Page 15 of Conquest (The Four Horsemen #1)

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Screams echoed in the stone room. Blood was sprayed over the walls, all over the floor. Raziel leaned over a pleading Demon, her jet-black hair splayed over the torture rack she was strapped to. Pieces of her skin had been cut away, revealing the muscle and tendons below. Other parts had been cut completely away, all the way to the bone. Her arms were stumps, cut off at the elbows, and she was missing an ear. Deep slices across her cheek showed the inside of her mouth. Her eyes were wild and tear filled.

The copper smell of the blood surrounding him filled Raziel’s nostrils, and bile burned in the back of his throat.

It took a moment for Raziel to realise that the pleasant, almost melodic humming sound in the room was coming from him. Except it wasn’t him. It was him, but he wasn’t doing it. Like he was disconnected from the way his body was moving, the sounds he was making.

A hand reached out. His hand, his arm. He felt it move, was attached to it, but he hadn’t moved it. The fingers stroked the flesh between the gashes. It sagged beneath the light pressure. Raziel flinched and tried to recoil, tried to pull his hand away. His body wouldn’t listen to him.

Instead, his hand gripped and tore, the flesh coming away from the bone. The Demon screamed, a high-pitched wail that pierced Raziel's ears and left his entire skull ringing.

Pain erupted in Raziel’s chest, his breaths coming fast. What was happening? This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him.

“Are you having fun, Raziel? Aren’t the screams delightful? Do it again, she likes it.”

Raziel shook his head vehemently. No. This wasn’t him. He couldn’t be doing this. He wouldn’t. This wasn’t him.

“But it is. Feel the way your heart is racing? That isn’t horror, that’s excitement. You like this.”

“No!” Raziel struggled to move, his body sluggish and heavy. With a loud cry he flung himself backwards. His lips parted in shock as he fell to the floor. He had moved but the body hadn’t. It turned, a cruel face upon it that Raziel didn’t recognize. It smiled at him, blood dripping from its lips.

“All this time I’ve been hunting you, and here you are, walking into my lair like a lamb to the slaughter. While I appreciate that, I am going to have to punish you for making me wait all this time. Tardiness is a sin, didn’t you know?”

Raziel crawled backwards. Trembling so hard he couldn’t even attempt to get up. Who was this? What was going on?

As the figure approached him the dungeon room around them faded away, leaving him in complete darkness. Panic seized him as he lost sight of everything . He felt as though he had gone blind and had to press a fist against his mouth to try and stop himself from throwing up.

“It’s time for me to take back what’s mine.” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

Raziel whimpered. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you know?”

It came from right beside his ear this time and Raziel screamed. Tears slid down his cheeks as his entire body shook, fear overwhelming his every sense. Were they going to hurt him? Where was he? Where was Conquest?

He remembered pain, remembered choking. And then nothing.

“I’m you.”

A finger trailed down Raziel’s arm. He cried out in terrified surprise and recoiled from it.

“The best parts of you. The parts God tried to lock up. He was afraid of me, afraid of what I could do, afraid of how powerful I was. He tried to chain me, by creating you, a pure, pathetic, lackluster version of me.”

“Abaddon,” Raziel whispered. Lucifer’s right hand. The Destroyer. And… him, apparently. It made no sense. He was powerless; a pathetic, broken Angel. How could he be someone like that? How could he be Abaddon?

And if he were, how was Abaddon speaking to him now?

“The subconscious is a funny thing,” Abaddon said conversationally.

Raziel turned his head to and fro, wishing he could see where the Demon was, but the black was endless.

“Here you are, existing like the weak pitiful creature that you are. And here I am, everything that you aren’t. We’re the same, you and I. We inhabit the same soul. But we’re both here.”

Raziel was hauled roughly to his feet and hot, malodorous breath blew over him. “Your body is our body, and I’m here to take back what’s mine alone. You aren’t fit to use the name Abaddon.”

He didn’t want it. Didn’t want anything to do with the name. He just wanted to be in Conquest’s arms again, be within the safety of his strength. Conquest had been angry at the revelation of Raziel’s past, but that wasn’t who he was. He didn’t know Abaddon, he wasn’t like him. Would Conquest abandon him because of something he had no control over?

He had been a pawn. He may not have belonged in the Heavens, but he didn’t belong in the Hells either. He belonged with Conquest, and he just wanted to go home.

Abaddon smacked Raziel across the side of the face so hard he went sprawling to the ground.

Thunder rumbled, cracking over their heads as the darkness melted away into a sea of endless light. A single figure floated between them. Raziel had only seen him once, at the UN summit but the flowing robe, the hidden face beneath the hood, and the scythe were unmistakable.

Death had come for him.

“Is that any way to treat yourself, Abaddon?”

