"And I will make them eat the flesh of their sons

And the flesh of their daughters.

And all shall eat the flesh of their neighbors in the siege,

And in the distress with which their enemies

And those who seek their life afflict them."

-Jeramiah 19:9

-Ω-

It was a bright, jovial morning, and even though there were imminent threats looming to the east, the people of Utah still continued about their day without a care in the world. The streets of the town were crammed with cars, the sidewalks bustling with people who were enjoying the early spring weather, and business was booming for the local shops, who had an influx of customers as people from the East moved to house with family temporarily.

There was a problem, though, and it could only be noticed by long-time residents in the town who were really paying attention. If the chatter of pedestrians and the chorus of car engines rumbling was taken away, one would suddenly realize that the natural world was silent. There were no birds singing, and the wind had stopped, leaving the normally rustling leaves as still as stone. Then, one would probably notice the sound of hooves against concrete.

Clip-clop.

Clip-clop.

Clip-clop.

Once the rest of the sound was added back in, the staccato one-two one-two of the hoof beats was lost, drowned out by the sound of civilization, but the birds and the squirrels and the trees knew those hoof beats, had had the sound of them ingrained into their very being without their knowledge, and all that they knew was that it meant danger.

Far from the clamor of oblivious people, two horses picked their way down a nearly abandoned side street. There was one black horse, whose bones jut out against its hide as if trying to escape from the equine's skin, and one pale horse, who was a very light tan, almost stark white but not entirely, and their riders sat regally upon their backs, staring straight ahead and not even batting an eyelash at the scattered amount of people that were filming them.

A mousy-haired girl followed them from a distance, holding up her phone and not really believing what her eyes were seeing, and the two horsemen turned a corner, disappearing from sight. She jogged a bit to catch up, but when she peered down the next street, she found that they were gone.

She wondered if she'd imagined them, and when she looked down at her phone to try and play back the video, it was nowhere to be found.

A while later, two boys stepped into a motel lobby. They were a bit bedraggled, but the motel owner didn't really think much of it; perhaps they were two college students or two friends taking a cross-country trip. A lot of those came through here, and he handed them two keys once they'd paid for a one night stay.

The shorter one with the dark hair slid the owner two crisp twenties. "If you let us keep the horses outside." The burly man peered over their shoulders and out the grimy window to find two stallions waiting patiently on the small lawn that was by the parking lot, and he shrugged before snatching up the money and stuffing it into his pocket before nodding to the two teens. Horses didn't really do anything, and he'd get his grass trimmed, if anything. However, he couldn't help but feel weirded-out by the two boys as they slipped out of the lobby, and only later did he realize that he didn't hear their footsteps against the linoleum.

-Ω-

"Breaking news!" cried Hermes, who held his papers tightly in one hand and clutched his earpiece with the other. Words zoomed across the bottom of the screen, almost faster than anyone could comprehend. "It's been revealed that the government suspects the terrorists are moving west, following a string of Beelzebub's Print outbreaks that wiped out entire towns and left thousands dead."

"We think that wherever the terrorists go, Beelzebub's Print will follow," states the head of the FBI, James Comey. "Their conspicuousness will cost them dearly. They seem to be making their way over to California, and we've deployed military units in order to block their path before they can get very far."

"As of now, fifteen towns have been completely wiped off the map," Hermes spewed as more information rolled in on his earpiece. "The death toll is adding up, and is currently breaching the thousands as more bodies are uncovered. Among the dead are men, women, children, and even infants. Whoever these terrorists are, they are taking no prisoners. We hand this over to Iris, who's currently stationed on the outskirts of one of the first towns to fall to the Print after the huge outbreak in the Northeast."

"Thank you, Hermes. This devastating event came only a year after the original outbreak, and the police are suspecting that-"

The blonde boy smashed the power button on the remote with more vigor than necessary, and the newscasters were effectively silenced as the screen succumbed to black. Scowling, the boy sat up a little straighter in his motel bed, the comforters scrunching as he held them in a white-knuckled grip.

"They're too conspicuous," he snapped to his dark-haired companion, who'd made himself comfortable on the second bed and was absorbed in a battered old Bible. "They're going to lead the authorities right to us, and that'll get messy." He didn't seem the slightest bit concerned about the prospect of having the FBI kicking down his door, but rather aggravated that he'd have to deal with them.

"Let them do what they want to do," the dark-haired boy replied as his eyes scanned the yellowed pages and the grainy print. He was in the middle of Revelations, by the looks of it. "They're the first two, so you can't blame them for being a bit wild."

"Yes, but these kinds of things are supposed to be reserved for after we unite," the blonde complained, running a hand through his hair and chewing on his lip. The potted plant in the corner, which hadn't been doing very well in the first place, withered into a husk. "They're going against Zeus's wishes."

"Stop being so uptight," the dark-haired boy chided, snapping the Bible closed and tossing it onto the rickety end table. "At least we'll know where to find them."

"If they don't get slowed down by law enforcement first," the blonde pointed out. "They're going to have to progress slower if they're making every single headline."

"You can't really tell them what to do. I mean, Pestilence is pretty mild overall, but I think it's War that's making him so unhinged. That guy's aura will make even the most peaceful of Buddhist monks bloodthirsty to all hell," his companion told him simply, drumming his fingers on the moth-eaten sheets. "You think he's found his horse yet?"

