Not happy with this chapter. Just going to say that right off the bat. But we do get reactions to what happened last chapter. And also a little insight into what the bad guys are planning. Anyway enjoy!
The man's smile faltered slightly and he seemed to remember something for a moment before his smile returned, if a bit strained. "N-no. England is fine. Or you could call me Arthur. That's my human name."
America let out a hum of understanding. "Okay. Do I have a human name?" England seemed to think for a moment while lifting America up and holding him carefully in his arms.
"I guess not. Would you like one?" America nodded eagerly and England smiled. "Alright then. How about Mor... I mean Alfred?" America tilted his head a bit in confusion at how England had hesitated over the name but in the end he nodded.
"Yes! From now on I'm Alfred! And I'm gonna be a hero!"
America blinked once, all the memories of thousands of years flooding into his mind in the span of a single instant. Years upon years of a family he never knew he had. How the four of them rose, and his own descent into what could only be described as madness born of a lust for blood. It was so much, maybe even too much. Every event, every action in the life he remembered as America was given new meaning. New motivation. It changed everything. But at the same time, it changed nothing at all. England, Arthur, War, was still his brother and still needed his help. He could loathe his mistakes later. For now he had something more important to do.
When at last the memories had ceased and he had once again experienced the whole of both his long lives, America rose. As Alfred and as Mordred and as Death. Remaining silent so as to let the new information sink in Alfred rolled his head from one shoulder then the other to crack his neck and sighed in relief as he heard the slight pop. He shook out his giant skeletal wings to their fullest extent and relished at how every joint cracked and settled into a familiar ease against one another. And then he felt the power.
For every death and every casualty that had ever taken place it was like he accumulated the strength that soul had. Granted humans carried very little, but there were a lot of them. And for every war. Every war that had previously given strength to Arthur now serviced him. He felt the burning fires of conflict writhe inside him. He had never really gotten the opportunity before becoming America to fully take in the power that was now his. The combined strength of two Horsemen.
Once the shock of everything passed, Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that learning of his past, of accepting that he had been something dark and corrupted before would change him. Make him the same kind of monster he had become so long ago. But that wasn't the case. True enough he felt different. He felt older, more tired as the weight of so much time and so many mistakes landed on his shoulders, but he still felt like America. Like Alfred. And taking in his newly restored body as Death, Alfred decided that while he would accept Mordred as having been part of him, he would remain the same America he had always been. A hero. And... there was a surprising lack of commentary. "Thank God" Alfred sighed as he realized that Mordred was now gone. That annoying pest was now just another part of himself. The culmination of memories and regrets from his past.
With one last steadying breath Alfred exited his room and started weaving his way through the now trashed halls of the Keep. He would need to speak to Victory soon enough, but first there was something else he needed to face. It didn't take long to find where Victoria had decided to lock it away. If it were the other way around Death would have done the same. Reaching a locked iron door Death opened the entrance and began to descend the stone steps. There was no light, the glow from the hallway not daring to breach this long passage. But the darkness did not frighten Death as it would have previously frightened America.
"Honestly, scared of ghosts. I couldn't think of a more embarrassing fear for you to have. No wonder Eris could twist your mind around so easily."
Alfred chuckled quietly to himself. Now Mordred's little comment when they had first met made so much more sense. Imagine, Death afraid of ghosts. America wondered if that was done as some joke by Pestilence but then immediately discarded the idea. Pestilence wasn't that much fun. 'No, his idea of fun is ripping his own family apart' Death thought with more than a little animosity. Regardless, once Alfred reached the bottom of the steps he snapped his fingers and pale green flames that flickered with traces of red sparked within sconces aligned along the walls. Magic, well, now Alfred kind of felt bad for all the times he had ridiculed England's claims of knowing magic. He would have to apologize later... Or maybe not. It was funny to watch him get so flustered over it.
The light of his summoned flames revealed a stone altar at the center of the room. One of the many vaults that were hidden beneath the Keep. And resting atop the altar on a simple stand, was a very familiar weapon. The Scythe of the Reaper. Alfred gulped when he took in the glinting silver blade. This... this was what had driven him over the edge. But he needed it. It was given to him for a reason, and it was what he needed to rescue England now. Death reached out his hand and let it hover over the shaft of the staff which held the curved blade. The space between his hand and the weapon seemed to hum in anticipation. Alfred could sense the tempting call within the blade. He took a deep breath. He was doing this for War. He was doing this to fix the mistake he had made. He needed to overcome this. Death reached out, and took the scythe in his hand.
