Picking up the pieces of what was left behind by the Succubi army, the other Horsemen of the Apocalypse suspect the inevitable to come. All the while, War and Plague change course to a place of refuge that they hope still exists.
Chapter 24: Darkness Descending
I smell a rat and just in case, I set up traps and you're the bait, surprise! Curiosity kills cats, we better teach the cats to fight back!
I'm waiting here for you, I don't know why when you always take your time,
Into the middle we go…let's see you try to kill me.
~Fair to Midland~
Looking out past the murky void ahead of them, Fury and Strife watched the horizon fade into darkness. Though it was midday, the Dark Lord had successfully pushed his agenda forward. It would only be a matter of days before the entire Earth falls under darkness, Strife figured.
Feeling the weight of the inevitable, he lifted his hands to his face to unlock the fastener that held his face plate around his cranium. It was an intricate device, made from light, flexible, but impenetrable steel, molded exclusively for him. Crafted to heighten his awareness, his precision as a marksman was uncanny but proficient, even surpassing his Nephilim siblings.
Fury turned her attention to her Nephilim brother, watching him carefully remove the helmet from his face, revealing an expression she could recognize, but his stagnant expression was foreign. She wasn't quite sure if it was age that malformed him over the centuries, or his cynicism.
Looking past the faint but definite lines that contoured his face, she could tell Strife had seen better days, but was not quite as maturing in rigidity as the younger Horseman, War. Strife's face was not as hardened and yet still retained the sharp abrasive angles that made him masculine. Though his charcoal locks of hair were crudely cropped, the strands along the hairline over his forehead were longer, nearly covering his nose and amber-colored eyes.
Strife was not as congealed as his brothers, but definitely more incredulous. He never liked his occupation, and at times chided Death for it. As of recent however, Strife was more concerned of the events that landed War in contempt of those they've sworn to serve, and that in itself made him even more suspicious.
Looking out towards the dark horizon with his now naked eyes, Strife's expression continued to remain cold as his ashen-colored face became rigid beneath a scowl. Looking forward, his chin was clenched and his strapping cheeks taught, creased underneath a brow that hung heavily over his glistening tawny eyes.
Seeing his face again reminded Fury of her appreciation for Strife, for he was more handsome in his valor than her other Nephilim brothers. It was in him she would seek solace when her more feminine sways would beat her down into submission. When the universe spun in its usual phase, she would find herself imprisoned in her own vices. Being the only female among the group, there were times that suppressing her more intricate wiring became more burdensome than it was worth…and then they would have the audacity to deride her for her stinginess.
Death was indifferent with Fury and almost purposely subjective, while War being almost equally apathetic, and had a stormy temperament like a strong-willed child being defiant for the sake of…well, just being defiant. Strife on the other hand, casted as the middle child of the two, tended to be more poised, often cutting War to the quick when he was insolent, or confiding Death's arrogance to be obnoxious. If there was anyone whom would ever stand up for Fury out of the three, it was Strife, and it pained her so to see him begin to harden, just as it did with the other two.
Standing outside of their now, multiplied group, she glared at him with solemn eyes as she spoke softly so that the others nearby wouldn't trespass,
"What is it that you're looking for?" she muttered, almost to a whisper.
Strife continued to look into the dark horizon for a moment before lowering his head, his face still directed forward but acknowledged her presence in his peripheral vision.
"What is it that you fear?" he softly replied.
"What are you talking about? What in this pathetic world would give you that idea?" she responded sharply, but still softly as to not draw attention.
"You're whispering, my dear…" Strife acknowledge before directing his glare to hers. By now, his scowl had faded but his brow was still creased over his amber gaze. His words seemed abrasive, yet his expression didn't suggest spite but not sympathy either.
The sudden change in the air between the two brought Fury under a stupor of déjà vu as an old, of what was once have thought to have been a lost memory, resurfaced. The mood that resonated from the deeper segments of her subconscious caused a brief rift from the present reality. Strife could make out the dissonance that fluttered in the gleam in her eye, coming to know the musing they once shared was all but forgotten, and it was this among a very few things he could find delight in.
The brief trance was severed the moment a voice that could be heard carrying over the pillar of rocks. Coming around one of the lying boulders was Ulthane. The heavy clopping of his burly feet and his boisterous ranting was undeniably Ulthane's signature.
"Ya know, if you two were ta run off wit out us knowing, I'd say ya was a wee bit more dan jus cohorts," he could be heard saying, but not overtly audible as usual, which only made Strife curious about the Old One's intrusion.