“This pathetic sniveling excuse for an Immortal is not me,” Abaddon sneered.

Death floated to the ground, his black booted feet landing silently before them. “He is all the best parts of you. You were buried for the wrong reasons, and God will face judgement for the choices he has made, but it wasn’t without merit. I believe that you, and all memories of who are, should stay right where they are.”

“That isn’t for you to decide!” Abaddon screeched.

“Raziel, get behind me.”

Raziel struggled to his feet and rushed to do as he was told.

“Hold my robe, but do not touch my skin.”

Death lifted his hands as a loud roar erupted from him. Black wisps began curling around them, so close that Raziel could feel the heat of them but not close enough that they touched. Death’s scythe levitated in the air and began to rotate clockwise.

It picked up speed every circle until it was going so fast it was impossible to see.

“You no longer belong here, Abaddon of the Hells. You will send yourself back into the Cycle or I will do it for you.”

“Kill me and you kill him. He is me, remember?”

Abaddon’s cruelty couldn’t be allowed to be unleashed again. Raziel had heard the stories, read about the things that the Destroyer had done. He wanted no part in returning him to the realm of the living. “If it means he doesn’t get to hurt anyone else, then do it,” Raziel said. “I’m willing to die for that.”

He would never get to see Conquest again, never get to kiss him, or hear his voice. He may not even understand Raziel’s decision. Self-sacrifice didn’t seem like Conquest’s style, but Raziel hoped that he at least remembered him fondly, even if with some exasperation.

Death clenched a fist and his scythe stopped in an upright position, before the handle slammed into the ground with a booming sound.

“ No!” Abaddon yelled. “You don’t get to do this!”

“It is time for your final Judgement, Abaddon.”

The floor dropped away beneath Raziel. He slipped into the fog with a silent scream.

* * *

Raziel’s stomach dropped as he was hurtled through a thick sea of black.

He cupped his throat when a sharp pain seared across it. His hands came away covered in blood. He coughed, blood spraying from his mouth. He tried to spit out the copper taste under his tongue, but it continued to gush from him like a torrent.

He let out a pained grunt when he hit solid ground and everything went utterly still, the blood drying up in his mouth.

Light pierced the back of his eyelids, burning even with his eyes closed. When he opened them it took him a moment to adjust to the beautiful blue sky.

Something cold was holding his hand. The grip was lax, but the feel was familiar. Conquest.

Raziel tightened his hold and rolled into his stomach, waited for the dizziness to subside, and then pushed himself to his elbows.

His lips parted in shock, and Conquest’s hand slipped from his. His Horseman had been mutilated; an open hole where his heart should have been, and a gaping wound from his chest all the way down to his lower stomach, his insides laid bare. Archangel Uriel stood over him, wielding the Sword of Light, which was hanging loosely in his hand. His other hand held Conquest’s heart.

Raziel gasped as dizziness rocked him and he turned his head, vomiting into the thick blood surrounding them. Was Conquest dead? He pressed a hand against his stomach as he dry-heaved.

“Raziel? Who interfered this time? ” Uriel said, his voice conversational but with a hint of irritation underlying the words. Uriel dropped Conquest’s heart and pressed the tip of the Sword of Light against the tender skin between Conquest’s collarbones.

Uriel wouldn’t bother with the Sword, if Conquest were already dead. What would be the point?

Raziel had to believe that he wasn’t. He couldn’t believe anything else.

“No,” he tried to croak out.

“Wait your turn,” Uriel said. “I will finish with Conquest, and then you’re next.”

Uriel was an Archangel. He was supposed to be above cruelty, above cold-blooded murder. He was supposed to be better than this!

Raziel wouldn’t let Uriel hurt his Horseman again. He wouldn’t.

His back arched as pain flared up his spine, a silent scream falling from his lips. Tears fell as his skin tore, unimaginable agony streaking across his back. Blood sprayed across the already blood-soaked cloud. Raziel’s head flopped forward as energy deserted him. He felt himself begin to rise, lifted, inch by agonizing inch.

It wasn’t until the wings curled and crept into his periphery that it registered that the black feathers were his own.

His breath hitched. His wings. And not just two of them, but six. Three of equal size either side, one above the other, in perfect synchronicity. They were midnight black, each individual feather tipped in a dark deep green, and they were dripping, the thick green liquid covering the wings. Poison. Raziel could feel it entering his bloodstream, settling inside him where it had always meant to be.

Uriel took one step back, pointing the Sword of Light towards Raziel. “I won’t allow you to stop me, abomination.” He swung the sword in an arc, aiming for Conquest’s neck.

Raziel surged forward, his hand outstretched. He had to stop Uriel from hurting Conquest any more than he already had. A mass of energy erupted from within him and exploded outward. The force of it shattered the Sword of Light, and flung Uriel away from Conquest.

