Page 3 of Conquest (The Four Horsemen #1)

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Raziel flicked absently through his book, sitting cross-legged on the cloud he had chosen far away from any other Divine Beings. He didn’t need to read it, he could absorb the contents just from placing his hand on the cover, but he liked the feel of the paper beneath his fingers, liked the smell of the turning pages. Seeing the words written in the black ink made him feel less alone, like he was part of something bigger. Something that mattered. It made him feel like, for just one moment, that maybe he mattered.

The tome he was reading was unique, one that couldn’t be found anywhere outside of the Heavenly Dimension. It was an account of all Archangels, past and present. It was supposed to help him find a way to connect to one of them, to release the inner Gift within. When an Angel ascended a special Gift was bestowed upon them, regardless of whether they were Angel-born or Angel-risen. Every Angel’s Gift was connected to an Archangel, their virtue and the specific Gift they wielded. There were currently only three Archangels in existence; Uriel who was Diligence and wielded the Gift of Ice; Raphael who was Patience and wielded the Gift of Lava, and Zadkiel who was Chastity and wielded the Gift of Lightning. Michael, who had represented Kindness and wielded the Gift of Nature, had already been gone by the time Raziel had ascended. What had happened to Michael wasn’t written anywhere, or why he hadn’t returned. Raziel knew, because he had been curious and had gone in search of the answer only to come up empty handed at every turn. Perhaps he had decided to release his soul back into the Cycle. When an Archangel was ready, they ‘moved on’, their physical body disintegrating while the soul within went back to be reincarnated as a mortal. There were plenty of rumors about why Michael was gone, and none had been confirmed or refuted.

Raziel liked the pictures in this book, and he enjoyed the way that the Gifts were explained. But he didn’t relate to any of the Archangels and, even after years of trying, he hadn’t managed to trigger any kind of Gift.

Raziel slammed the book shut. He bent forward and rested his head on it, squeezing his eyes closed. A single tear dropped onto the cover and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his white robe.

He placed the book on the cloud beside him and stood.

Okay, it was time to turn theory into practice.

Raziel let out a deep breath, grounding himself as he flexed his fingers. He pictured the execution of something in his mind, and flung his hand out.

When nothing happened he steeled himself and tried again.

Still nothing.

Raziel gritted his teeth and continued to try, again, and again, and again. For hours he toiled away, desperate for even the tiniest of sparks to spill from his fingertips.

Eventually, he collapsed onto the cloud in exhaustion, his fingers curling against the soft energy. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. He should have stopped trying dozens of years ago. Yet, every day like clockwork, he found a quiet place and cemented all the reasons why he was a pathetic Divine Being, not worthy of the place he had been given in the Heavens, no matter how lowly that place was.

Raziel wasn’t an Angel, not really. He knew it, everyone in the Heavens knew it.

He couldn’t release his wings, he couldn’t create any kind of ethereal energy, he couldn’t fly, he couldn’t - he stopped himself from going on. He could waste years reciting all of his shortcomings. He pressed his palms into his eyes hard enough for the physical pain to slice through his mental agony.

He picked the Archangel tome back up and flipped it open. He traced a fingertip down the picture of a wing, mesmerized by its beauty. It was white, and the icicles at the tips meant it most likely belonged to the Archangel Uriel, or the Archangel before him that had wielded the same Gift. Raziel couldn’t recall if he’d read anywhere who had come before Uriel; Uriel had been around for millennia and was one of the oldest Archangels that had ever existed.

Raziel wondered what his own wings would have looked like, if he’d developed them. The Archangels had the brightest, strongest wings. Uriel’s were white, Raphael’s were red, and Zadkiel’s were vibrant purple; the colors all connected to their Gifts. The Angels had wings that were muted, dull versions of the Archangels. Raziel would give anything to have wings, no matter how dull.

With a determined expression, Raziel stood again. He wrapped his arms around the tome and pressed it to his chest, gripping tightly to it, as though he could siphon the energy from it. He tried to visualize wings, just like he had been taught in the lessons he had been forced to endure before even the most determined Angel scholar had given up on him.

Just visualize. Imagine them pushing their way out. Your wings want to come out, you simply need to let them.

Just visualize.

