Huh okay, I went from a home to a floor full of roaches,

Sleeping with the devil,

Tryin' to get you when you're focused, 

Itching for the stars, 

Sick and tired of all that hoping,

Getting on my knees, 

Young and had a dream.

-Chase Atlantic, Adios

"I'm lookin' fer Death. Can ya point him out ta me?"

The Pale Horseman looked up, wiping the sweat from his brow as he paused in his work. Centuries ago, Death had forged Harvester. The prototype remained with him for years; it sat in his tent. It had gone through thousands, millions of battles with the Horseman and butchered more than that by tenfold. From Harvester, he had created others. Many he could not remember; his craftmanship had disappeared along with their kind. Fury's whip, Scorn, War's sword, Chaoseater, and then Strife's pistols were all that remained of his work to his knowledge. They appeared sometimes, but the Horsemen attempted to destroy the weapons before their power could grow out of hand.

Designing weapons had been something that Death had always enjoyed. He could bury himself in the art, allowing his creativity and imagination to control where his hands went. When he found the motivation to work with a new project, it ate at his soul, pleading to be released. That's where he currently found himself. Shel, the large and muscular woman that worked with Andrew, had requested a new weapon. "Gimme something that I could pound them with," she had said with a wide grin when his forgery abilities had been mentioned.

In this human form, his abilities were limited. Unlike Choaseater, Harvester, Scorn, Mercy, or Redemption, Death could not make the same weapons as before. He could not give the weapons any abilities to have the weapon grow stronger by gorging on the user's anger or wrath. He could not craft a weapon that could shift into whatever form that the owner desired. He could not create a weapon that causes its potential victims to beg for mercy or redemption. Possibly the only thing that he could actually do was give the weapon a cool name and rely solely upon his knowledge of forging to withstand angel and demon craftsmanship.

Mankind had jested when he first entered the forgery. They made claims that he would never be able to do as Shel had asked. News traveled fast through the stronghold, but Death knew what they were claiming; it was impossible to make a Warhammer that was light enough to quickly swing or tire its owner, while also being capable of smashing through demonic and angelic curses and magic. In their current forgery abilities, it was hard for a normal human to surpass this challenge. But the Reaper knew that it was even more than that.

The camp knew that he was a Horseman, and they wanted him to prove it.

Fury's appearance had not impressed them. She had arrived battered and broken, hardly conscious as the group of humans had dragged her into camp. A feeble creature did not seem like it was one of the most powerful beings in the world, galaxy, universe. While she had attempted to rebuild her reputation, most of her accomplishments had been forgotten with her disappearance on some scouting mission. Death worried for his sister, but he knew that losing the fear and respect of the Horsemen was a larger and dangerous concern. If the children of Adam and Eve did realize who was in their presence, they would be... in trouble.

So, Death had been in the forgery for the last three days, stopping only to eat, use the bathroom, and sleep. All of these had been foreign concepts up to this point. Jessica had fussed at him the first day when a couple of the humans that worked in the forgery drug him to her, laughing and claiming that he had briefly fainted while in the middle of his work. She hadn't bothered to explain why he had passed out, which Death was grateful for, but instead propped him up on her bed to provide food, water, and encourage him to sleep. After that night, he hadn't made the mistake again.

"I think that it's lookin' pretty grand," John commented as he approached.

Death smirked as he saw some of the people around him sneer. Majority of them despised his work. His techniques were crisper than theirs and he had assisted in some of the other projects that they were working on. "It's coming along quite nicely."

"Keep it up, and I think I might get ya to make me one. I'd never be able ta use it, but it would sure look nice on a wall."

He lifted the weapon for John to inspect further. Deciding that decorations could be implemented later, Death had completed majority of the weapon by now, its evidence secured by the untied leather that was dangling off of the handle. It was large, maybe around four-in-a-half feet long with the head of the weapon easily several inches across in depth and length. The material was mostly dense except for the top. There was only so many ways that he could make the material lightweight and he had done the best that he could to do so. Even without any carvings anywhere, the weapon was beautiful.