It was underwhelming really. In all honesty Alfred had expected to be overcome with a deep hunger, a desire for death and blood. But while that desire was indeed present, it was muted, subdued. Perhaps it was the fact that he had spent so long without it. Or maybe it was because Alfred had yet to use its powers fully. But America found himself keeping the same frame of mind as before. 'Or maybe I just have something far more important I'm fighting for than to satisfy my own greed.' Alfred smiled as he skillfully twirled the scythe in his hand to test out his muscle memory. The blade glinted in the light and cut through the air with a smooth fluidity Death could remember from even as far back as the War of the Fallen. He was ready.
Storing the scythe away over his shoulder Alfred turned on his heel and quickly made his way out of the vault and towards the front entrance. He easily ignored the uneasy stares of the angels who flitted about him, trying to fix up the ruined Keep. There was only one he had any interest in speaking to. "Rizoel!" One of the angels who followed Victory turned from where he was sweeping up broken glass and immediately started shaking slightly when he saw that Death stood before him.
"O-oh, Death. W-what can I do for you?" Alfred didn't blame the guy for being scared. It wasn't a secret that before he was sent to Earth Mordred killed angels and demons indiscriminately to feed his desire for life. But now was not the time for stuttering.
"Relax, I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell me where Victory has run off to. War was taken by Beleth and we need to discuss a plan to get him back." Rizoel seemed to consider the truth of Alfred's words before slowly nodding and straightening up a bit. The poor angel had practically been cowering in fear.
Rizoel pointed towards the front door. "I believe she has departed for the stables. Cerise will be able to lead the way to your brother War. If I understand correctly she intends to use that connection to find him." Death nodded in thanks and left the angel to continue his work without sparing him another glance.
As he distanced himself he felt the scythe at his back heat slightly as a perfectly good meal was being passed up. It was like the scythe was trying to pull him back, telling him to slaughter the angel. 'Quiet you. I'm not that person anymore. I'm the hero. And heroes don't go around killing innocent people.' At the silent chastisement the blade returned to its normal state. Alfred felt proud of himself. He had resisted.
As soon as he exited the Keep Alfred spread his wings and flew off towards where he recalled the stables being located. It was strange, now that he had the knowledge of physics and aviation after his time as America, that he could even fly at all. His skeleton wings should not be able to lift him off the ground or even make much in the way of wind. But somehow each time he beat them great gusts would be thrown out to lift him into the sky. Alfred decided to just let the matter rest. At this point anything was possible. He landed again once he reached the small stable where he saw Victory angrily stomping about and adjusting the saddle and reins on Triumph. A wave of nostalgia struck Death as he recognized the white horse.
Turning towards the right he was careful to stay out of sight of Victory while he took in the other two war horses in the stable. Cerise, Arthur's beautiful red horse, and his own pale one Hades. "Hey boy. Miss me?" he asked quietly, walking up with a small smile and stroking the stallion's head softly. Hades met his look and leaned into his hand. He made a light nickering noise and brushed his nose against Alfred's cheek. Death heard the sound of Victoria walking towards him but ignored it in preference of staring into the pale green eyes of his steed. After all, as the Four Horsemen, their horses were like an extension of themselves. Seeing Hades again after so long felt like he was being reunited with a long lost friend. Which in many ways he was.
"He seemed just fine without you" Victory chose now to insert herself into the moment that horse and rider were having. Her tone was bitter and while Alfred's first instinct was to scowl and give some sort of retort back, knowing that Victoria had every reason to hate him made him content to let the unspoken insult simply flow over him. They both had bigger issues to deal with.
Death turned to face his elder sister. "I remember now." Victory crossed her arms and kept her frown tightly in place.
"I can see that. What I want to know is what you intend to do now. As you can see the situation has changed greatly than from when this all began."
Alfred nodded. "Look. I know you're angry at me for starting all of this back then. But you and I both know that there is something more important than whatever mistakes I made. England is in trouble and we need to work together to save him."
"His name is War. You know that now. Don't call him by that nation name" she spit out at him. Alfred quickly thought back. It was true that during this whole ordeal Eris had rarely ever referred to the Brit as England or the United Kingdom.
"Sorry if I offended you. But regardless if he's War or England he is still Arthur and he is still my brother. I want to make things right." Alfred was internally surprised by his own sense of calm. He was sure if England was present he would be slack-jawed by the American's apparent maturity during this situation. He decided it must have been an aftereffect of combining his memories as both Mordred and Alfred.
Victory snorted in derision. "Fine. If you must know I am planning to go to Beleth." Death frowned.
"To ride into battle?"
Eris frowned and looked at him with a put out expression before averting her gaze and pretending to focus on the straps of her saddle. "...No."