Just. Visualize.

Raziel screamed in frustration as the hours passed and nothing happened. Nothing ever happened.

The book fell from his hands, landing open and face down on the cloud.

He was useless. Completely useless.

No other Angels were broken like him. There were no documented cases of an Angel without wings, without a Gift. He was the first. The first failure. Most of the Angels didn’t even acknowledge him anymore. And why would they? He didn’t belong here.

He was surrounded by millions of Divine Beings and he was so unbelievably lonely.

* * *

Archangel Uriel looked over the bustling Angels in the level below where he and God stood. They all flew around the Heavens with a purpose; some would be getting ready for lessons, some would be getting assigned a mortal to watch over from afar, some would be getting ready for bigger assignments - ones that would mean having to travel far beyond the Heavens.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” God said. “Contemplative, perhaps?”

Uriel didn’t respond immediately. He crossed his arms, and curled one wing over them and across his chest, absently stroking the top of it with a thumb.

“The Horsemen are on the move,” he said eventually.

“Yes,” God agreed.

“Why now?” Uriel murmured, as much to himself as to God. “Has Satanael summoned them?” The fallen Archangel hadn’t caused them trouble for over a thousand years. Uriel had told God to watch him carefully; being quiet was not a cause for celebration. It meant he was up to something. But God had simply hummed and moved the conversation on. Now, it seemed Uriel’s concerns were coming to fruition.

“Perhaps.”

Uriel frowned. More non-answers. “We need to know,” he insisted.

“Do we?” God sounded infuriatingly unbothered. “Or do you have something else in mind?”

Uriel turned sharply, glaring at his Lord. “The Horsemen emerge for only one thing; we did not give the order and we cannot allow them to complete their work.” It wasn’t time for them to cleanse the world. To do so now would disrupt the balance of order they worked so meticulously to keep.

“What’s really troubling you?” God asked.

“The last Holy War almost destroyed the Heavens!” After all of the destruction, the long years they had fought the battles, to have it end the way it did, still made Uriel’s feathers bristle. They had lost so much, lost Michael. Michael should have returned by now, his resurrection should have been complete, and yet he was nowhere to be found. Uriel’s oldest and dearest friend was lost who knew where, and there was no plausible reason for it. Uriel had spent long enough thinking about it that, had there been one, he would have found it by now.

He couldn’t help but think that if they had pursued Satanael after the Holy War, kept the fight going just that little bit longer, they could have ended the chaos once and for all. They’d had the advantage, and Uriel had never understood why God had chosen to retreat and allowed the Hells, and the Horsemen, to lick their wounds in peaceful silence. Uriel and Raphael had needed them to hurt and God hadn’t allowed it. Uriel was still sour over it.

In the end, it had felt like it had all been for nothing.

“Have patience, my Archangel.”

Uriel shook his wings out, expanding them across the clouds. They spanned almost ten feet, magnificent white feathers shimmering with ice particles in the clear skies. He needed to fly, to do something. The tension in his shoulders was overwhelming.

“We will send Raziel.”

Uriel flinched, his wings shaking hard enough to set loose a flurry of ice flakes. “He isn’t ready for that.” Raziel had been an Angel for over a hundred years now, and had yet to amount to anything. Uriel had been against raising him, for so many reasons that had all been ignored, the biggest being the fact that it would tip the balance in a way none of them fully understood. Their uses for him did not outweigh the consequences if they were to be found out.

“How will he learn if not given the opportunity?”

Raziel learning anything was what Uriel was afraid of. Besides that - “He has been given the opportunity,” Uriel argued. “He’s not strong enough for any task given to him. He desecrated the Gates.”

“Not on purpose.” God still sounded infuriatingly calm.

Uriel hadn’t been so sure. God had been smart enough to give Uriel space after that incident, and had sent Raphael to fix the mess and deal with the wayward Angel. Uriel would not have been so kind, or forgiving. Nor was he convinced of Raziel’s innocence.

“There has been talk of recycling him.” Raziel’s wings had never developed, and a Gift had never been bestowed upon him. It was too unusual not to be noticed. The rumors were coming from low-level Angels who needed to be reined in and taught the finer virtues like humility and kindness. Regardless of their source, the rumors were making the rounds, and it was attention they could ill afford.