"…or accomplices," Strife rhetorically admitted. Ulthane chuckled slightly at Strife's innuendo.
Grumbling under his breath, Ulthane cautiously stepped over the jagged edges to avoid any more bruising on his already, aching feet. He shook one foot to get the pebbles that had accumulated in his leggings,
"Bah, damned gravel…always getting in my shoe and causin' blisters…" he could be heard grumbling.
Fury groaned at the Old One's impeccable timing as the mood she had inadvertently brought to surface had now withered away.
"Oh, and by da way, dat masked one wants a word wit ya," Ulthane happened to mentioned while still pulling little pebbles from his shoe.
"I take it he wants to talk to us now?" Strife reiterated.
"Actually, he asked fer da lady," Ulthane responded before adding, "…I guess she's prettier company dan you too."
"Fine," Fury growled, stepping around Strife to hop down the ledge of rocks. Ulthane watched Fury make her way around the stacked boulders until she disappeared behind the ledge before he redirected his glare to Strife, whom was still standing along the edge with his face free from the faceplate and disheveled hair wisping in the breeze.
"Alright, so what did ya do ta get her all riled up?" Ulthane didn't dilly-dally to ask. Strife was silent for the moment, but not for Ulthane's sake. Watching for the answer in the glimmer of the Nephilim's amber colored eyes eluded the Old One for the time being.
Despite his outward abrasions and boisterous demeanor, Ulthane had a unique grasp at reading body language, regardless how subtle one tried to be. He would often get more answers out of somebody by just stirring the pot, coaxing them to react so that their mannerisms alone would often expose their deepest inclinations. He could recall War took a little more coaxing, but once the Horseman shucked off the tattered layer of his disposition, it became effortless for the Old One much to War's annoyance.
Strife however was more abstract than War if not more clever, and Ulthane could tell it would require a bit more effort to interpret this one. The only clue he had to go on was Fury's reaction, and it was more than enough.
"Well, I guess we'll see where dis goes…" Ulthane responded with a smug for a grin before he turned around to track back and regroup with the others, leaving Strife to stand alone with his head in his hand.
After Ulthane departed, Strife could only turn his somber gaze back to the ever dimming horizon; a precursor of things to come when all the pawns are aligned in place, ready and waiting. It was just a question of who was going to move next.
Staggering among the shards of loosened granite that littered the ground along a deep ravine, War followed Plague, whom in turn, followed a rather elusive but persistent rat. Occasionally stopping to look back to make sure the others were still following, the shabby, brown rat would resume to scurry along the rocky path beneath a dense, intertwined thicket above.
The trek had been rather quiet for once. It was a inviting change in pace since the Nephilim and the Elemental paired up, which War couldn't help but to be suspicious. War was still beside himself, moving in a dense trail between a tethered, rock wall and a dense barrier of prickly, tightened vines. The rat scurried down the trail with upmost ease, as did the now smaller, Plague, but for the broader form that was War, it was not quite as easy. The thorns that lined the branches would occasionally chafe the skin on his now exposed arm, which wasn't so troublesome at first, but after enduring it for nearly an hour, he was beginning to feel it itch like something fierce. If he were to back away from the thicket to the coarse rock wall, his other arm would endure a similar punishment. If the tight confinement of the trail wasn't bad enough, War would occasionally have to duck from the jagged rocky overhang above them, and War was in no mood to hit his head against the course granite that made up the dismal chasm. As battle-hardened as War was, even he was feeling the aching from the abrasions he received as of late.
So as of now, War kept his usual, detached demeanor to himself, though he was still skeptical. If Plague was not abnormally much of a chatter box, the Elemental was candid in every detail and made sure that War knew of it. War expected it from Plague, but ever since the skirmish between him and the Incubi that held her prisoner, the Plague War came to know too well was now conveniently reclusive. It wasn't that War didn't welcome the change of pace between their already awkward liaison, but the sudden change in demeanor was still unsettling to him.
So now you decide to avoid me?
The league of questions War had intended to address with Plague concerning recent events roamed boundlessly in his head, but he chose to stay quiet, or at least for now. Though he contemplated if he should at least demand that the girl gave him her real name, but all the same, declined, trying not to make his acquaintance with this Elemental any more personal than it needed to be. It was bad enough that he chose to let her stay, even though the trial period had ended and was once so determined to send the Elemental back to her master with a scolding message in return. Nevertheless, something befuddled him, coming to realize the very nature of Plague as a lissome and beguiling creature, rather than an emblem of War's nagging vexation. For once, he was not quite sure what was the better of alternatives, but for whatever reason that compelled him to change his mind, his curiosity since then had only been hammering him. It was perhaps the very reason he resumed to continue to follow her now without question, still at a loss as to why he would even dare to entertain the idea.