"You don't mean-"
"That's exactly what I mean" the silver-haired rider shot back before quickly mounting Triumph. She made to urge the horse forward but Alfred stepped in the way and roughly grabbed the reins to keep her in place. "Let me go" Victoria warned with narrowed eyes. She let her wings spread out in silent threat and Death had to fight the urge to answer back in kind. Alfred was careful to keep his wings tucked tight to his back though and shook his head.
"You are not surrendering to that scum."
Victoria growled in frustration. "I don't have a choice! With Arthur's country as vulnerable as it is now if he falls it could very well be for good. He could DIE Mordred! But I guess that wouldn't mean all that much to you would it?"
Alfred couldn't stop his wings from shifting angrily at that. "Stop it. I care. That was why Pestilence did this remember. I care about Arthur more than anything. And he loves you. He would never forgive either of us if you surrender. There has to be another way."
Victory gave a strained laugh. "Well do you have any brilliant ideas Mr. Hero?"
Alfred thought for a moment. Did he have any ideas? "Um, not yet" he admitted.
"Well we have two days before Beleth kills Arthur. If we don't have a plan by then it won't matter. I will not let War die."
"Can't we just storm the place? We are Victory and Death for crying out loud! It's not like we couldn't just fight our way through."
Victoria shook her head. "No. Beleth will be sure to keep a tight grip on War. If he even gets a feeling that we're planning on attacking him head on he will strike. We can't take that risk." Alfred thought on that for a moment but then nodded his head in agreement.
"Alright good point. But come on, you're Victory, you must have some kind of strategy in that head of yours that could help us. Remember. Never give up. Never surrender." Victoria scowled at that and gave Alfred a suspicious look
"Where did you get that? .A fortune cookie? Or perhaps one of your Hollywood films?" Alfred scratched the back of his head in slight embarrassment
"Um... maybe?" Victoria scoffed and rolled her eyes.
"Think about it Death. Beleth knows we would do anything to keep War safe and it's only a matter of time before I surrender. He already lost everything when he was thrown into Hell so he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. And now that Arthur is at his mercy he has the opportunity to get exactly what he wants."
"And what is that exactly?"
Victoria remained silent for a moment and averted her gaze from Death's. Alfred could see how her hands balled into shaking fists around her reins. Finally she spoke. Turning back to look Alfred in the eye she whispered, "Isn't it obvious? Me."
Understanding dawned on Alfred. "He asked you to join him when he threw his lot in with Lucifer during the War of the Fallen."
"He always hated War. He resented the fact that I chose him over Beleth. Lucifer never quite approved but he respected my strength so he didn't object."
Death nodded and suddenly an idea sparked in him. The metaphorical lightbulb going off over his head he smiled. "Hey Victory."
"What?"
"I think I've got a plan."
To say that being kidnapped and dragged down to Hell wasn't on the top of England's 'to do list' was a massive and disproportionate understatement. Well, that wasn't completely accurate. He wasn't actually in Hell. More like he was the closest you could get to being in Hell without actually passing through the gates. Sure the physical location was on the wrong side of the wrought-iron barrier, but since he had not passed through the gates and instead been teleported it meant he could still leave. An important distinction and one he was sure to keep in mind when deciding the gravity of his current predicament.
When some form of consciousness returned to the former Horseman he was quite dismayed to learn that he could neither move nor open his eyes. It was like every inch of his body weighed a thousand tons. So instead of moving and looking around he chose to instead try and employ his other senses to tell what was going on. From what he could feel, or not feel really, he was laying on some sort of hard surface and it didn't seem like he was being restrained at all. 'That bastard must have done something to me' he figured. Hopefully though, Beleth would assume England was still fully unconscious and not take advantage of his complete vulnerability to work out his aggression. It was no secret after all that the demon primarily blamed War, and partially Pestilence for his defeat during the War of the Fallen. If given the opportunity, Beleth would no doubt make sure that War suffered in every way possible before he eventually killed him and presented his head to Lucifer.
England pushed the dark thoughts from his mind. It would do him no good to come up with worst case scenarios. 'Focus Arthur.' Straining his ears the nation eventually made out the sound of someone approaching. Two someones by the sound of it. Both were probably clad in armor if the clanking sound was any indication and they were already discussing something when their voices grew progressively louder.
"...trust me with this. I will succeed in bringing Victory to our side." Beleth. War could recognize that voice anywhere.
"The Four Horsemen are steadfast. They will not turn. Especially their leader. Death, perhaps, but never Victory." Now that voice. That was a voice that even someone who had never heard it would immediately recognize as the Great Deceiver. The Devil himself Lucifer. How someone with such sweet sounding a voice could ever become the Prince of Darkness was beyond War, but still the knowledge that he was nearby sent, or least would have sent, shivers down the Brit's spine.