"Why did you come here, old man? Did Jessica send you to worry over me?"

"That woman could care less. She knows that they'll drag ya rite back up ta her tent if ya needed help 'gain. Don't know how yore kind was, but we actually help each other if we need it." John gave him a brief smile, then frowned.

The old man never elaborated, just slowly sank into one of the chairs nearby. Death watched him for a minute before lowering his work. "What's wrong?"

"There's some trouble up yonder. They want yore help with an angel."

"An angel?"

"One managed to get on here. They grabbed it 'fore it could do anything. It keeps sayin' that its lookin' fer y'all Horsemen. I don't know yet how I feel 'bout it."

Death frowned, placing his weapon to the side and picking back up the hammer that he had been using. In a split second, it changed from a tool to Harvest; one of the blacksmiths in the room gasped. He did it on purpose. With their lack of blacksmithing, the Pale Horseman couldn't help but to show off his handiwork in all of its glory. If there really was an angel, then he might need it. "Have they found out why its here?"

"No. Like I said, it keeps askin' fer ya. Won't explain why or anything. What are ya thinkin' it could be?"

"Angels are not as predictable as they claim to be. Depending on the one that is there, we may be in the presence of an angel who strictly abides by your Old Testament in the Bible, or one who is more lenient and understands that Mankind will never be perfect. What do you call it? The luck of the draw?"

John shrugged. "Sure. I ain't never messed with one that hadn't tried to kill me first."

"Exactly." It was one of Death's concerns. The Archangels were on the planet. Even as a Horseman, they were practically untouchable; graced by God's hands themselves, hardly anything other than the Demon Lords could match them in power. If the children of Man had managed to control an Archangel, everyone there might be in danger. Hopefully, it would just be a normal angel. Not that it would be any better.

The old man waved for Death to follow him. He did as John asked. John was one of the few humans that Death actually listened to in Andrew's camp. While old and withered, John was not defeated by the years of experience, terror, and sadness that had pledged his entire life. It was noticeable. His eyes were dulled, the lines and furrows of his face deep, his hands calloused and scarred from life. He cared little about literature or the correct style of grammar. Surviving was the only thing that mattered, and he wasted no minute doing it. There was hardly any drinking, smoking, anything that could limit his ability to survive. John also took care of his family until their deaths. Death understood that perfectly.

Andrew's camp was... habitable. It wasn't comfortable, it wasn't clean, it wasn't easy. People milled about in search of everything, from food, clothes, weapons, conversation, stories. They moved in packs, hardly alone. They were tough, bitter, scowled constantly. They moved for no one. It was comforting almost. Death had assumed long ago that the species would have died out, but Mankind continued to surprise him. Even if they hardly lived for a century.

"Tell me more about Andrew."

John looked disgusted for a second before falling back to match Death's pace. "Well, ya already know that he is Jessica's brother. He is younger. Mama favored him a liddle more than she did Jessica because he could...." The old man shook his head before straightening his aged orange bandana. "I forget now that she told ya 'bout her powers. But he can work that shit better than her. They grew up like this, ya see. Jessica hated it. She stayed wit' me and my family when they happened 'cross us. Stayed and married my son. Andrew and his toy, some woman that he had Thomas and Rosalind with, moved on with Mama and this kind of life. I guess he moved up in the 'ranks' after a bit. Took the lead. I dunno. I stayed 'way from this shit."

"Yes, why are there these ranks? What is the purposes of these 'Commanders?'"

"I'm assumin' that its mostly just Andrew's favorites. If ya haven't noticed, he is that conceded."

Scowling, Death shook his head. "He is playing with the lives of people if that is how he is choosing them."