Meandering along the deeper part of the carved ravine, Plague continued into a cavern entrance, long inscribed by the men of old during the Earth's early history. Tall pillars adorned with motifs of pictographs were still intact with some evidence of long-term weathering, but still retained the detailed craftsmanship. The path they walked on now was arranged with peculiarly-leveled cobblestones, a great relief in contrast to the rubble pathway of granite shards and lumpy boulders they had to endure earlier. Coming past a lofty, lancet archway, they walked through a groin vault before entering into a dimly-lit grotto, Plague referred to as the Catacombs. As War could recall, Plagued once explained that it was a place where some Elementals would take refuge for one reason or another, but neglected to explain exactly why. He figured perhaps that even she did not know the real reason, which only made coming there even more precarious.
War reluctantly, but willingly followed Plague anyway, walking past the immense vault and into the Catacombs, with Ruin trotting shortly behind. War let out a sigh of relief, no longer having to duck and cringe within the tight spaces of the ravine, engaging with the open space of the entrance into the Catacombs. His neck and back found release as he was now able to stand erect without having to crouch all the time. Ruin also found the vault inviting, though it was much easier for him to duck his head when necessary, but moving his wide shoulders and buttocks through the cramped spaces was just as, if not more endearing.
Almost instantly, the air became cool and strangely less humid than earlier, which made the atmosphere even more eerie. The Catacombs was large enough to accommodate them on foot but the columns of pillars made riding on horseback incompatible, but Ruin managed to squeeze past the columns from the vault to make way into the Catacombs. Sniffing the air as his fiery nostrils simmered, he could instantly feel the cool air graze along his fierce muzzle. He let out a series of grinding grunts, a subtle expression that War had long come to know as Ruins' means of expressing distaste. Nevertheless, they both entered without further groaning.
Glancing at the motifs that wrapped the stone walls, War took notice of several depictions he somewhat recognized. Motifs of Angels combating Demons were especially adorned, while a depiction of a large tree stood out among the Earth relics of old. The tree of knowledge, War had to guess.
Among the depictions were two flat stones with an ancient writing depicting ten numerals…the laws of men, War assumed, coming to know the Creator's involvement in shaping man's cultivation. Next to that displayed the carving of a box that had two cherubs sitting adjacent to each other, their wings spread in front of them to cover their faces. Although War didn't readily recognize the significance of the motifs, he did detect the Creator's blueprint in the relics.
Moving his gaze from the carved manuscripts, he redirected his attention to Plague, now a petite and flimsy human, walking on her bare feet with only a thin, thimble layer of numb microbes from her neck to her ankles to cover her nude form. Her long, ebony hair was wispy in the cool-nipped air, loosely pulled behind her ears so she could see more readily. The blood that had once stained her brow had withered away, leaving a pale, porcelain facade under the dim lighting coming from the wrought-iron lamps above. While she was not quite as lithe in her human form, she could still meander the columns with ease than if she were the embodiment of Plague.
War could only nudge at best, occasionally brushing along something with his broad shoulders. Although he lacked the added depth of his armor, his husky build was still forthcoming. Peering past the nearest column as he managed to close the gap between him and the Elemental, he took a moment to brace himself before entering further.
"So what is the meaning of all of this?" War had to ask to break up the monotony. Plague paused for a moment to ascertain what War was referring to before she turned around, pulling her loosened hair behind her ears.
"The Catacombs is a library of sorts, where the elder Elementals kept all of the Earth's most treasured relics and artifacts. These motifs depict the Creator's hand in shaping human history and ethos, as it is explained in countless writings."
With that said, Plague turned around to resume further.
"Where are your elders?" War asked yet again.
"I don't know…but the Rat King is one of them," she replied, "…if anyone is to know, it would be him."
Plague walked on with War following close behind. Though the Catacombs were oddly tranquil, War was not one to let his guard down.
"So you know him?"
"Yes."
War lifted a brow, curious as to why this particular Elemental would have anything to do with the most loathed among them. Catching War's expression of suspicion shortly after answering his question, Plague let out a sigh and continued,
"His true name is Kasin Vermin, but men have since called him the Rat King, or the piper," she elaborated.