“Angels do enjoy their gossip.” God chuckled.

“I fail to see the humor in this.”

God waved a hand and the scenery in front of them changed until they were looking down upon a single Angel, sitting cross-legged and reading on a cloud, isolated from the rest of the Heavens. Uriel would recognize the small black-haired figure anywhere.

Raziel .

“You need to relax, Uriel. All will be well. Perhaps you should take flight? Take a break and enjoy the skies.”

“No.” Uriel eyed Raziel, but the Angel didn’t do anything but read the book that was laying in his lap. Actually read it, like a mortal. Uriel’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

God’s smile didn’t falter. “The Horsemen are no threat. They have weakened since the last time we fought them. We must learn more before we do anything else.”

They didn’t need to wait, they needed to act, before it was too late. They’d been waiting for too long already. Conquest would sow the seeds of destruction and the remaining three would follow, like a plague in the night. If they could halt their advance, before War had any foothold on the Earth, all the better.

Of the four of them, War was the one Uriel hated most. His flames had done untold damage in the last Holy War, and his arrogance made Uriel grind his teeth.

“How are you expecting to learn more?” Uriel asked, knowing that ultimately God would do what God thought best, and ignore any warnings Uriel might give. Wait a second... We will send Raziel? “You’re going to use him as bait!”

“Of course not. He will be used to determine their strength, to find out what they are doing, and report back. He won’t be engaging them.”

“Do you think it’s wise to allow him free?” Uriel didn’t for a second think God would listen to his objections but he couldn’t not voice them.

“He isn’t a captive, Uriel.”

Uriel begged to differ. “Even if I thought for a moment that it was a good idea-” Which he absolutely didn’t, “-what makes you think they won’t notice an Angel sniffing around them?” Despite his weaknesses, despite everything else, Raziel was still an Angel. The aura he gave off, however minute, would be enough for a Horseman to sense. Even War would be able to, let alone their bloodhound, Conquest .

“It will be fine,” God assured him. “You worry too much.”

Uriel’s wings vibrated, his annoyance too deep to control. God didn’t worry enough and somebody had to. “Why can I not just go down and dispose of them? We can stop their advance right now!”

“You will get your time.”

“He has my bow!” Uriel growled. Conquest had stolen it from him during the Holy War, and Uriel wanted it back. The arrogant Horseman had been bad enough before he had something like that to hang over Uriel’s head. It was an insult Uriel had hated to let stand. When the Horsemen retreated to their home dimension, he had lost all chances of retrieving his coveted weapon. Only an idiot would follow them to where they had the home advantage. Uriel had gone to confront them, to demand justice for Michael. The pain from that encounter still stung, physically as well as in his pride. It wasn’t a mistake he would make twice. He had been forced to hold onto his anger, and wait for them to re-emerge.

“Patience,” God said quietly.

Patience. A virtue that Uriel had never been particularly good at emulating. As an Archangel, he represented the virtue Diligence. Raphael was Patience, and even he was running out of it.

“The Horsemen will not wait for you to gather your intelligence. They will strike while the iron is hot, and we will be too late.” Uriel scowled as he took a deep breath, his wings tinkling with annoyance, the ice shards brushing against each other. A single feather dropped from the tip, fluttering to their feet. The gleaming white stood out even against the soft cloud they stood upon.

“Come,” God urged. “We must give Raziel the good news.”

“What good news?” Uriel muttered. If the broken Angel had any brains at all he wouldn’t see it that way.

* * *

“Angel Raziel.”

Raziel jumped and whirled around. He tripped over his feet and fell onto his ass, his robe flaring out around his sprawled form. He blinked at his visitors, shocked beyond belief.

Archangel Uriel... and God.

Raziel had met God once, when he had first found himself in the Heavens, confused, disoriented and filled with vague memories that made no sense to him. The memories had faded and God hadn’t spoken to him since.

What were they doing here now? Raziel bowed his head slightly, strands of black hair falling across his forehead. He placed his hands behind his back, twisting his fingers together tightly where they couldn’t see.

“There is no need to be afraid,” God said.

“I’m not afraid,” Raziel blurted without thinking, his tone terser than he had meant for it to be.

