Even though the picture of Strife up above is absolutely beautiful, I couldn't find a way to get his tattoo to be visible.... I can see it but you guys can't really.

But Strife was hard! The only way the artist (Joe Mad) ever drew him that I know of was with a mask; every other one I found had this impression that Strife has this tiny little, girly pointed nose. His mask has a hook nose so I was like 'weeeeelllllllll, he must have one too.'

Sorry if this late guys!
Or if you don't like Strife's nose!

..... I think it fits him perfectly. Arrogant jackass XD

Now can these broken wings free me,
About a light-year from reality,
If you want to fall in a dream,
You could put the weight right onto me,
Here we are,
Running circles, around around around around,
When nothing's right,
just close your eyes,
Close your eyes and you're gone.

-Beck, Dreams

7

Smoke and blood filled the air with a pungent smell, causing a queasy feeling to grow in his stomach. It stained everything; the ground was colored a deep red and the smoke made the visibility shorter than only a few feet in front of him. He had seen blood before, he had seen severed limbs before, he had seen broken and beaten souls that begged for forgiveness before. He had seen things that had scarred even Death.

But killing his own race took a toll on him more than he had ever thought that it could.

Standing before Absalom, the leader and First Born of the Nephilim, Death felt more courage with the bone white mask on his face, hiding his features from the Nephilim that he had once trusted everything too, even down to his very soul. He knew for a fact that the only thing visible on his countenance was his eyes; the vivid orange color radiating from the pale contrast of the skull. And time didn't stop like everyone always said it would when something this important happened. The fighting continued, Nephilim died, the blood was spilled, the world turned. But, as everything continued, nothing moved between the two. They were too scared too. There was a good twelve foot radius of opened space around Absalom and Death besides from the occasional dead body that was flung into their space. Otherwise, anything that stepped between them would have been destroyed. It wouldn't have mattered what side they were fighting on either.

It was just him and Absalom.

But then it wasn't, the scene evaporating into fog and ash to turn into flailing limbs. The large shadow of Absalom stretched, flinging out into a completely different form. Long, whip-like limbs swung around him, smashing into the ground and just appearing through the fog randomly, not allowing Death to count how many were there. He took a step back right before one of the limbs crash down into the ground before him. Sand and ash were both flung up into the air, blinding him, and he was completely unprepared for when he was struck in the side. A jarring pain flashed up through his side, pulling mostly at his shoulder. He yelped and found himself failing to cartwheel out of danger like he could normally. His shoulder just hurt too much. Crashing into the ground, he tried to ignore the pain long enough to turn to look at the beast that all he could see of was limbs.

More of the limbs seemed to appear from the shadows, swirling from the smoke into shapes and forms of the flailing limbs. When another collided into him, flinging him up into the air before he was struck once more, he recognized where he had seen them before. The ash. His breath was knocked clean out of him as he landed roughly upon his back. Pain splintered through most of his body at this point and he marveled at how real that this dream was -did all humans dream like this?

The worst part of the limbs was the figures that it began to form.

From squirming shadows they shifted into black and gray animals that danced about him, squealing, whining, shrieking as their footfalls created a beating rhythm that matched Death's pounding heart. He stood, panting, as he clutched at his wounded side and cringed as jaws snapped shut around him. As he studied the whirlwind of animals, two made a constant appearance out of all the shapes; a large tiger whose grace surpassed anything else and a dragon -a griffin with large feathered wings, a sharp beak, and piercing eyes that seemed to cut through Death's soul. Eventually the two most noticeable creatures slowed and began to circle him, drowning out the others. Their steps matched, their gazes sliced through him, their beauty and pride radiated off them in an intimidating way. He was surprised when the griffin halted inches away from him, cat-like eyes studying him before he blinked once and it suddenly became a woman.

It took him a moment to realize that she was Jessica and, when he did, he scowled heavily before beginning to turn his back upon her. He couldn't even remember why he disliked the woman. Instead of letting him turn, however, her slim, calloused hand found his arm and seemed to hold him in place. He felt her warm breath against his ear as she whispered, soft and gentle as if speaking to a lover;

"It's time to wake up Horseman."