"The piper?"
"He…has an uncanny ability to hypnotically charm, using music…particularly rodents with his flageolet," she explained.
"As in the tale of the Pied Piper of Hamelin?" War prodded, remembering the bed-time story the humans would tell their children.
"Partially. The stories men tell are often exaggerated," she admitted. Though most stories were based on the comings and goings of the Elementals, many of them were embellished over the years, often of which was influenced by heavy drinking. Over the centuries, much of what truly happened was long lost to interpretation.
"…and you come to know him how?" War pressed on.
"It was he whom aided me to unleash the Bubonic Plague," she answered.
"Were you not capable to send the pestilence yourself?"
"With the aid of the fleas on the rats, I was able to spread the pandemic more rigorously than if I was to do it by myself. Rats are very cunning creatures, regardless of what you think of them."
"So he is an Elemental of the rats?"
"A number of opportunist creatures actually, from weevils, fleas, mites… many types of small mammals of what you may call pests."
"Parasites are more like it…" War grumbled under his breath. Looking around the Catacombs' entry hall, cockroaches could be seen scurrying out of their path and into the crevices along the columns, "…and you still…trust this Elemental?"
War was not one to find Plague's company with another Elemental too probable, as the reclusive as Plague was…but I guess it shows what I know, War could only sigh.
"Well…" Plague was about to answer before she came to a pause, and then resumed, "…yes. Yes, I do."
Coming to a chamber that resembled something of the interior of a chateau, Plague paused next to a marble staircase from a balcony that encircled the grand room. It was apparent by her mystified demeanor that she was looking for something, or someone. The rat was seen yet again, moving along the marble baluster to the ball-post of the newel, where he took refuge to sit and sniff the air.
War stood behind, towering her by several feet.
"Tell me we just didn't follow some rat into some dismal, empty burial tomb?" War made a point for the sake of sarcasm. Plague continued to face forward, not giving War anymore satisfaction for his assumption.
"For someone who seems Hell-bent to put himself in the line of demise, you sure do nitpick quite a bit…" Plague responded in a meek, but audible tone, "..and we are by no means alone."
War was a bit taken aback by Plague's rebuke, but found it to be more amusing than insulting. However, the fact that they were not alone in the chasm and that Plague was on edge as a result was of his immediate concern.
War was about to step and meander around Plague, but she quickly raised her hand as if to stop him,
"Wait…" she insisted.
"For what?" War asked in annoyance, not one to wait for something, much less anything to have the advantage of surprise.
Within seconds, the nearby walls appeared to moving. Ruin could be heard snorting behind them, somewhat apprehensive to the subtle, but audible sounds of something moving around them.
"Relax m'lord, please, and trust me…" she pleaded this time by grabbing him by his bicep with both of her hands. War looked down, somewhat surprised by the contact of her tiny, bare hands clutching his massive arm, but not alarmed either. Plague was normally careful not to touch anyone for fear of inadvertently subjecting someone or something to the pathogens that encircled her, but her insistence at the moment despite the possibility of putting him at risk, was engaging.
Feeling War's heavy ogling the moment she held on, Plague almost instantly let go, somewhat embarrassed by her sincerity, but redirected her attention to the immediate commotion encircling them without delay.
Soon the walls were layered with weevils and roaches, crawling over one and another in what seemed to be a frenzy, but the insects that scurried along the walls did not find the group of any interest, nor did they engage with them. They just emerged from the tight cracks and gaps along the walls and floor, coming to the surface as if to greet the Elemental Plague. The tattered rat that led them to the Catacombs continued to sit at ease on the banister with his nose twitching in the air, occasionally letting out a chirp as if to summon his cohorts.
From the crypts and crevices between the vault webbing, a multitude of tiny mammals appeared, from mice and moles, to rats and bats hovering above them. Soon they were surrounded by an army of creatures, from fruit flies buzzing in the air to orb spiders hanging from the ceiling by their threads. Though Plague was calm and collected before the menagerie, War was a bit more nervous among the legions of pests, especially the ones that were known to carry potent venom. Nevertheless, War retained his posture, nudging Ruin to do the same, whom was not the least bit amused by the mites that encircled the piers nearby.
Almost as condescending if not sullied, a mellow voice could be heard over the moving rabble,
"…and whom to I owe the pleasure for entering my domain?"
Sorry for the delay, but I am having to edit this stuff by myself because I can't retain a reliable beta reader. Nevertheless, another chapter is presently in the works.