Archangel Uriel’s lips thinned and Raziel winced, looking away. “I apologize, my Lord.” Would he be cast down to Hell for that, to be tormented by Lucifer for the rest of his immortal years? Raziel had seen hideous images of the fallen Archangel, and couldn’t help but wonder whether they were accurate depictions.

He slowly raised his head when the silence around him lingered.

God and Archangel Uriel were watching him expectantly.

What were they waiting for? What were they even doing here, for that matter? Both an Archangel and God himself blessing an Angel with their presence, instead of with a summoning? It was unheard of.

Had Raziel done something wrong? How could he have? He didn’t speak to others, he steered clear of large populated areas, and ever since the Pearly Gates incident - which had not been his fault - he hadn’t been assigned any tasks. He almost wished he had done something wrong. At least it meant he had been doing something.

“We have an assignment for you,” Archangel Uriel said. His voice was melodic and deep, but with a harsh biting quality to it that always put Raziel on edge.

Raziel looked between them. “For-for me?” he stuttered. Archangel Uriel was the most intimidating figure Raziel had ever met, and always looked at Raziel like he was an inconvenient problem he wanted to erase. Even Archangel Zadkiel, who was the most solemn of the three Archangels, didn’t scare him half as much as Archangel Uriel.

“Pick your jaw up off the cloud.” Uriel’s left wing lashed out aggressively, shards of ice spraying across the cloud. He turned to God, his eyebrow arched. “See?”

“It’s all right,” God replied. “Come with us, Angel Raziel.”

Raziel closed his mouth with a snap. An assignment? Directly from God?

He stumbled over his robe as he followed. He tried to imagine what God could possibly want from him, and could only come up blank. What could he do that any myriad of other Angels couldn’t? Why assign a task to a broken Angel?

They took Raziel high into the clouds, higher than he had ever had cause to go. Without their assistance he would never have even made it that high. Without wings, there were a lot of places in the Heavenly Dimension that he couldn’t travel to; a lot of places that were locked to him. He had stopped asking for help a long time ago.

The cloud they ended up on was surrounded by a strange mist. As soon as their feet landed, it enclosed them, the noise of the Heavens silenced so abruptly that Raziel’s ears popped a little. He glanced around, worry setting in. Why had they brought him here?

He froze when he noticed the two figures standing in the center of the cloud. Raziel easily recognized Archangel Raphael; the red-haired trickster. While Raziel had always been on the periphery, a bystander that was never seen, he had watched the Archangel Raphael when he frequently visited the Angels, encouraging them and helping them grow. He had a firm hand, but was fair and had infinite patience with the new Angels. He was intimidating in his own right, simply for the rank he held, but he didn’t inspire anywhere close to the fear that the Archangel Uriel did.

It took Raziel a moment to place the second figure. Archangel Zadkiel . Raziel only knew who he was by the way other Angels had described him; beautiful ebony skin, piercing golden eyes and the bright jewels that adorned his long blond hair. Archangel Zadkiel was a mystery to many Angels; he was rarely seen anywhere but by his Lord’s side. He didn’t mingle, and he didn’t tutor.

Raziel realized suddenly that he was surrounded by the three Archangels and God himself. Panic gripped his chest and curled strong fingers around his spine, threatening to crush him. He wanted to turn around and run. He took a shaky step backward and slammed into God’s chest. God steadied him with a hand on his shoulders. The panic deepened, and Raziel pulled away so abruptly he slipped and fell.

He wished the clouds would open up and swallow him. Maybe the Hells would be preferable to this humiliation?

“Get up,” Archangel Uriel said, as he passed where Raziel was still sprawled on the cloud.

Raziel was shaking so badly it took him two pathetic tries to get to his feet.

“Step forward,” Archangel Raphael said firmly.

Despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to get as far away as he possibly could, Raziel had no choice but to obey.

You never refused an order from an Archangel. It simply wasn’t done.

Archangel Raphael took a hold of his chin, tilted it up with a finger either side. “You have been chosen for an important task, Angel Raziel, one that will determine the fate of us all.”

“You should be honored,” Archangel Uriel said.

