by Wall, Nathan
Horus knew there was a deeper emotional and psychological problem at work inside his cousin’s mind. His mother said Anubis was traumatized as a child by watching his own mother die. She told Horus that Anubis laughed as their Corner fell because his naive mind hadn’t yet developed the ability to understand death. Horus knew different; a portion of Anubis’ mind had never matured—and never would. That much was evident from the events of the day that caused Anubis to now bear the mark of the jackal.
Anubis had been an outcast among his own kind growing up. The others were afraid of him and his otherworldly appearance. They avoided speaking to him, mostly directing their questions and comments towards the Prince of the Southern Corner, Horus. He was, after all, the only one who ever took the time to talk with Anubis and discover the child-like kindness hidden behind the gray giant’s coarse exterior. Horus believed his cousin was oblivious to it all, either willfully or because he was unable to comprehend it—those lines were blurred sometimes.
“I told you it would be fine.” Anubis looked at Horus and smiled. The butcher jumped up and lunged for Anubis’ blade. Anubis turned and sunk the blade into the butcher’s gut with ease. He pulled back and the butcher collapsed face-down onto the Anubis’ left foot. “No.”
“Anubis,” Horus said, standing rigidly. His breathing was erratic. He hated to think of his cousin like a dog, but Horus knew he should have kept a tighter leash. “Anubis, can you hear me? Step away from the man.”
“Don’t hurt me,” the woman pleaded in Russian, crawling back against the dumpster, shaking.
“The animal can no longer torment you,” Anubis replied in her language, inching nearer to her. She pulled herself back, pressing tighter against the trash. He placed his hand to her wrist gently and she screamed. “No, do not do that. I will not hurt you.” Anubis grabbed the woman, his large hand clasping over her mouth and nose. She struggled to break free, but he continued to hold her tightly, constricting further every time she wiggled. He looked towards Horus, with panic on his face. His lips quivered. “Please... Settle down. I do not mean to frighten.” Anubis sniffled, shaking his head.
“Let her go.” Horus pulled on his cousin’s arms, but the woman remained tightly in his grasp. “You are hurting her.”
“I do not mean to. If she would only understand that I am trying to help,” he cried, standing up and yanking the woman away from Horus. The force of the motion snapped her neck and her body went limp. Anubis froze, as if unable to breathe from shock.
“Look over here.” Horus raised his hands, slowly walking toward his cousin. He touched Anubis’s right triceps, slowly taking the woman from his clutches. He laid the dead woman down and stepped away. Horus spoke slow and smooth to help ease Anubis’ nerves. “Are you with me? I need your mind present.”
Anubis’ eyes remained focused elsewhere. Horus turned around to see what he was staring at and found the woman’s youngest child standing in the alleyway behind them. Her eyes were locked on Anubis. Horus stood between them. The girl shifted her gaze to her mother. Fear overtook her face.
“Listen, child, you must not cry.” Horus knelt and reached to embrace the girl. Her face turned red with fright. “Please, for both our sakes...”
Just as she let out a scream, a short blade pierced into her back and through her chest, puncturing her lungs. The girl’s eyes widened. A slow trickle of blood ran out of the left corner of her mouth. The blade was quickly pulled back and the girl tilted forward. Horus, stunned and shaking as adrenaline surged through him, caught the child. He looked up and saw the individual he’d been on the way to meet standing tall.
“I see why your Corner fell so easily,” Svarog said, wiping his blade. His head was clean-shaven, giving the illusion that his forehead wasn’t as prominent as it really was. The ridge of his nose was wide, but pointed in a sharp angle at the tip. His eyes were large, almond shaped and wide-set. A bushy, yellowish goatee framed his mouth. The dagger dispersed into his armor. He motioned with a finger for Horus to follow. “Are we going to linger, or are we going to move?”
“You murdered her.” Horus’ hand was shaking as he laid the girl down over her mother. He glared at Svarog as the snowfall picked up pace.
“Your imbecile cousin just killed two of his own, leading to this child’s death. I see not the difference you attempt to make.” Svarog flapped his long, leather trench coat shut. He slowly buttoned it, still walking. “I guess somehow us middle-guard angels don’t have the same privileges as those of you who live in the higher-priced locales.”