Raziel scowled as he set himself back onto the cloud softly. He walked forward, the tips of his wings dragging on the cloud, infecting it with his poison. The cloud around them began to turn green, like running paint on a canvas.

He felt full. He felt powerful, like he could do anything he wanted and no-one in the world could stop him. If Uriel dared to ever put his hands on either of them again, he would feel Raziel’s wrath, and Raziel would make sure he felt every iota of agony he had ever inflicted on them, tenfold.

Uriel picked himself up, eyeing Raziel warily. “You were never meant to be a part of this.” He opened his palm and a blade of ice formed, long and thin and sharp.

“Yet here I am.” Raziel tipped his head, studying the Archangel. He had ripped Conquest’s beating heart from his chest. Perhaps Raziel would do the same to him. His wings flared up, bristling and brushing against each other. He enjoyed the way Uriel took a hesitant step back. He lifted a hand, watching as the poison flowed around it, like a river on a windy day. It was a metallic green, almost black, shining and absolutely beautiful.

Uriel pressed forward, attacking Raziel with a loud war cry.

Raziel flung the poison at the Archangel, the dark green twisting and turning through the air. Uriel kicked off the ground, using his white wings for momentum. He was too slow and the poison sliced neatly through the middle, severing half of one large wing.

Uriel cried out in pain, falling to the cloud on one knee. The seared edges of his wing were melting, feathers shriveling into a deep black before falling from him. The part of his wing that was no longer attached twitched on the cloud beside him. The poison ate at it until only the barest hint of white remained, and the wing itself resembled a dried husk.

Uriel conjured large spikes of ice and hurled them at Raziel. Raziel brushed them off with a wave of his hand. He didn’t have time for this. Raziel needed to deal with him quickly, so he could get help for Conquest.

The Archangel Uriel hadn’t gotten where he was because he was stupid, or because he didn’t know how to pick his battles. His eyes were full of fire, full of hate, but he didn’t advance again. He turned and stepped from the cloud, retreating.

Raziel let him go. Uriel could be dealt with later.

Raziel carefully picked up Conquest’s heart and slid to his knees beside Conquest’s prone body. The blood soaked into the last dry parts of his pants.

He palmed Conquest’s cheek. How could Raziel help him? How could he move him? “Con? Con, wake up, please. Con, tell me how to help you. Please.” Tears fell from Raziel’s cheek, drops falling onto Conquest’s lips and chin.

With gentle hands, Raziel placed the heart into the cavity where it should have remained. He had no idea if something that simple would work. It had been out of Conquest’s body for far too long. Raziel jerked back in surprise as the arteries began to reconnect with the heart. The lungs slid back into place and the ribs and muscles knitted themselves over it. The relief almost staggered Raziel. Conquest’s body was healing itself.

He frowned when he realized the heart was back in place, and beating again, but the gash that had opened his chest and stomach wide wasn’t healing.

No. No. It had to - he had to - what was Raziel supposed to do if Conquest couldn’t heal himself? Raziel couldn’t heal. He didn’t know how. He knew Angels that could, but he doubted he was one of them, not if he really had been born a Demon.

He pressed trembling fingers to either side of Conquest’s gaping chest. There was so much damage. Could even an Immortal survive it? After all this, was he going to lose his Horseman anyway?

Raziel’s breath lodged in his throat when drops of his poison entered Conquest’s body. He pulled away in panic, falling backwards onto his ass. He was an idiot. How could he help anyone? He was practically made entirely of poison now. Worse than being a pathetic weakling, he was now dangerous to everyone around him. Uriel’s wing had melted, what would it do to Conquest’s insides?

Conquest’s leg twitched, and Raziel whimpered.

When it did it again, Raziel chanced a look at what his Gift, his curse, was doing.

Raziel let out a breathless laugh. He was - it was - Conquest was healing. His poison was healing. It made no sense and Raziel didn’t care, because it was working. He laid a wing over Conquest’s chest as he leaned over him, pressing his cheek to Conquest’s forehead.

“Please, please work,” Raziel whispered. He didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t.

What felt like hours later, Raziel felt the last strands of flesh knit back together beneath his wing. He gingerly lifted the wing away and stared in wonder at the smooth perfectly healed flesh. He desperately cupped Conquest’s face. “Con? Con? You’re okay now. You’re better. Please wake up.”

Raziel sobbed when Conquest still wouldn’t wake. What had he done wrong?

The other Horsemen. The other Horsemen could help, surely? Raziel had to get Conquest to them.

With the help of four of his wings, sliding under Conquest’s large body, Raziel lifted the Horseman into his arms. He used one of the remaining wings to lift Uriel’s discarded wing piece and rested it on Conquest’s chest. This was a trophy he would keep.