"While I am inclined to agree with you my lord that boy is nothing but a loose cannon. I will admit that his idea to use War to press Victory into surrender was genius in it of itself but he is still too unreliable. And besides, who knows what might have changed after his time on Earth." England wanted to scream in frustration. 'What am I some freaking damsel in distress to be rescued!?' He felt pained at the fact that Mordred had sought to use him against Victoria, but that pain was now morphing into severe vexation at the fact that he was now being used as bait. After all, it wasn't like he hadn't known that before. 'Still I know America. Victory might be tempted to give in but Alfred won't let her. Heroes don't give up that easily.' If he had the muscle control to grin he would have.
Lucifer started to speak again while England was having his internal dialogue. "Do what you will, I care not. Just don't drag me into this if things go wrong."
"They won't." Someone snorted in derision and Arthur guessed it had been Lucifer.
"Have you forgotten the War of the Fallen? I told you to retreat back behind the gates and you did not listen. Now look at you. Your wings are disgusting." War internally snorted in amusement. Pestilence sure knew how to make people suffer when he wanted to. Sure Arthur had been the one to defeat him in battle and keep the fallen angel down as the younger horseman made his move, but Pestilence had been the one to see fit to curse Beleth's wings into their diseased state.
"Don't remind me" Beleth snarled. Suddenly all mood for mirth fled the island nation's mind as he felt cold steel against his throat. "Just thinking about his smug look when he defeated me makes me want to sever his head." England was never more thankful for his hopefully temporary paralysis than when he felt whatever was at his neck press deeper and cut the skin. If he could he would have definitely flinched and at least hissed in pain. As it was he could only do those things internally.
As quick as the metal was placed it was removed though, and Lucifer spoke. "Don't. You kill him now and you will lose any chance of making Victory bend to you. Besides, his life is not ours to take."
"Tch. You're not actually placing stock in that curse are you?"
Lucifer chuckled darkly which filled War fill with a sense of dread. "Come now, do you not think it better? You could kill him and get your petty revenge or we could allow fate to play its part and watch the Horsemen tear each other apart."
"What do you mean?" Did Beleth really not know? Arthur wasn't sure what he should hope for. Both options they seemed to be deciding between included him dying, all that was different was the executioner.
"As of now War is not a Horseman, he is the nation of England. Pestilence decreed that England is to die at the hands of the United States of America. So I say, why not embrace that? What could be better than watching one brother slaughter the other? If Death kills War, then Victory will not rest until she has slain both the one who held the sword and the one who placed it in his hand. Once the dust has settled War, Pestilence, and Death will be dead and Victory left to collect at your convenience." The mere thought of what Lucifer was suggesting made England sick. He refused to be the catalyst for his family killing each other.
"I see. But how do we get America to fight England? Even when he was rebelling against the seals he couldn't bring himself to truly fight him." 'You are also forgetting the fact that I would never let myself get into a fight to the death with Alfred if at all possible' Arthur added internally.
"Ah Beleth, you lack so much vision." England heard the sound of more movement until a hissing noise began to reach his ears. 'Is that?' England started to feel the beginnings of panic well inside him, but still he could not move. A cold, smooth object weighing about ten pounds landed on England's legs. The hissing came from closer this time and Arthur could feel the weight slithering about. 'Oh God it's his snake.'
War tried not to focus on how the serpent was slowly weaving its way up his legs and the onto his torso, its tongue darting out and occasionally making contact with his pale skin. "Lucifer you are without equal in genius" Beleth admired in an awed voice. Arthur felt the snake work it's way up his chest until he could hear hissing not inches from his face. Now, Arthur wasn't afraid of snakes, not by any means. But when it came to Lucifer's pet serpent that was a completely different story. That little beast had been the one to carry the Devil's words to Adam and Eve before they had been cast out of the garden of Eden. That was the serpent who whispered lies and bid people to believe them. War did not want to learn what Lucifer had in mind for the snake to do to him.
"For the record, I already have something planned. But if things do go wrong for some reason this will make an excellent back-up plan" Beleth added.
Lucifer made a tsking sound. "Very well. It is up to you. Just know that I don't plan on getting involved."
"Naturally."
The hissing grew louder for a moment then suddenly Arthur felt the monster strike at his neck with outstretched fangs. It was like the snake biting him had lifted whatever force that was keeping England immobile for a soon as he felt the pain of the snake's fangs, he could open his eyes and scream.
I wonder what a demon snake bite does? I guess we'll see. And also the hero has a plan! Whether or not that plan will blow up in his face remains to be seen though. Next chapter we begin the main conflict. That might mean the chapter will be longer than normal. But probably not as long as the last one. I'm not sure yet. Thanks for keeping up with this story! Please tell me what you think. It will help me update faster!