The Lord of Dreams sat leisurely on the balcony, swirling the wine in his cup as he looked out into the starless night. Recent developments made him second-guess his decision to back the Devil, even though it was the wisest, less painful option. 
Fear spread through the Mortal Realm much faster than expected as the Horsemen travelled the Earth. Nightmares thrived, which was good, since Morpheus drew his strength from terror. But he found that the humans who survived the Horsemen's terror were no more than husks, exactly as Michael had predicted. Their souls were sucked out of their still-living bodies. And without a soul, their sleep was as empty as their existence. If this was humanity's fate, what would be his?
A ruckus outside the throne room pulled Morpheus out of his musings. He jumped to his feet when the Fallen Angel walked in, without the slightest regard for proper decorum or the simplest hello.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, as Joan walked straight toward him.

"A word please, Kyrios Morpheus."

"Can't you see I'm busy? Go away. Go on, shoo!"

"This can't wait."

Morpheus scowled at her, but the girl didn't budge. It was clear she wouldn't move until he heard her. And since she was the Devil's precious guest, he couldn't use any force on her.

"Tch, what could possibly be so important that you have to disturb me?"

"Why did you give me that dream?" asked Joan.

Her question threw Morpheus off guard. "I beg your pardon?"

"The dream. Why did you do that?"

"My dear girl, I'm afraid I had nothing to do with whatever you dreamed about."

"I don't understand." Joan tilted her head inquisitively. "Aren't you the Lord of Dreams?"

"Indeed. For mortals. You may be a Fallen Angel now, but you still have a hint of divinity. Thus, whatever you dream about comes directly from the big man upstairs."

Morpheus's eyes narrowed when he noticed the pensive crease at Joan's brow. He casually walked to his throne, throwing her a glance over his shoulder.

"Just out of curiosity, what exactly did you dream about? I may not have given you the dream, but I can still interpret it. Dreams are all about symbolism and I do happen to be quite an expert in that field."

"I was in the Vale. With my friends and my mother and... everyone."

Morpheus hid his disappointment. He had hoped for something more interesting than this. Bored at Joan's simple reply, he plucked at the grapes on the table next to his throne and said, "You long for home. It's natural for someone who has lost everything and is in your current state. I believe they call it a nesting urge or something. Anything else?"

"I saw the Lord Protector."

The Lord of Dreams choked on a grape at the mention of the Archangel he had stashed away in the heart of his palace. 

"P-Pardon?" he uttered in a coughing fit.

"Michael. I saw him. He said something about a bell chiming thrice. That's what confused me. Do you perhaps know what it means?"

Morpheus stared at the Fallen Angel.

Does she know? No, of course not. How could she? How could God even? My Realm is not part of His domain. It's something else. Yes, something else, of course.

"T-That is," he cleared his throat, "peculiar indeed. To hear a bell usually means that something will happen. The number of bell chimes could indicate a period of time. Perhaps it's to do with your um... due date? Some supernatural creatures give birth in three months. That might be it."

"Hm, maybe."

Morpheus didn't fail to notice the suspicion in Joan's voice. He had to be extremely careful with anything else she asked. But much to his surprise, the Fallen Angel then smiled.

"I believe I have taken enough of your precious time, Kyrios. Do forgive me for the intrusion and thank you for your help. I hope we can have another conversation soon. It was a welcome distraction for me."

She turned and walked away, leaving Morpheus to gape at her.

"Oh, sorry, I wanted to ask one last thing." Joan lingered at the door. "That symbol I see on everyone's arm here. Is it some form of protection?"

"Of sorts." Morpheus smirked. "It's how I keep my little flowers close at my side. Wouldn't want them getting lost out there in the dark now, would we?"

"You never gave me one. You're not worried I'll wander off?"

"Lucifer's witch still keeps an eye around, even if she's not physically here, so you do not require my mark. And I wouldn't dream of laying claim to something that belongs to another. I have my own toys."

"I see. Thank you, Kyrios. You've been most helpful."

The girl finally left. Morpheus sank down on his throne, dabbing the sweat off his brow with the shawl draped over his shoulder. He went over every word they had exchanged, hoping he hadn't said anything that would have alerted Joan to the Lord Protector or anything else she could use against him.
He thought about moving time even faster so he would be rid of her, but he couldn't risk it moving too fast for that damn baby growing inside her. Best to leave things as they were. The servants could help keep an eye on her. It would only be for two, maybe three weeks, tops. Then the Dream Realm would once again be his... He hoped.

***

The earth blackened from the ashes scattering in the wind. Even though it was the dead of night, the sky burned a warm orange as the fire set the village ablaze. The flames slowly spread to the trees. Soon, they would consume the jungle as well.
It had started a few days ago. In mere hours, nearly all the children died from an unknown illness. Then, inexplicably, all the food and drinking water disappeared. When the hunters searched further away from the village, they only found decay. The weak and elderly followed the children in death, and a primal survival instinct took hold of any who remained. They killed each other using stones, sticks, knives, fists... They ate the flesh of their neighbours and drank their blood. Only when their bellies were full did and they see what they had done, did they finally see the spectres that walked amongst them.