"I dunno. So far, I think that he has picked well. They all have their flaws, but they are good people from what I have seen. Zakee left behind two sisters, but thinks he can help them through this somehow. Carina is some... weird thing? I dunno, she catches shit on fire, but she seems to want to help. Tama was somethin' in the military of somethin'. Plus he that thing Kezz with him. Scary shit. Shel only wants to help people. That Cinder thing? She's new to me. I'm sure that there are others and I just don't know shit 'bout them."

"And they follow Andrew blindly?"

"Some. Shel will and I haven't seen Tama deny anythin'. Zakee won't if he doesn't agree with it. Carina too. The others, I dunno. He might use that telepathic shit on everyone too."

"Are you having a lovely conversation?"

The two looked up, John looking like he was the cat caught with the canary and Death had an emotionless face. Standing before them, clearly not happy, was no other than Andrew. His eyes were narrowed -he obviously knew that they had been discussing- but he made no notion to acknowledge it. He had his hair pulled back in its slim ponytail, his smooth facial features smeared with dirt from the day. Death always had a funny feeling around the man, and he set his hand on Harvester, finding comfort in the weapon. The human leader noticed it and gave him a small smirk.

"I see that John took his lovely time recovering you from the blacksmiths. We sure wouldn't want you passing out from the heat and work again, now do we?" Andrew's voice drawled, jesting harshly. Death decided to ignore the pathetic hook to anger him.

"I'm old, boy. These old legs don't work like they used too." John gave Andrew a crooked smile as the younger human seethed, turning red slightly in his cheeks.

Andrew reached out for Death as if to grasp his arm. The Pale Horseman took an aggressive step back. "I think that you will understand if I request that you never touch me, or ever attempt too, human." Death didn't even let his siblings do that unless something was wrong; what made this human think that he had the right to touch a Horseman?

"This is just not my day," the man grunted as he rubbed at his temples. "Come Nephilim. I need you to speak to the angel that we have captive. He's currently unconscious."

Death's stomach plummeted. "You have an Angel prisoner?"

"Yes? What is wrong with that?"

"If the Demon Lords are on this planet, then the Archangels will be as well. They follow the bastards. John, you need to make sure that security around the borders are increased. We don't need any surprises. Do you know who you have so called captured?"

As John moved to do as Death had said, Andrew blocked the old man. "You listen to me, old-timer." Pushing back his shoulders, the leader of the settlement grunted. "Tama said that he and Kezz had the situation covered. There isn't any reason to do that. He said that the angel's name was Jophy? Jophial? I'm not sure."

"You damned fool!"

Death shoved the man out of his way, demanding where the Archangel was. The man waved in some direction, fuming and shouting something. They both stopped when they heard an explosion, turning blankly at the tent that had just erupted into an inferno.

Well, there's the Archangel.

In a ball of flaring brilliant red flames, the fiery shape of a ten-foot angel burst through the remains of the tent. Every bit of his humanoid figure was coated fire. Even his wings were stretched forth in orange and red flames to signify his anger as his oranges burned as flames in their sockets. Two bodies were thrown haphazardly, preassembly Tama and Kezz if Death had a guess. Curling his hands in a balled fist, the angel roared in anger as the two caught on fire in midair, burning brightly for a moment. Ever burned a tick in a candleflame? It was similar to that. Only one reacted to the flames, panickily smashing the fire out on his military uniform, while the other merely sat still until the flames disappeared as if he could feel no pain. The people that were near the incident screamed in fear, running or diving to safety. Very few stayed to ready their weapons. They were the stupid ones, to face an angered Archangel.

With a situation like this, it was easy to see the power that the Archangel had. Jophiel was the third to be chosen by God; with strength and determination, the fiery Angel protected the most valuable and vulnerable creature in the galaxy. As the Guardian of the Tree of Life, he had been sentenced to a life protecting the Tree. Nothing ever harmed the tree. Jophiel's fire abilities melted anything that meant harm. The fact that Tama and Kezz weren't a pile of smelly molten skin and blood was amazing in itself. Death wasn't really sure why he was the one that hadn't dropped to the ground in terrified prayer when Jophiel swung his gaze over the crowd of the Children of Adam and Eve.