With a gasp, Death sat straight up with his heart fluttering and his mind whirling almost as quickly as the animals circling him had been in his dream. For a few moments he couldn't see anything; blackness coated his vision in a hazy way, making sure that only the shadows could be seen that dotted his visual. And, in some cowardly hope, he almost wished it would stay that way. It was easier to face this way. To think that a Nephilim could become human -here he could pretend it never happened. To think that a Horseman could become mortal -all Four. To think that he was that weak to fall to illness -here it didn't feel like that.

But his vision returned slowly against his will. He found himself panting upon a maroon couch, his hands clutching at one of the five blankets that were cast over his now sweaty body. His eyes focused upon a worn lamp as he tossed the blankets off him. The warm glow of the light underneath the cream shade decorated with tiny swirls and floral designs distracted him long enough to notice every time that the bulb inside flickered. Allowing his eyes to travel about the room some more, Death found it to be a simple one; a light yellow painted the walls and the occasional wooden picture frame was hung. Most were absent of pictures, strangely enough, and the ones that were, held a large amount of people. The room that he was in broke into three other hallways; one lead to a white room with a wooden table, the beginnings of a staircase was just visible from another, and the last one he could not see from his position. When he pushed himself up straighter, ignoring the aching pain that touched much of him, his foot brushed against a metal object. He found that it was Harvestor; the weapon had been propped on the opposite side of the couch. As his brow furrowed and he noticed the cracks that were along the roof, Death pursed his lips and turned his gaze to the last side of the room that he hadn't examined yet.

When he saw the woman that was sitting there, watching him carefully, he really, really, really, really wished that some people could just die whenever he wanted them too.

"How was your little nap?" Jessica asked him, raising an eyebrow as she sipped from a ceramic bright orange cup that was steaming. She looked strangely calm and relaxed since the last time that he had seen her. From her waist down she had wrapped herself up in a blanket, her legs propping up a book that she must have been reading, and her brown hair was pulled back into a messy ball on the back of her head. Death found that he didn't really like her hair like that -his eyes focused too much on her upturned nose.

Huffing, he ripped his eyes away from the infuriating woman. "It does not matter, human."

"Like you're the one to talk."

Cutting his eyes at her, he almost fell over when a miragoane crashed into him, making him reach up to touch his forehead in pain. He cursed how weak that the human race was. Already he could feel how hot that his face was beginning to grow, but goosebumps had arose along his arms and the blankets suddenly seemed much more welcoming than what they had moments ago. Deciding that the best option was to ignore the woman, Death grunted as he reached out for the blankets that he had tossed not even moments earlier.

"You know," she spoke up. "I could actually help you get rid of that headache and fever that you're feeling right now."

"What makes you think that I believe you? How do you even know I have a fever and a headache?" Death snorted.

"Well, right now you can't even get your blankets back, smartass." Death grunted in annoyance as his fingers failed to get a hold on the flimsy pieces of fabric that he was trying to reach. As he shot an annoyed glance at the human woman, he found her to arrogantly chipping at the surviving paint from the side of her cup with her nails. When they made eye contact, she gave him a wide smirk and Death scowled at her arrogance and confidence in herself.

Finally giving up on retrieving his blankets, Death threw himself back against the arm of the couch in frustration, ignoring the protest that Jessica voiced in concern of the wellbeing of her couch. He let his eyes slid close as he thought to himself. The option of actually having Jessica help him had no attraction whatsoever. When she had came with Strife to get War and Death, she had brought two extra horses besides from the two that she and Strife were already riding because Strife hadn't told her of the three that were already there. From the point that War had basically chucked Death on one of the woman's horses, his memory began to fail. He could remember being shoved back onto his gelding's saddle several times after he had dozed off. He could remember an argument that he and Strife had about the location of Fury -Strife had explained what had happened and then fought tooth and nail that they needed to wait until she came back, claiming that Fury was a 'big girl' and could 'walk large amounts of distances without someone up her ass' if Death recalled correctly. He could even remember a fragment of a conversation that he had shared with Jessica, which had been something about a wounded stallion that had appeared at her farm a night ago. Other than those few times, Death could hardly remember anything else. And it flustered him.

Having Jessica help him though, would mean several things. First off, it would officially announce how weak that he was. It would mean that he had become human and that there was no going back, if there might ever be a true cure out there. Second off, it would mean that the Council had either abandoned them or something much more serious than they had feared was taking place. Third off, he would owe this human. Fourth off, it would mean that the woman was stronger than he was. And fifth off, he would hear it from Strife for the next seven centuries (if they ever did manage to change back to Nephilim and Horsemen) about how some weak little human female was able to nurse him back to health.