“She was a child.”
“Who would have one day been old enough to carry a weapon against us.” Svarog turned around, marching back to Horus. “Again, you make excuses when your anger should be turned elsewhere. I simply eliminated a threat before it drew unwanted attention. That’s the problem with you elitist types and the humans you’ve become so close with—compassion for those perceived to be innocent keeps you from eliminating all threats. The problem is, we live in a fallen world—none of us are innocent. We’re all judged equally, and when left unchecked we can be even more dangerous than those who preceded us.”
“Fallen or not, the adults knew what they were doing. The child didn’t ask to be fallen.”
“Neither did I, but here I am. I was dragged down with the rest of you,” Svarog replied, continuing on his way. His feet crunched through the freshly fallen snow in the un-walked areas of Moscow’s backstreets.
“The man had it coming. The woman was an accident. Anubis didn’t know,” Horus said, keeping pace.
“Oh, well then, I guess he’s exonerated,” Svarog mocked, rolling his eyes. “I knew not that ignorance of the law was a justifiable defense.”
“Horus,” Anubis whispered, leaning into his cousin. “Why is he mad?”
“The mind of a child and the body of a giant. God certainly does have a sense of humor.” Svarog smirked, chuckling and shaking his head. He gestured for them to move faster. “This way, abominations.”
“We’re not abominations,” Horus replied, grinding his teeth. He and Anubis followed Svarog through a maze of alleyways. They stopped in their tracks when the antique buildings gave way to the large metal giants of new, towering overhead. Horus looked on in awe as the Russians slowly rebuilt after the battle of Moscow, mostly amazed by the destruction caused when the one they called Death had thwarted Maya’s invasion. He glanced over at Anubis, whose head was down in shame. “Don’t listen to him. We exist for a reason.”
“You exist because of treason,” Svarog said sharply. “I was a Muse, not a fighter. I was created to inspire man to make great weapons, not to use them myself. When word of angels producing children with one another came about, some were inspired. Others, like me, were aghast. When angels began fornicating with humans—procreating—I knew then we were truly at the end. I never engaged in any wrongful behavior, but because all those around me acted upon their impulses, I was just as guilty for not reprimanding them. I, an artist, was supposed to tell Guardians—fighters and trained killers—how to live by the law? That was a conversation I am sure would have gone over well.”
“If you despise us, then why do you offer your help?” Horus watched Svarog out the corner of his eye, his gaze still directed at the shredded sky-scraper. Cranes positioned several stories high pulled up fresh metal support beams. “Can we get closer?”
“I was in one of those buildings when the fight began. I saw him as clear as you are to me now.” Svarog led the cousins along a perimeter created by tall barbed wire fences. He removed his dagger and sliced the chain link, ducking through. The cousins followed. “It was not the one called Azrael, as he was young like you. I could tell, though, that he hadn’t been born in another realm, as time here on Earth did not warp him like it does us. His essence wasn’t human, nor was it angelic or Angel-born. There were many entities within him, intertwined.”
“So he’s neither human nor angel?” Horus scratched the back of his head.
>
“Maybe both. Some sort of new concoction.” Svarog stopped and whispered to Horus. “All I know is that he wore Azrael’s colors, but was not Azrael. I’ve seen the humans run experiments before to create what they call ‘super soldiers’. Remakes, they were known as, by those from the Western Corner I captured that day and interrogated.”
“I heard those stories. Why are you so sure this man isn’t a remake himself?” Horus asked.
“My eyes don’t fool me.” Svarog led the way into a large shopping center. Windows all around were boarded up and temporary lights hung from the ceiling. Workers laid fresh concrete and erected new walls to replace the ones destroyed in battle. Signs all around saying ‘never forget’ united the workers’ focus. “It was here, while I watched on from above, as Death himself took the soul of Maya’s field general and reduced him into a plume of ash.”
“Death?” Anubis asked, giving a sideways look.