"WHO DARES CAPTURE ME?" The angel's voice thundered through the camp. Death jerked to cover his ears; it hurt to hear the celestial voice, its power ripping through his body. "YOU DARE TO HARM AN ARCHANGEL?"

Before Jophiel could destroy Tama and Kezz (Death still had no idea who the hell was stupid enough to try and capture an Archangel, but they probably hadn't know what they had been dealing with at the time), the Horseman threw up his arms, attempting to draw Jophiel's attention. It worked; Jophiel's blazing orange eyes darted to him, burning so brightly that the flames actually sparked off. When he saw Death, the Archangel paused in confusion, his fire suddenly not quite as bright.

"Please don't kill those stupid bastards," the Grim Reaper called up, hoping that the Archangel would actually listen. "I pray that they didn't know whom they were messing with."

"Praying will not be able to save them from the sins that they have committed. They have openly harmed an Archangel. They should pay for the things that they have done," Jophiel announced, once again turning to the recovering two in the background. He held up a hand, creating a flame that burned so hot that it was white.

Even though they clearly weren't human since a Child of Man would have melted after being directly struck by Jophiel's heavenly fire, Death knew that allowing Jophiel to convict Tama and Kezz of their 'sins' was not a great idea. Every Archangel was in favor of punishment, some were worse than others. Jophiel normally wasn't terrible but they had definitely managed to piss him off. And Andrew wouldn't forgive Death if he let the two die. Thinking quickly, Death blurted out, "What gives you the right to convict them? Isn't that God's job?"

The fire that had been growing rapidly in Jophiel's hands, about to melt the flesh off of Kezz and Tama's bodies, erupted in a ball of smoke. While the two had been bravely accepting of their heated fate, Tama noticed relaxed. Kezz seemed indifferent. Slowly the Archangel turned to Death, the rest of the fire along his body slowly dying out as well. "For once, Horseman, you are right."

"So, you agree to at least talk with everyone?"

"As long as no one thinks that they can conquer me."

Death glanced at the two now standing, uniforms still smoking as they helped each other. The older one raised his hand after a moment. "We have mistaken and disgraced ourselves by choosing an opponent in this Archangel. We shall not attempt to harm him anymore."

Pleased with the answer, Jophiel glided back to the ground with the grace of a swam. When his feet touched the ground, his form shrunk. Wings disappearing, Jophiel stood before Death. A little taller, he was the perfect, flawless human that any angel would be in this form. He wore a toga; of all the clothes, he could have been just a little bit more stylish. But it still worked with its golden and orange accents. There was a sigh in the background and Death knew that the people had returned or overcame their fear. Jophiel's perfection was stunning. It was annoying that he still had an angelic glow about him though. Death squinted against the glow.

"Maybe you will be more willing to listen to me, Horseman. I tried to explain myself before, and it did not end as I had hoped." Even his voice was sickly perfect, and Death grew nauseated from just hearing it. Was there anything wrong with Jophiel in this form?

Andrew butted in before Death could respond. There was still a fear that rested behind the man's blue eyes, but he stopped besides Death to attempt establishing dominance. "I am the leader of this establishment. If you have any concerns, you can speak to me."

The Archangel remained silent for a moment, quietly studying the human. His head cocked to the side, uneven red bangs falling slightly in his orange eyes. "Aw, you are not like the others. While you are human, you have been touched by magic. I can see and smell it on you, human. It is hard to mistake the metallic smell that you reek," Jophiel explained when Andrew coughed in surprise.

"My abilities are none of your concern."

"It depends. Do you use your telepathic abilities for good or manipulation? What you may think is right may not be what is right. We have been asked to judge you on your actions. No longer are you sent to Hell just for conducting magic."