"What could you do to help me?" he growled after a few minutes.

Surprise flickered across Jessica's face for a brief second. She hadn't been expecting him to say that to her; a somewhat satisfied smirk spread across his face when he found that he had shocked her. She returned it, confusing him, and exclaimed, "I have my ways." Then she was jumping up and darting away, leaving her cup of whatever steaming liquid it was behind.

He could hear her fumbling around in some room but found his attention focused more upon the drink. Standing, he grunted when he found how stiff that his legs were. Making sure that Jessica wasn't in the room still, he waddled over to the little coffee table that the woman had placed her cup on and stared at the dark brown liquid that was inside. Muttering to himself, he leaned down and sniffed it. A strong scent came from the cup and he found his nose curling as he pulled away. Curiosity was stronger than his common sense of 'don't touch anything' and, when he made sure again that Jessica was still in another room, he snatched the cup and sipped at the steaming drink. Jessica had drank it so clearly it wouldn't harm him. The warmth was nice, but he found he didn't like the taste all that much. His nose curled automatically and he placed the cup back upon the table as he wiped at his mouth.

"Seriously? You drank my coffee?" Jessica's annoyed face was the first thing that he saw when he turned around to greet the woman.

"I wished to know what you were drinking."

"You could have just asked," she replied in annoyance. Rolling her eyes, she lifted up a tray that had several things on it. Death's stomach growled, something that he still hadn't grown used to yet, when he smelt the the toasted bread that was resting there on a little plate besides another cup identical to the one Jessica's 'coffee' had been in with two small red and blue tablets. Her hand hovered above the bread. "This is a grilled cheese. I love to eat this when I'm sick." She pointed to the cup. "This is water."

"I know what water is," Death retorted.

"And," Jessica continued, ignoring his statement, "these are called pills. Certain kinds help with certain things. In this case, these will help with both your fever and headache." She placed the tray down on a small table and lifted an eyebrow at him as she crossed her arms expectantly.

Death had a brief thought -maybe she wanted him to sit down. Instead of doing what that little voice said in the back of his head, he pointed to one of the pictures that had literally just caught his interest. In it was obviously a younger Jessica, perhaps five years earlier, with three men and one other woman. She and the other human female that was definitely older looked similar had an arm draped about the others shoulders; the same brown hair, same brown eyes, and the same wide smile on both of them. One of the three men was the old man that Death had seen outside for a split second -nothing appeared to be any different except for a smile that graced his wrinkled face. With a stunning amount of blond hair, bright green eyes, and an almost perfect countenance besides from having a slightly too small nose, he had an arm thrown over the other woman and was standing with a large smile. The last man, one with a bald head and large arms, had his arm wrapped about Jessica's waist and was standing on the end as he held a pitchfork. In the background was the same house that he was in now, just in better condition.

"Who are they?" he asked, coughing for a few seconds afterwards. Death knew that he had no place in pointing at the picture or asking. He just really, really did not want to do anything that Jessica said.

A silence fell, heavy and thick. Once he had recovered, he found that Jessica wasn't looking at him; she was removing the items that she had brought and were placing them on the table with a frown touching her lips. When she looked back up at him, a pained glint was reflecting in her eyes. "What used to be the members of a happy family."

Whatever reply that Death had begun to say disappeared. Tapping the side of his leg, Death motioned to the food. "What did you say that those were?"

"Grilled cheese." Death almost cringed at her emotionless voice. "If you want me to help you get better from this cold, then get your ass over here and sit down."

"I am not cold," the Pale Horseman grumbled as he did what she had said. Every instinct was protesting as he sat against the rather comfortable couch, silently accepting the cup that she handed to him. To be a Nephilim and be helped by a human. Absurd. Dishonorable. Even without the Nephilim's souls resting in his chest, he could still hear their whispering sometimes. As the words crossed through his mind, their displeasure loud and angry, he wondered how he could still even hear them now as a human. Maybe their voices would always be in his head. He cringed silently at the thought as Jessica placed the pills in his hand.