“Yes.” Svarog nodded, lowering his eyebrows, as if confused by Anubis’ question. “I must confess, you’re not the only ones to have come here. I have spoken with others.”
“Who?” Horus asked, jumping to an alert stance.
“Vishnu sent his own delegates. So did heaven. The infamous Assassins paid me a visit. They hunt this Death. Even some descendants, with a female Angel-born, came poking around and asking questions about what happened.” Svarog smiled, smug. “But I didn’t show them what I have to show you. You see, I still have prisoners from that battle. Both human and half-breeds from Maya’s legion. I believe the prophesized week of years is upon us, and when it starts this planet will see devastation even more powerful than when Zeus and Michael tore continents apart.”
“Again, you’ve not told me why you want to help us if you despise us so,” Horus prodded, calmly breathing as his mind tried to make sense of everything. If Azrael wasn’t responsible for this devastation, then who was Death and who’d sent him? Vishnu, the Assassins, and others were now ahead of the game. Horus knew his people had to quickly catch up.
“Because unlike you, I don’t have a planet of my own to run to. My star is far too weak to go gallivanting around time and space, and sooner or later its power will fade and I will be no more than human. Despite my personal feelings for Angel-born such as yourselves, we share a vision: we both want to be free and stop the upcoming apocalypse. Vishnu aspires to be god, and heaven already has one of their own. But you... You just want to be free. That is the only option I have left.”
“Instead of being an ass, it would have been best to lead with that,” Horus said. He smirked, nodding at Anubis and then looking back at Svarog. He tilted his head, thinking. “Why do you call him Death?”
“It was a name given to him by the prisoners of Maya’s army. They would have nightmares about him and spoke in their sleep.” Svarog walked toward a fresh window pane, looking up at the shattered tower. “Because when he figures out the power of the beast inside him, no entity in existence will be safe. Destruction follows him, they say.”
“I want to hear the words from their own lips.” Horus paced in circles, deep in thought. Svarog shook his head. Horus thought of many ways to compel Svarog to change his mind, but chose the option he liked least because he knew it would get the best response. “We will bring you back. Safe harbor is yours, but I cannot go back to my people without clear answers. They deserve them.”
“But Horus…” Anubis grabbed his cousin’s shoulder, but Horus shook him off.
“Silence now, I am conducting business.” Horus squeezed Anubis’ wrist. He looked over his shoulder to Svarog. “What is your reply?”
Svarog nodded. The air grew cold, frosting their breath, and Horus knew what that meant. They were about to slip through a rift. Pink light sliced through the room and closed just as quickly as it had opened. The first thing Horus noticed was a blood-soaked hole in the wall hanging above a dead prisoner who had keeled over onto a female inmate.
“Another one.” Svarog grabbed the body and sat it up. The woman stiffened, breathing erratically. He took out her gag and smacked her on the cheek. “Did you kill him?”
“No, sir,” she replied in Russian, trembling.
Various bungee cords and polyester rope connected several blindfolded prisoners, keeping them pinned on the floor next to the wall. Veneered particleboard covered all of the windows and the air vents were stuffed with towels and taped shut.
“What is this place?” Horus held his nose shut, finding the conditions deplorable.
“Ever heard the expression about breaking eggs for an omelet?” Svarog asked. Horus shook his head. “Of course you’ve not.”
“You need to release these people,” Horus demanded. He thought this treatment was unnecessary. “There are many other ways of extracting useful information from prisoners.”
“Interrogated many people in your lifetime?” Svarog hissed, not bothering to look at Horus. The young prince remained silent, believing it better for Svarog to make his own assumptions. Svarog chuckled. “I didn’t think so. As a scavenger on a planet not made for me, I’ve learned the best ways to stay alive. I’ve seen the mistakes others have made by trusting or making assumptions about this pathetic, cowardly race. Humans and half-breeds are at their best and most trustworthy when you keep a heavy boot on their throats.”
“P-please let me go,” the woman begged. She continued to plead, but Svarog shoved the gag back in her mouth.
He stood and exchanged jabbing glares with Horus, clipping Horus’ shoulder as he passed. Anubis stepped forward to grab Svarog but Horus stayed his hand with a confident gaze, as if saying ‘relax’.