Death ran a hand down his face as people began whispering. Why must angelic beings always find a moment to give some speech or give lessons? It was a tad bit annoying. Like, could they not go five damn minutes without quoting scripture? "Jophiel. You are losing focus. Why the hell are you even here? Clearly Metatron didn't send you to tell these people how they can get to Heaven."

Jophiel beamed. "Do they want to know?"

"I see that he hasn't changed too much since the last time that I saw him." Valir pushed herself free from the gathering crowd, Jessica following her. The red-headed woman looked healthier than she had in days. Her pale face had at least some color, her freckles shining, and she looked much more comfortable here. She was wearing her purple trench coat now that the weather had gotten colder, the dark color bright against the black, gray, and browns worn by everyone else.

"Wait, who is that?" Jessica asked suspiciously as she neared Death. Her hand found his elbow, finding comfort in the simple touch.

Death still wasn't sure what to think of the night that they had shared before they had left to join Andrew's camp. Nothing sexually had happened. They had spoken quietly with each other, things that neither had spoken about in a long time, until sleep enchanted them both. Jessica had awoken before him; he had been alone when he finally opened his eyes. He had trodden on careful ground that morning, trying to gauge how she felt about it. Reality had not stuck him yet. He had spoken about his responsibilities to his siblings, how nothing could stop him from making sure that they were okay, how he destroyed anything –including his own people- just for their safety. She had wept over the death of her husband and child, then spoke of her rocky relationships with her family. While they had shared so much, she had acted as if they hadn't the next morning. It wasn't until they were alone that he knew that she felt similar to him about it. While making the fire to their camp that night after traveling, Jessica had ruffled his hair and said, "I appreciate it, Death. Maybe I was right for not letting you die."

"This is the Archangel Jophiel. This is who Valir and I ran into that one day."

Her brown eyes widen. "This is an Archangel? Isn't that... dangerous?"

"Yes. I don't think anyone understands the presence of this Archangel. Something must be drastically wrong if he is here." Death snapped his fingers, attracting Jophiel's attention like a pet bird. "What do you want, hothead?"

Jophiel didn't seem to mind the nickname. "Metatron wishes for me to protect this encampment. With the Demon Lords on the loose, we have reason to believe that they may be one on the way here or already in your presence. I am here for protection-." The angel was continuing to speak, but it was lost in the panic that had begun to enfold. Which was granted. Seeing a physical Archangel was much different than realizing that a Demon Lord could be hiding among you.

Andrew just laughed. "What? You think that a Demon Lord is here? I think that you are wrong. We would have noticed that by now."

"That is the greatest strength of Satan, human. You do not realize when he is there." Jophiel turned his gaze across the crowd, piercing yellow gaze causing almost all to turn their head. Valir even looked away, scowling as red grew across her cheeks. "I do not know that they are here now, but they are coming. My feathers ruffle to think about it."

"Then you're just here for protection?"

"Yes, Horseman."

Andrew must have saw where Death's question was leading and the human shook his head, scowling. "No. I do not want a damned Archangel telling me that I have committed a sin every time that I drink whiskey or look at a woman. He is not allowed to stay here."

"You don't have a choice. Metatron has ordered it," Jophiel chimed in.

"Have you meet a Demon Lord, human? They are one of the most powerful souls out there. You and your 'camp' will stand no chance against even one of them even if they have been seriously wounded. Even in my original form I would have to have my siblings' help. If there is a Demon Lord approaching us, then you have no choice than to accept the Archangel's help just for our survival." Death ran a hand through his black hair, realizing how greasy that it had become from lack of hygiene. It was hard to remember.

Narrowing his eyes, Andrew still didn't look convinced. "Have you seen the people that I have with me? I have werewolves, things from other planets, vampires, ghost, wyverns and angels, and so much more. I don't even know what half of them are."

"And all of them have weaknesses. You are fool if you think that your enemies will not take advantage of them."

<<->>

It had taken a lot of convincing to get the Archangel into the pub.

