Not human."

"And what were the angels and demons created to tempt?"

Orange eyes lifted to the ice blue ones, narrowing at War's remark. Death stood after a few tries, panting heavily as he gripped at his chest and struggled to remain upright. A concerned look appeared in War's eyes and he stood as well to help his brother. Waving him away, Death plopped down onto the log that his brother had been sitting at and groaned in pain again. "That explains nothing."

War snorted in disagreement as he joined Death on the log. A few moments passed, the fire filling in the silence, before the Red Horseman grunted again. "Orion has taken Fury and Strife to a farm nearby to consult with a human farmer."

"And he believes that this human will shelter us then?"

A frown touched the side of War's mouth. "He is unsure. Apparently, this farm is the only human civilization for near a hundred miles. Once one leaves this forest, most of the land is supposedly sand and ruins. Not much grows on Earth anymore since the End War and my mistake."

"Your mistake was not your fault and therefore not a mistake that was made by you," Death replied, laying a hand upon War's shoulder to comfort him.

War shrugged off Death's hand, turning most of his body away from him. "But it was I who answered the Calling, brother, and it was not even real. It was fake. How am I supposed to prove myself from that?"

The eldest Horseman turned away from War, sighing. He ran a hand through his black hair, leaning forward after some time to place his face in his hands once more. Besides from the pain that was pounding in his head, his stomach was twisting and pulling and almost everything on him just hurt. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him. Nausea seemed just within reach and his vision swam whenever he looked at something longer than a few seconds. Even his concentration was affected. Nothing seemed the same. Why were humans so damn weak?

He had met his fair share of humans; where did one assume that all of the myths of Death even come from? There was always something one this planet happening; either Hell or Heaven having too firm of a grip on the culture, religion, or the very people of power on the Kingdom of Man. It was always Death that was sent down. Fury was easily angered, Strife was easily tempted by the humans and their wild ideas, and War... he just scared them. Death was the easiest -he finished his missions, nothing got in his way, and he knew how to stay hidden from Man. And, he had met several humans that he almost believed to be just as strong as the Nephilim. He had seen war heroes, scientist accomplish incredible feats, and so many other things that Man had created. But, he also knew that their former glory had been tainted by the End War. They had much to recover.

"How far away are the others?"

If he was troubled by how Death had ignored War's injury, the Red Horseman didn't act like it. "Orion said that it would be a day's journey from here. They left at noon. They should be back by tomorrow, I believe."

Another wave of nausea washed through Death and caused him to shiver. Goosebumps arose on his pale skin that didn't appear to be the sickly gray color anymore and he bit his tongue to keep himself from commenting on anything. It was his fault; he didn't have a shirt on. "Good."

"Brother, are you cold?"

"Of course not," Death snapped, his voice betraying him as it broke. "I am not cold."

War gave him a strange look before standing. "Then you should be alright as I leave you. Being immortal requires us to hunt. Orion has already given me permission to only kill what we need to eat."

"Sounds like he adores his forest," Death managed to comment through his shattering teeth.

Something was thrown at Death and he spluttered as he struggled to remove the cloth from his head. He was surprised, once he had freed himself, to find that it was one of Fury's cloaks that she must have left behind. Looking up at War with a questioning look, he was even more surprised when War rolled his eyes. "Has being immortal for so long made you forget what you do when you're cold?"

"Don't sass me. You forget who is older." The Pale Horseman brought the cloak about his shoulders. His teeth still chattered loudly against themselves and he was more than tempted to grab his jaw to make them stop.

"And you forget who is stronger." A small rumble came from his youngest brother; a laugh.

Death huffed to himself, too tired to comment, as War left. By himself, Death just sat there and shivered, teeth chattering, goosebumps popping up across his skin, and wave after wave of sickness crashing into him. All Death could even think of was how much of hell that this even reminded him of. The tips of his fingers had gone numb, his body was particularly frozen but his cheeks were warmer than hell themselves, and he felt like sleeping but, when he tried, he would wake up from feverish dreams. The fire went out eventually, becoming just a pile of ashes. All Death did was sit there and kick at it occasionally; he wasn't used to feeling helpless.

As Absalom's right-hand and a First Born, Death had been granted almost everything when he was younger. And, as a Nephilim, he was granted even more. Races across the galaxy feared them; and they should. Death had been by Absalom's side countless of times as they had wiped towns, civilizations, and planets from the galaxy's map. The process of taking over the galaxy had grown even faster when Death had created stronger weapons. Fury's whip. Strife's pistols. War's sword. The Grand Abominations. Harvester, Death's scythes, had been a prototype; the weapon had been so successful that Death had decided to keep it for himself. The Nephilim had been proud of him for creating such weapons. Success had only been easier since the destruction of the ravaiim.

Which had led to the last crime that the Nephilim had committed.

The Garden of Eden. Death closed his eyes, pulling the cloak more about him as another chill raced through him with a small breeze on the wind. He could remember his shock when Absalom had spoken of it; the Nephilim had been obsessed with taking the garden, the promised land of Man, the Kingdom that God had created. There had been only three other Nephilim that had seen how wrong that Absalom had been. The Horsemen had left friends, brothers, sisters. The people that they had ever known.

But they had been wrong. The Balance had to remain intact. The Charred Council had made them stronger -they were brought to the Horsemaster and told to tame a horse. Death had found it easier than he had expected; he had ran in and grabbed the one that he felt like he had the strongest connection with. And Despair had been born. The others had followed next; Remorse for Fury, Turmoil for Strife, and Ruin for War. By the side of Heaven, the Horseman, armed with the same weapons that Death had created and their new horses, the Four Horseman had attacked their own brethren. Every soul of the Nephilim was gathered into a green amulet.