"I doubt it. Otherwise we'd already be out there bringing the Apocalypse."

"Why are all my plants dying?!" the husky voice of the motel owner bellowed from somewhere nearby, followed by the shocked murmuring of the guests. "It must be these damn horses!" The two boys had already paid him off so he would allow their horses to be nearby, and they knew that he wouldn't send the steeds off.

"You know, Jason, you're still a human," the dark-haired boy murmured softly. "At least, until we meet up with Pestilence and War. The mission doesn't have to be the only thing on your mind at all times."

"That's what you think," the blonde, Jason, snapped. "But I'm pretty sure a human doesn't make plants wilt and food rot when he touches them. And I'm also pretty sure that a human, you know, has to fucking eat."

"Think of those as little bumps in the road," the dark-haired boy suggested calmly, and Jason bristled, his pupil consuming his entire eye and turning them jet black.

"I feel like I'm starving to death every waking moment, Nico!" Jason bellowed, and outside the trees across the street began to die, the flowers wilting and the bushes going bare. "But I don't die. And when I try to eat, the food disintegrates in my hands. That's not human!"

"Fine, believe what you want," Nico stated simply snatching his Bible back up, and Jason's lips peeled back into an ugly sneer. His black, bottomless eyes blazed with fury, but Nico's even temper was always able to calm him down somewhat. "But remember, no matter what we do, we're still humans in the end."

A mouse scuttled across the floor, and Nico glared at it, watching as it froze up and slumped, dead.

-Ω-

Who knew killing people could be so fun? Frank sure was having a ball, and despite the fact that there was a little part of himself that was screaming for him to stop- the part of him that had begun to grow weaker the moment he'd laid his eyes on Percy at the hospital- he continued on without a care in the world. Percy and Blackjack were his constant companions, both whom he cared for dearly, and the three of them soldiered west in search of Famine and Death.

He'd stopped trying to hide his baseball bat long ago, and now he strolled alongside Blackjack with it slung over his shoulder, the spikes dangerously close to his head. He'd saved and cherished the black leather jacket that he'd taken from the dead blond guy back in the Northeast, and even though Percy mocked him constantly and kept making those jokes about him being a discount Negan, Frank really liked the look.

Percy had pawned off the blond dead guy's white-and-red striped scarf a long time ago, and now was decked in ratty jeans and a loud, disgusting orange T-shirt from Goodwill that said "Camp Half-Blood" with a picture of a pegasus on it. Frank was revolted by it, but Percy found it charming for some reason, which Frank didn't understand: why would he be so infatuated with someone's hand-me-down camp T-shirt? Despite all they'd been through, Percy never ceased to be perplexing.

The two of them whistled as they picked their way down an abandoned stretch of road. They were somewhere in the Tennessee-Arkansas area and had busted up a few towns along the way, with Percy giving one person the Print as they entered town and the two of them leaving as it spread like wildfire. It was a nice, quick, effective, and easy way to massacre hundreds of people.

"When do you think I'll find my horse?" Frank asked, and Percy leaned back on Blackjack, rubbing his chin and considering it for a few moments.

"No idea," the green-eyed boy decided. "But I think you'll know."

"You sound like a mother telling her daughter how to decide whether her boyfriend is the One."

"I try my best."

"Did you name Blackjack or did he come with the name?" Frank inquired, patting the horse in question's hide. The gelding tossed his head and snorted, his ears rotating as his sightless eyes stared straight ahead.

"He came with it, but I think it's nice," Percy admitted, ruffling Blackjack's already messy name and crooning mushy lovey things into his ears.

"I want to know what kind of drugs someone has to be on to name a white horse Blackjack," Frank chuckled, drumming his fingers on the handle of his bat and grinning.

"All of the drugs," Percy told him matter-of-factly, and the two broke into uproarious laughter. Blackjack's ears pricked and he let out a nicker, his tail lashing back and forth.

"Blackjack says there's a car coming," Percy translated, and he steered the white horse off of the road and into the cover of the trees. Frank crouched down into the brush and tried to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness, the foliage from the trees blotting out the light from the moon that he'd been using to see by. Eventually, the rumble of an engine could be heard, faint but growing progressively louder. Blackjack let out a soft whine, but Percy shushed him, rubbing the horse's neck in an attempt to comfort. The gelding's white coat stood out like a sore thumb among the blackness of the trees, but they were deep enough into the woods that it would be out of sight for the people on the road.

A huge black SUV came into sight, and Frank's breath hitched as he realized it was crawling down the road, its headlights blazing and its windows tinted. Its passengers seemed to be looking for something, perhaps drugged up teens or members of the KKK or radicalized Muslims, and Frank crouched lower into the brush as the black paint glinted in the light of the moon, watching with baited breath as it slowly continued on. He, Percy, and Blackjack stayed in place until the rumbling of its engine faded into the distance.

"That was close," Percy whispered. "This manhunt is really stepping up a notch. I'd hate to confront a patrol; these clothes are new and I don't need blood getting on them."

-Ω-

(A/N) Sorry about the long update, I've been consumed with the school play, a whole bunch of homework and projects, and editing my novel. Get ready for the next chapter, because there's going to be a new addition to the team if it goes how I want it to.

PLEASE REVIEW IT MAKES ME HAPPY I LOVE YOU ALL.

The chapter title is from the song Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.