The only reason why Death wanted him in there was because he still wasn't sure that the Archangel was on a secret mission to assassinate someone in the name of God; not that he would miss Andrew, Death needed to know where this secret, safe place from the Ash was. The Archangel would reveal his secrets if he felt extremely uncomfortable.... What better place than a bar where sin crawled like a plague? However, Jophiel had promised several times on the Lord's name that he wasn't there to 'murder the innocent.' By this point, the Pale Horseman just wanted him to shut up. So, he had forced him into the pub. It ended up with Death saying that the inhabitants wanted to speak with him about how to gain acceptance into Heaven. The Archangel had found very quickly that the humans could care less. A few didn't even know what Heaven was.

The red-headed Archangel had spent the last several minutes with a plate of food in front of him, hands interlaced in his lap and his lips pursed as he slowly gazed over the crowd in silent distaste. By now the patrols had returned for their nightly meals, drinks, and nightly rituals. They were painfully loud with their barking laughter. Jophiel literally glowed like a nightlight in the corner, and his discomfort was only making him glow brighter.

"Do we have to be here?"

Death ignored him, gathering some of the fried potatoes and popping them into his mouth. He had been pretending like the Archangel wasn't there while he ate. The patrols had started becoming rowdy; a makeshift table broke as a man chucked another across the room for speaking to the woman that he had his sights on. The Horseman gave a brief whoop of encouragement and took a sip of whiskey. The strong taste had grown on him.

"Horseman." Jophiel tapped Death's hand casually. He kept it up until Death turned an annoyed gaze toward him. "Why did you pick here to speak?"

"I was hungry. Doc makes the best food around here."

"You came just for the food?" When Death lifted his eyebrow in question, Jophiel gestured to the tankard that was resting beside his half-finished plate. "Not for the alcohol?"

"Hate to inform you this, Archangel, but it is not a crime to partake in drinking alcohol." To prove his point, he made sure to drink some of the whiskey. "You can always drink some too. It's not a sin to drink during a meal. Only when you drink too much. Like that guy."

The man that Death had casually gestured at had finally stopped wobbling and began puking in a bowl. Jophiel coughed. "I guess that you are right." He played with the tankard handle, watching the crowd mingle with each other, before drinking it. His face scrunched a little, but he didn't say a word.

Death let Jophiel soak in the pub for a few more minutes while he finished his meal and drink. He wanted to be completely focused on the conversation. This secret place that could escape the reach of the Ash had begun consuming his dreams and thoughts. Logically, it should not exist. The Ash should be able to consume everything... but why not this place? The Pale Horseman wanted answers. But he also wanted to make sure that the humans would be safe near Jophiel. Some of them had managed to grow on him.

"What are you here for Jophiel?"

The Guardian of the Tree of Life was very happy to divert his attention from the humans. "Metatron wishes that I protect this group from the Demon Lord that walks amongst them."

"Huh? For how long?" Death felt his heart seize in panic. A Demon Lord? Here? There had been rumor about the camp of sightings of large, black swarms of insects from afar, but Death had not realized that their presence was closer than that. It was hard to forget that he did not sense them anymore; being human was growing meeker each day. Why were they so useless?

"I am not sure. While the others said that one was here, I have yet to sense their presence or aura in this area. Perhaps the beast is on its way."

Death ran a hand across his face, trying to ignore a brawling pair on a table nearby. The crowd roared with encouragement. "What do you suggest that we do then? If there is a Demon Lord here, there is nothing that I can do to protect these people." His words dawned upon him when he eventually met Jophiel's surprised gaze. He had shown emotion toward something other than his siblings. Jessica was the first to cross his mind and he scowled at himself. Caring was merely weakness to a Horseman.

"Do not be concerned. I will do what I can to protect the humans, Horseman. Helping them travel to this safehaven will be another matter."

"What choice do we have? If we can at least get out of the Ash's grasp, we can begin to find ways to defeat the Ash. The humans might be able to help us."

Jophiel nodded solemnly. "Yes. We have much to do. There is no time to waste."