The heat radiating from Archangel Raphael was almost stifling but Raziel didn’t dare step away, didn’t dare look away from his red eyes. At least they were warm and comforting, nothing like the ice-cold that Archangel Uriel wore like a second skin.

Archangel Raphael let go of Raziel’s chin and he almost stumbled from the relief. He had been ignored for so many years, it was overwhelming to be at the center of attention of four of the most powerful Beings in existence.

“You are being sent to Earth,” Archangel Zadkiel said. “You will find the Horseman Conquest, and you will learn all you can about his purpose.”

Shock paralyzed Raziel, his heart stopping. “Hor-Horseman?” As in the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?

Archangel Uriel’s gaze was mocking. “Yes. Conquest has traveled to the land they now call America, and he is seeking something. It is your job to find out what he’s doing.”

Raziel swallowed, hard, feeling bile rise in his throat. “With-with all due respect,” he said. His stomach turned over and he was suddenly terrified he was going to throw up. What a ridiculous thought; he didn’t even eat, how could he throw up? Why did he have bile in his throat? “I can’t even get to Earth.” He couldn’t even get to this part of the Heavens without help, let alone an entire other dimension. “And a-a Horseman?” One of the same Horsemen that had almost torn the Heavens asunder the last time they had risen? He hadn’t been an Angel then, hadn’t lived it, but they were legendary; every Angel knew them, knew what they had done. “I wouldn’t-I couldn’t- I would be no match.”

There was no question about it; Raziel would rather take his chances in Hell than face one of them. They would obliterate him.

“Of course not,” Archangel Uriel scoffed. “You aren’t there to confront him, or even speak to him. You do not possess the kind of power that would attract his attention. You are to observe, without being noticed, and report back. Surely even you can complete such a task?”

Raziel wanted to glare at him, wanted to tell him to find someone else, but even he knew what a momentously stupid idea that would be. The Horseman Conquest would be the least of his problems.

“We will get you to Earth, supply you with everything you need. You will establish yourself and gather the information that we need,” Archangel Zadkiel said. “You are not to engage with Conquest under any circumstances.”

“What if he finds me?” Raziel asked. They couldn’t possibly think he would be able to hide himself well enough to avoid the Horseman’s notice. Why had they chosen someone as powerless as himself to complete this task? Surely there were other Angels, ones far more powerful than Raziel, who could do this. Why was he being singled out?

“We will intervene,” God said. “You are safe, I promise you.”

Raziel nodded shakily. Okay, that was - okay. “How-how will I get the information to you?” It seemed a sensible question.

“We will find you,” was all Archangel Uriel said.

That guarantee was less comforting than God’s assurance that he would be safe. There were billions of mortals on the Mortal Dimension, almost the same amount of Angels watching over them, and keeping the balance. How would they be able to single him out amongst them? How would Raziel ask for help if he needed it? Would they really know if Conquest was to find him? And would they know in time to save him from being horrifically brutalized? He had heard stories of what Conquest did to Angels. Raziel’s only saving grace was the fact he didn’t have wings, though the idea of being Conquest’s prey was still terrifying regardless.

“I don’t know anything about Earth.” He had no memories of his previous life. He knew it was unusual, that all other Angels kept their past memories; it was integral to their growth as a Divine Being. It had been just another failure to set Raziel apart from everyone else, and he had tried hard not to dwell on it. But the lack of memories meant he had no recollection of what Earth was like. And he had never been allowed to travel there. He’d studied the mortal cultures a little, years ago, in tomes from the great library. But he’d decided that there was no point and had stopped. It was a place he didn’t recognize, one he couldn’t travel to, and it was constantly changing so much. So what had been the point of learning anything about it?

“You will learn,” Archangel Zadkiel said.

Raziel nodded, relieved. He could do that. With time to prepare, he could stock up on the knowledge he had deprived himself of for so long.

“Brace yourself, this may hurt.” Archangel Uriel’s voice was cold.

Raziel turned in confusion. What might - his stomach jumped into his throat as he was pushed from behind and the cloud fell from beneath him. Terror surged through him as he found himself plummeting.

What was going on? Surely they weren’t sending him down right now?

He wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t ready.

Dark fog enveloped him, and it didn’t matter how unprepared he was.