A warrior with armour dripping blood pierced a great sword into men and women's hearts and watched them succumb to fury and violence. They screeched and fought, determined to tear each other limb from limb. 
An archer dressed in white remained static, except when firing an arrow from his ever-nocked bow. It only had to nick a target's skin for the victim to drop on the ground, eyes bulging out of their sockets. Blood boiled in their veins. Internal organs imploded. It was sublime.
A living corpse, shrouded in rags, dragged itself from hovel to hovel. His work was already done. The food he had placed on his scales had spoiled as the balance tipped from healthy and nurturing to spoiled and putrid. The water-well had dried after dropping in pieces of his rags. No more was needed for wonderful chaos to ensue.
And then there was the one who soared from body to body, leaving no one unchecked. From the smallest child that died in bed surrounded by a crying family, to the eldest man that died of hunger. From the woman stabbed and hacked in two so the baby growing within her could be eaten, to the healthy hunter whose heart exploded within his chest.
Death took each soul and locked them forever in the rift. With each new claim, their powers grew stronger. It was only a matter of time. Then, not even the Archangels could stop them.

"Too... easssssy," wheezed Famine, as the Four Horsemen gathered in the centre of the village.

He lay down on the ground, his hand going through the ash-covered dirt in a slow motion.

"He is right," concurred Pestilence. "We hardly have to do anything anymore. We can push them over the edge simply by being present and patient."

"Mortals are so prone to destruction these days." War sighed miserably.

"Come now, don't tell me you forgot how to have fun!"

The Horsemen turned towards the voice that was not one of them. They faced a man, dressed smartly in a grey suit, with copper hair. They had seen him before. Who could possibly forget him? One side of his face suggested a fair angel, sent to bring peace and harmony. The other, a horrible demon, sent to instil fear upon all who gazed at him.

"State your business." War tightly gripped his sword.

"Straight to the point, lovely. I am here to speak with Death."

None of the Horsemen spoke. They eyed the man suspiciously as he approached. War and Pestilence pointed their weapons to keep him at bay, but Death lifted a cloaked skeletal hand.

"Leave us. I will speak with this so-called Angel of Death alone."

The other Horsemen bowed their heads and vanished. Death's pale horse came to stand with its rider as the others joined theirs. It trampled nervously, red eyes glistening in the fire's glow.

"Last we spoke in the Dream Realm," spoke Death, "you came with a proposal — the door to our prison left open for the capture of a recluse angel. I lead my brothers to Adam's Peak to find this Seer you spoke of, but you neglected to mention he was an Archangel, as you failed to speak of the other two as well."

"By the time I learned Gabriël and Raphael were there, it was already too late to warn you. But really, what are a few Archangels to the Four Horsemen? Actually, what is one Archangel? You only faced Gabriël, and he's not exactly the warrior type."

"He was not alone. A ferocious fighter in black armour came to his aid. He provided a distraction, so this Gabriël could use his divine power to bind us. My touch on the Archangel's wing saved us. His helper spirited them both away before we could regain ourselves."

Death took in Samael's reaction; his grin disappeared, his mouth twitched, and his eyes narrowed. The Angel of Death undoubtedly knew that warrior as well.

"Even so, you should have been able to handle such a minor task," rebuffed Samael. "Two against four. The odds were in your favour. Hubris was your downfall before, and if you're not careful, it will be so again. Now, thanks to you, the Seer is in the Vale, and I have to alter my plans."

"That is your problem, not ours."

Samael's head snapped up at the comment. His nostrils flared, and the corners of his deformed mouth were turned down. He was seething.

"And what of your problem, hm? You are infecting hovels at the edge of civilisation because you're too weak. You can't risk the Archangels finding you because you clearly can't handle them yet. It would be a one-way ticket back to the Dream Realm, or worse. Gabriël may not be a warrior, but he is smarter than Michael and will certainly create a more permanent prison for you. So unless you want that to happen, you'll do as I say!"

The two-faced creature came dangerously close. Death's pale horse stomped his hoof on the ground, but the skeleton was unaffected by the outburst and gripped the reins to steady the beast.

"We are the Four Horsemen. Nothing can withstand us, not even a prison created by the Almighty Himself. The great famines in the Dark Ages, the plagues, smallpox, cholera, the Civil Wars... Do you believe the events in Europe in this last century occurred without War's pull on those few selected mortals? It only takes one person to fall utterly under our control. One person to be the spark and light the flame that burns across an entire nation to lead it to destruction. These villages may be small, but that is why they are perfect. They lie hidden, unknown to the rest of the world. Mortals fear what they cannot understand. They dread what hides in the shadows. When our infection spreads, they will try to fight it. And that is when we strike again. By then, the Archangels can no longer stop us."

The manic expression left Samael's face with each slow step he took towards Death. He met the hollow eye sockets. 

"I simply can't wait that long."

Death gave out a terrifying shriek as a blade suddenly severed the skeleton's hand. The pale horse reared back, neighing loudly. It tried to strike Samael with its front legs, but the Angel of Death had already jumped out of reach with his prize scooped up in a wooden box. Death's brothers appeared instantly with their weapons drawn. Samael smirked viciously at them as his dark wings carried him through the smoke and into the sky.

"Always a pleasure, but if you'll excuse me, now; I have an Archangel to kill."