He managed to swallow the pills without too much incident. Jessica had warned him that if he wasn't able too, then she wasn't going to help him from choking to death, which she had smirked at. Even after she had promised him that she hadn't poisoned the grilled cheese, the Kinslayer spent a few minutes poking the toasted bread and melted cheese (mostly to annoy her because Jessica's reaction was immediate every time). As he sat there, eating his meal, she had returned to the other couch. Death had been enjoying the silence as well -he had noticed that the walls of this house were very thick and good enough to be mostly soundproof from the noises outside- but then Jessica had asked him a question.

"What made you Horsemen become humans?" she inquired, laying her book down against her legs and glancing at him with pursed lips. Death froze in chewing his food. "I know somewhat from rumors and research that my father did, but how did you become mortal? The Charred Council should have made you indestructible."

"They did."

Death was more than happy leaving the subject just the way it was with just those two words, But Jessica obviously wasn't about to stop until she got some sort of answer. "Come on, Deathy. I've already feed you. You might as well tell me. You owe me."

Orange eyes cutting, he debated just how much that he should tell her. She did have a point. "The Charred Council made us immortal, yes. Recently, however, they have... disappeared and have left us to our own devices. Something on Earth has caused us to change from being Nephilim to becoming part of the Kingdom of Man."

"What's a Nephilim?"

"A race you should not know of," Death snapped as he realized his mistake.

Jessica propped her face in her hands, swinging her legs off the side of her couch. He was reminded of a pouting child and instantly looked away to continue his meal. "I don't know why you're so worried. I'm a human being. We live, we breathe, we last for a little while, then we get sick and die. It's not like your secrets are going to get out of my mouth once I'm dead." There was a slight sadness to her voice. Was she sad about the fact that she was going to die, or did she have a personal experience about something? Maybe one of those people in the picture? "But, if you don't want to tell me, then don't I guess. I'm not here to force you into talking. Strife did warn me about this."

At the mention of his brother's name, Death's head snapped around to stare at her. "What about my brother?"

"Nothing bad. He just told me that you weren't really a talker."

Snorting Death shoved the remains of the 'grilled cheese sandwich' into his mouth. The sandwich had been surprisingly delicious. "I am surprised that he did not tell you more, actually."

"Why?" His gaze flickered over to her as he drank some of his water. "Is there something that I shouldn't know? Or maybe the little baby of the family, War? Like maybe you have a secret space lover that he would be scarred from hearing some of the tales that you've shared with her?"

Again Death snorted. "That would be Strife's doing, not mine."

To his surprise, Jessica burst out laughing. The cup in his hands almost slipped free from his grasp and he blinked at her until the fit had ended. "Why-why does that not surprise me?" she chuckled as she wiped away a tear of mirth. "With those guns of his, I wouldn't be too surprised if he had banged at least half of the galaxy at this point. There's no way that you guys aren't older than a few hundred centuries old."

"I sense that there are multiple references that I did not understand in that," Death commented drily as he finished his water.

"Sense? What are you now? A Jedi?" Jessica huffed as she collected the plates that she had brought his food on. Death rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch, suddenly strangely comfortable and sleepy. A hand patted his shoulder and  he failed to notice what side of him Jessica was on. "Those pills were supposed to make you sleepy. Take a little nap. Everyone should be in by the time that you wake up."

"Everyone?" It was part of the entire three sentences that Jessica had spoken that he had understood.

"Yeah. War is out plowing with John and Strife is herding sheep with my dog Goliath. Before your brother gets ahold of herding those animals, I really need to take you out there to watch him. It's pretty comical."

"I despise sheep."

Jessica chuckled and he felt her lay a hand upon his forehead. She hummed in approval as she pushed him down into the couch and then laid a blanket over him. "Yeah, I know you do. Now just sleep, okay? You don't have to impress anyone when you've got a flu, alright? You've just seemed to pick up everything at once."

Death pretended to go to sleep before he was able to drift off and he was fully aware that Jessica had yet to leave the room until his breathing remained level. When she was leaving, he opened his eyes just as she was switching off the light to the room that he was in. He watched as she pressed her back against one of the hallways and leant her head back. Her brown eyes, wide and shining were emotion, had locked upon something that was in front of her, her arms wrapping about herself after she had placed the tray down in front of her feet. As he pulled his blankets a little closer, she reached out to touch something that had been put on the opposite wall. Tears flowed freely from her eyes now as a broken smile stretched across her face before it slipped away. The words that she mouthed were rather clear and personal.

I love you.