“You came to seek answers.” Svarog pointed at the prisoners. “Seek them.”
Horus knelt before the woman. As if sensing his presence, she turned away. He turned her face toward him and removed the gag, gently rubbing her cheek.
“I will not hurt you,” he reassured her. Svarog laughed from the kitchen. The woman was visibly unnerved by the sound of him emphatically banging pots. Horus tenderly touched her hands, ignoring his informant. “Why did he bring you here?”
“He says I… I saw… him,” she cried, biting her lower lip. Horus’ knee felt wet. He looked down at a puddle of her urine. “I worked downtown. It started there. That’s why he says I’m here. I saw... him.”
“Death?” Horus asked.
“His real face. For a second... he looked normal. The black skull crawled over his face. Those eyes… haunting. I’ll never forget their stare.”
“Did he hurt any of you?” Horus had to know more. Specifically, what drove this new divisive figure? Could he be an ally? “The army that invaded; they were stopped by him, no? I’ve seen the musings and shrines to this Death.”
“Not a finger...”
The mumbling of the man next to her overpowered her mumbling. She froze. Horus gently stroked the side of her face before moving to the man on her right.
“Speak,” Horus commanded, removing the man’s gag.
“You seek him out, but you be a fool,” the man hacked, laughing, speaking Greek. His snarling smile showed contempt for Horus, but the young prince didn’t know why. “Your accent, you’re from the Southern Corner.”
“What be it to you?” Horus could see an aura about this prisoner. The man was a changeling. “You’re a Satyr. A straggler from Maya’s legion.”
“Perceptive, you coward. Your people left us to perish. My grandfather died in the last great war, a battle your people failed to show for.”
“You know nothing about that of which you speak.” Horus remained steady despite the man’s taunts, recalling the training he’d received under his uncle, Sobek. A steel reserve will push an enemy off kilter far more than sparring words. “Say something useful or remain silent.”
“I will tell you something useful,” the Satyr chuckled. His boisterous laugh quickly avalanched. “This man—Death be him—he will end you all. I heard the rumblings of the Blood Queen and the Ferryman. They feared him,
and they were too ignorant to fear anyone. When Death slaughtered Argus on the battlefield, he turned him to ash.” Horus looked over to Svarog in the kitchen, who nodded. The prisoner kept talking. “If I knew better, my mind could make sense of it. He took his soul, I say. He will take all of ours.”
“My kind have not souls,” Horus said.
“You believe that?” the Satyr laughed.
“It was written as such.” Horus squinted, finding the prisoner’s laugh odd given the circumstances. The man acted as if he were the warden.
“It was also written that your kind have not the ability to reproduce, yet here you are.” The Satyr continued to prod. “Do you still believe?”
“You are in no position to debate or lecture me. My thoughts and beliefs are my own, and not for your musings.” Horus stood up, walking over to Svarog. “What is your play?”
“As agreed upon, I want immunity, and after that I don’t care what happens. You and your giant freak here can run off and find more answers, or sodomize each other, or whatever takes your fancy. I just want to wade through the coming week-of-years from whatever perch you’ve chosen.”
“No,” Horus replied. “You are not worthy.”
“What?” Svarog snarled. His fist grew tight. “I brought you here, gave you the information you wanted, dealt with your imbecile cousin, cleaned up your mess, and you think you’re going to just deny me?”
“Yes. Interrogation tactics. Did they meet your standards?” Horus turned and walked away. Svarog lunged for him but Anubis snatched his arm and twisted it around, bringing Svarog to his knees.
“I relent!” Svarog screamed as Anubis tightened his grip.
“OK. So you relent.” Horus cut the woman prisoner free and stood her up. He moved her to the door and whispered. “When I move you forward, walk ten steps before removing the blindfold and then run. Do not look back.”
The woman nodded. Horus kicked the door open. He lightly pushed her and she stepped through the doorway.
“Why is he still twisting?” Svarog’s face pressed against the floor, tightly scrunched and turning red. “Mercy, please. My arm is on fire.”