Raziel kissed Conquest’s hair, blinking away tears, before plunging them both down into the clouds.

* * *

The moment Raziel landed in the front courtyard of Conquest’s estate, War burst out from the front doors. “Where the fuck have you two been? I’ve been waiting goddamn hours! By myself, I’d like to add, since Famine fucked off to God knows where!” He stopped short at the sight of them, the flames at the end of his braid flickering.

Raziel knew that they both looked like a mess; they were covered in blood and poison and their clothes were ripped. He was so tired, weariness sinking deep into his bones.

“Help him,” Raziel croaked out. “Please.”

War looked Conquest over, touching his hair briefly. “I don’t understand, what’s wrong with him?” His hand hovered over the wing on his chest. “Is that-?”

“He-he was-” Raziel broke off with a sob.

War went to take Conquest from him and Raziel tightened his grip in a knee-jerk reaction. War took a step to the side. “Bring him inside, so I can look at him.”

War opened both doors so that Raziel could pass through them. It was still awkward as he had to turn. He’d never had to deal with wings before, still wasn’t sure that he believed he’d actually grown them.

Raziel followed War into the living room and laid Conquest on the sofa, blood instantly soaking the cushions and fabric.

“This is Uriel’s wing,” War said, as he put the wing in question on the coffee table and then kicked the table away so hard it got lodged in the wall. “What the fuck happened?” He went down to one knee beside Conquest and pressed the back of his hand against Conquest’s forehead. Flames erupted over his hand and across Conquest’s hair. Not a single strand was singed.

Raziel crumpled to the floor, his wings wrapping around himself as he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders curling over his chest. “Is he dying?” he asked, his voice small and broken.

“He won’t wake, but there’s nothing wrong with him.”

Raziel noted that War didn’t really answer his question, but he was too terrified to ask again in case the answer was different.

“Where is his crown?”

“I don’t-” Raziel’s breath hitched. “I don’t know. It was gone when I found him.”

War let out a ragged breath. “And those?” he asked, indicating Raziel’s wings.

“They just-they just g-grew. And I started leaking this-this poison.” The poison wouldn’t stop seeping from his feathers, soaking into the carpet around him. It wasn’t melting anything, it was just making a puddle. Raziel wondered if that meant his emotions controlled the effects that it had. When he was angry at Uriel, it had melted him, when he had been trying to save Conquest, it had healed him and now…now, he was just numb, and it wasn’t doing anything.

War cursed and stood. “There’s nothing I can do, he’s not responsive.”

Raziel’s lower lip trembled. “What does that mean?”

“I can feel him but it’s faint, like he’s there but he isn’t. I’ve never seen one of us come this close to death and not tip over the edge. Something is keeping him here.” War glanced up at Raziel. “I have a feeling I know what it is.”

Tears blurred Raziel’s vision as he got up on his knees and put his elbows on the cushion beside Conquest. He took Conquest’s hand between his own, as much as he could, considering one of Conquest’s hands were larger than both of his. It was colder than Raziel ever remembered it being. He rested his forehead against their entwined hands. “What can I do?”

“Stay with him. Lend him your strength. If anyone can bring him back from the brink, you can. I need to go and speak to Famine and Death. Victory will watch over you.”

Victory? Raziel jerked his head up. She was behind the sofa and was resting her chin on the back of it. She sniffed Conquest’s hair and snorted into his ear. Conquest didn’t so much as flinch.

“What if he-what if he doesn’t come back?” The words were like barbs, tearing themselves from Raziel’s throat.

“You mean if he dies? He’ll come back. We always do.”

“But…” Raziel sniffed, and wiped his nose with his dirty sleeve. “There have been…” Not all Immortals came back. Michael hadn’t. There were past Archangels and Angels who no longer existed.

“The Horsemen are eternal. We will always exist.”

So, Conquest would resurrect, regardless. No small mercy, but Raziel knew that when Immortals died and came back, they always came back different. Colder, more detached. They came back with memories without the emotional attachment. Conquest would resurrect but he wouldn’t look at Raziel the way his Conquest did.

He bent and rested his head on Conquest’s stomach, the slight rise and fall a salve to his aching soul. He just wanted Conquest to wake, he wanted to look upon Conquest’s piercing grey eyes, see that smirk, that arrogant smirk. He would give anything to see it.

Victory circled the sofa and settled herself beside Raziel. The poison she sat in didn’t seem to bother her at all. She shoved her warm, fuzzy nose into Raziel’s neck and he let her. It was comforting, in a way, to not be alone in his vigil.

“Stay with him,” War said in parting.

Raziel would. He would sit here for eternity, if it meant his Conquest would wake.