Death had not let his brothers to take on the responsibility of Absalom but himself; he feared that they would not be strong enough. He knew the first Nephilim better than they did. Death had won and it still pained him to this day. It was as if everything had struck him as Absalom had been dying; he had grabbed the first Nephilim's hand, as if to take back what Death had just done, but Absalom had been swallowed into darkness. To become Corruption. The souls of the Nephilim were taken to the Crowfather instead of being destroyed like the Council had demanded. It was there, as Death had brandished the amulet up high and the Crowfather had stared in wonderment, that a trade had taken place. A crow for an amulet. Later, the Crowfather would die. And the amulet would return to Death later. The Grand Abominations would be locked away in the Abomination Vault.

A small noise before him caused Death's eyes to open. He couldn't help but to notice the difference between the sight that he had as a Nephilim and then a human. Everything was weaker, less enhanced than the sight that Death had grown accustomed too. Studying the forest around him, he noticed a dark shape flutter not far away. His eyes flickered about him, finding Harvester back where he had woken up earlier. Too far away for him to reach in time.

Looking back at the shape, he watched as it flapped up, landing tackily upon the log that was across from fire where he sat. The creature cawed at him and he sighed. "Dust," he called out to the bird and it seemed to chuckle at him. "You coward." It cawed at him, taking to the air once more before landing upon his unwounded shoulder. The bird, with his flashing green eyes, tilted its head several times before giving him one look and pecking Death's hand. The Pale Horseman yelped, uttering several curses under his breath as he brushed the bird from his shoulder. Dust cawed as he landed on the same log, gazing at him curiously. "If it helps, bird, I am no longer immortal. Pain is something that I feel now."

Instead of looking at him, the bird straightened, head snapping over to the other direction as he ruffled his black feathers. Death lifted his gaze from his bird, his eyes locking upon the area where he could now hear noise. Humans are so weak if they cannot hear something before a bird can.

This time, however, coming from those woods was not a bird.

Death stood, almost falling right back over due to the nausea and dizziness that washed over him. He stumbled over to his weapon and was bending over to grab it when he heard War bark out a warning. The words were fuzzled; something had struck him during the course of him saying something. War continued speaking -once again, it was incomprehensible by the crashing as something large tore a path through the woods. Now Death felt even more compiled to grab his weapon as both his youngest brother and whatever he brought approached.

He got the chance as something collided into his side. The wound on his shoulder reopened; he felt the skin ripping and yelped again as whatever had hit him squirmed above him. Seconds later he was flipped onto his front, a large paw being placed upon his shoulder and claws to sink into the area around the wound. This caused a scream of pain to erupt through him as he saw a set of jaws open wide, fangs bore as it roared and whiskers twitched on either side of its face. Instinct caused Death to jerk his legs upward, catching a soft belly, and found that he was no where near as strong as what he had been as a Nephilim. A spark of worry flashed through him until he heard War release a battle cry and just saw his brother tackle the beast that had trapped Death.

Rolling back onto his stomach, Death watched as War fought with a large tiger. Death knew something of the animals on planet Earth; he knew the more dangerous ones and he had once been attacked by one. This tiger was even larger than the one that had attacked him. It was pure white, its eyes a lavender purple -or what he could tell by the way that they were narrowed into slits. Muscles jerked and convulsed under the healthy shine of the beast's fur. Purple stripes ran down the feline's sides and, with a hiss, displayed its strength when it flipped War over, causing the large beast to be on top. War had just managed to free his arm when the tiger found the large gauntlet that was on his younger brother's left hand with its teeth.

Panic flashed across War's features as the tiger yanked his arm up by the gauntlet, the Horseman instantly bringing up his other hand, with the tiger's paw still on it, and grabbed the top of the tiger's jaw. A whine came from the tiger, the beast scrunching shut its eyes, as War grunted, slowly pulling open the tiger's mouth. Even with War's armor on, Death found his brother to be bleeding. Red dripped down from War's fingers, rolling down his arm as the Red Horseman struggled with the tiger. A fang was embedded in War's palm but he didn't appear to care.

"Death!" War barked out suddenly, causing Death to jolt out staring. "Do something!" When he shot a quick glance over to his eldest brother, his grip just slip. War nostrils flared as another fang entered his right hand as he adjusted his on the tiger's jaw.

Glancing around, Death found his scythe nearby. He scrambled, ignoring the dizziness and the nausea that arose again, and scooped up his scythe. He found that Harvester was easy to raise even with one hand -whatever was turning the Horsemen mortal had not affected their weapons if he could still use the weapon. Twirling it once to get a better grip, Death slammed the side of the blade, the one that wasn't sharp, as hard as he could into the tiger's head.

The result was immediate; the tiger released War's gauntlet with a hiss as it transferred all of its attention onto Death. War didn't wait another moment before punching the side of the tiger's jaw. It jerked upward, already unconscious, before it fell onto its side beside War, its ear twitching occasionally to show that it was still alive.

Both Death and War remained where they were for a moment. War relaxed on the ground, fixing his gauntlet before breathing heavily as he rested his head against the ground and closed his eyes. Several injuries were noticeable on him; his gauntlet had a puncture holes from the tiger's teeth and was dented from the strength of its bite, his right hand was bleeding profusely from where it had been ripped open, and another place on his left upper arm had been scratched through from the tiger's claws. His hood had been slashed through and looked absolutely pointless to even wear anymore.

"If you ask me if you can keep it like it's a little pet and you're a little boy," Death said after a little while. "I shall hurt you."

War grunted. "Right. It's only a fluffy kitty. What are you afraid, brother?"

"Death. Like you should be."