Death rose his hand, closing his blazing orange eyes and tilting his head forward slightly, indicating firmly that the argument was over. The motion brought his fellow Rider's words to a halt. It was unnecessary for War to say anything against his Brother's reasoning; not unnecessary, useless. Death was, at least to his remaining kin, famous for being the most stubborn of the Four. In this case, they were right. He would not argue, because his way was always the final decision, and it would happen the way he said it would. Despite Death's threatening dominance and power, Strife, the Horseman with the most cheek-some may say foolishness for challenging Death-always dared to oppose the Eldest Rider.
"Heh. Where will your stubbornness get you, Death? You always have it your way as though you are the Superior, but you're not. We should have a chance to speak our minds, whether it matters or not, so stop acting like you rule us." Strife said, the words echoing slightly underneath his metal mask, giving them a tang of mocking and ethereal reflection. At that point it felt as though the whole wasteland of a planet had gone silent. Almost as if the raging fires besides the towering pillars of rock had stopped mid-flow. Almost as if the crackling of the lava beneath their feet had cooled and settled for just another part of the blasted scenery. Almost as if the occasional breath from one of the Riders every now and then had been cut short, like the Rider had suffocated on the thickening air of the Council's Domain. Almost as if...everything, living or not, had died, or even ceased to exist.
Death didn't even need to show through body language that he was angry, furious, at his younger sibling for questioning him, because the whole planet knew that he was. The Eldest took a slow, ominous step towards Strife. One. Two. Three. He was now a hands' distance from Strife, but stopped there. Fury held her breath, her chest rising and freezing like a statue. War tensed, his leather bracer making a soft sound as it was crushed slightly between his hand and his supple muscles. The Council, who had said nothing after the silence fell, seemed to have disappeared, even though their physical form in the shape of demon heads crafted from the rock of the world had stayed put. The silence soon shifted uncomfortably from emptiness to tense, and the others aside from Death and Strife subconsciously took a deep breath, preparing for the possible conflict between two of the last Nephilim.
Death's eyes, orange as a gemstone of the purest pure, were the only portrayal of his mood. Well, people who knew Death like his brethren knew the signs of agitation or burning fury just from the change, spiritually and almost physically, in the atmosphere. This though, this could be felt by everything, whether it knew it or not. The Eldest Horseman's voice, monotonous and as deep as the darkest caverns of Hell, didn't even seem to happen, like his words were acknowledged by the things able to hear, but were heard as a memory. And right now for Strife, serenity and comfort seemed like a memory, as a devastatingly fast uppercut to the chin alone made him feel like he had lost the ability to be relaxed ever again. It was a moment after the mask of metal, hitting the dusty rock below and ringing through the ears of the Riders, before they had realized what had happened, let alone reacted.
Strife lay in a sad, almost pitiful heap on the ground, dazed at the sudden blow to the face, and pride, but he wouldn't let that show, even if he was half-conscious. His helmet lay a few meters away from his place, the both of them having raised dust when meeting with the cold, hard floor. Only the beats of the Rider's pounding hearts could be heard, and the slow, dangerously steady breath of the Eldest's lungs. Although only three different heart beats could be heard, as though one had either never existed or just decided to stop working, despite the presence of four beings.
Strife didn't move, aside from the frequent gasps of air, struggling to regain the wind that had been lost from the blow, fatal to anything other than another Nephilim or Godly being. Fury bit her lip, and couldn't stand to see one of her brothers in such a state for an amount of time, running and crouching near his stunned body, placing a hand on Strife's rising and falling chest, another hand hovering over his exposed and bloodied face. War only realized after taking a step forward that he had his hand behind his shoulder, tightly gripping the leather handle of the horrible Black Blade that was Chaoseater.
Death hadn't even flinched.
ENOUGH! The words of the Council's outrage at the disagreement of the Horsemen forced them to turn. Death knew this may have angered...okay ENRAGED the Council, but it was necessary, or at least to him it was. How dare Strife question him? Death had been through much, much more than any of his siblings around him could imagine, their mouths open at the sudden act of violence. That was unpredictable. Even for Death.
ARE YOU QUITE FINISHED? WE SUMMONED YOU FOR A REASON, HORSEMAN, NOT TO HAVE A FAMILY SQUABBLE THAT DOES NOT CONCERN THE LIKES OF US. The magma and lava rivers surrounding the three faces had begun to burn hotter and emit more than ever as the Council bellowed their disapproval at their slaves. WE STRONGLY SUGGEST YOU GET ON WITH THE TASK AT HAND, AND WE EXPECT IT TO BE DONE PROPERLY THIS TIME. RETURN WHEN IT HAS BEEN DEALT WITH.
And with that, Death turned on his heel and set off at an astounding pace, leaving his fellow Riders to gape at the sudden turn of events, reflecting what had happened in an instant through their heads. He didn't even look back at his downed Brother, who had only begun to wake up, using his gloved hand to wipe the blood from his mouth. On he went, on the mission that was of his highest importance, given to him by his Masters, while covering about 3 meters in one stride. He was heading for the sandy horizon.
He was heading for Hell.