I grabbed the coin hanging around my neck. It melted into my hand, suddenly the interior of my Horseman’s Mask. I heard a grunt from Alex, and I looked up in horror to see he was still alive. He was dying slowly, not a quick death like I had intended. Damn my aim. He was suffering. My kid was suffering. The Team Temple doily beside him was the worst kind of mockery.
I heard Mordred’s slow, steady footsteps approaching me, and my lip curled back into an animalistic snarl. I couldn’t let Mordred see that Alex was still alive. Couldn’t let Mordred bring him out there with us. No matter what.
So, I slammed the Mask over my face just as Mordred grabbed my shoulder from behind.
Alex’s eyes widened, knowing exactly what I’d just done, and why I’d done it. To keep him safe, I had…
Chosen to become the Horseman of Hope.
And everything changed…
In.
One.
Eternal.
Instant.
Chapter 54
I felt Mordred’s hand on my shoulder, felt his fingers beginning to tighten. I spun and punched him directly in the nose, feeling cartilage crunch in slow motion like the sound of ice breaking on a frozen pond. He dropped onto his ass, sliding a few feet before slamming into some smoldering wreckage. He gripped his face, staring up at me in bewildered confusion. I stared down at my hand instead, marveling at the texture of my skin. Like liquid black and white rock, or raw, uncut diamonds.
“There was supposed to have been a trumpet or something…” I complained, absently. “Typical.”
My claws looked pretty intense, too – inches long, jagged black blades extending from each fingertip. I flexed my fingers, rolling my wrist, and wasn’t surprised to find that my digits moved and functioned like my normal skin had – it was just as tough as rock, now. I scratched the tip of my claw against my palm experimentally, and it sounded like a knife dragged across stone, but I didn’t feel a single flicker of pain.
I glanced back at Mordred to see that his nose had begun to heal. I simply stared at him as I internally assessed some very strange things happening to the rest of my body.
The Mask felt like it was made of a million velvet fingers, caressing my cheeks and nose like it was searching for the most comfortable position, aligning itself to the contours of my face for a perfect fit. As I had experienced before, it didn’t seem to weigh anything, or obscure my vision or anything like that. Almost like putting on makeup.
I gasped as both of my shoulder blades suddenly blazed with heat like someone had poured a line of hot wax on them. Just a surprising sensation, not necessarily torture.
Then I felt them tear open, making me grunt, stumbling slightly.
Because although that part had been slightly painful, it felt more like a sore muscle getting a much-needed stretch. A pleasant, necessary pain. I still held the Devourer in one fist, but Mordred seemed no longer interested in that as he shook his head incredulously. “That’s not poss—”
A low, visceral blast from what sounded like a conch horn the size of a skyscraper split the air, making the very ground rattle, and I hunched over as I felt the Mask grip my face tightly, as if trying to fuse with my skin.
Hope… a voice purred in my ears. We’ve been waiting for you… This might hurt a little.
“Wait, what?” I rasped, spinning left to right, searching for the voice that had somehow been heard over the echoing foghorn like sound in the skies. But I was soon distracted by what felt like a thousand spiders with white-hot, needle-feet suddenly dancing across every square inch of my body. Mordred was scooting away in horror, eyes dancing wildly as he tried to determine who I was talking to, and where the booming horn had come from, like he expected an army of Valkyries to descend upon him. “Who are you?” I demanded of the voice. “And what might hurt—”
I gasped, then, closing my eyes as I felt every single one of my bones abruptly pop like a string of firecrackers. I gritted my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut as the muscles of my body tugged and jerked spasmodically, feeling as if my very body was exploding.
I panted, muscles still twitching as the pain finally began to fade.
When I opened my eyes, I expected to find myself lying on my back, not crouched down and staring at the bloody mask that was Mordred’s face. Chunks of black and white diamond grit were firmly embedded into his flesh, and he stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes, totally speechless. Even as I watched, his body began to heal, the gravel popping out in fits and starts, but the wash of blood remained, and so did the terror in his eyes.
I wasn’t entirely sure where the gravel had come from, because my hands were still covered in the uncut diamond skin. Maybe – like a snake – I had shed an outer layer or something. I slowly stretched to my feet, raising my arms above my head to stretch out my twitching muscles, and get the blood flowing. To see the result of what I had just experienced.
The pain had faded, and in its place was… a pleasant tingling sensation throughout my entire body. This transformation felt a lot different than last time. And that wailing horn was definitely new. The Four Horsemen had told me it would be a Heavenly chime or a quartet of Holy trumpets or something similar. But that horn had been more savage and primal than cherubic.
And my Horseman Virtual Assistant had been entirely unexpected. No one had informed me about that part.
We’ve been waiting for you… it had said. But who was we?
Soon enough, Hope… the voice replied. Now, it’s time to introduce yourself… Your cousins are waiting. They may be a little shy, at first. After all, this is a first for everyone. I’ll slow time a moment to let you speak with them… the voice added casually, as if it was no big deal to slow down time.
I looked up to see the Four Horsemen standing at the edge of the ring. They hadn’t been there a few minutes ago, or at least I hadn’t seen them lurking about. They had their hoods pulled up, and were staring at me with their familiar Masks. And they looked… very uneasy.
War stared back at me with his red and white samurai mask of molten lava. The spines of his wings were like red-hot branches tearing through his robes of burning coals. No skin stretched between the spines, so that they more resembled fiery branches, and his claws dripped like molten lava.
Pestilence – or Conquest, as he preferred – had chosen not to wear his disgusting, diseased-ridden zombie look, and instead resembled one of those old Renaissance doctor masks, complete with the long, beak-like nose. But his robes were rotten, full of holes and green stains – definitely not a hygienic medical practitioner. His pale wings were sickly, disheveled spines, and they looked infested with insects or bacteria of some kind.
Famine wore his scarecrow mask – complete with bloodstains on the torn and ravaged burlap sack-textured surface – and his robes looked like woven corn husks. Desiccated branches formed claws from his sleeves, and wings like massive cornstalks sprouted up over his shoulders.
And Death, with his traditional bone mask, skeletal wings flaring out behind him, again with no skin between the spines. His robes were a death shroud. Like one flowing, black doily.
They seemed to be studying me just as intently as I studied them. And they did look pretty nervous.
Mordred was staring at me, and it took him about ten seconds to complete his blink. Huh. She really had slowed time…
I paid him no mind, walking past him to meet my brothers. No, the voice had said cousins. Maybe she needed a software update.
I flinched as I saw one of Grimm’s black and red peacock feathers in my peripheral vision. He was alive! But when I spun, I realized it wasn’t Grimm.
It was me. My stone spine wings had sprouted feathers identical to my unicorn, just much longer and wider, long enough to brush the ground as I walked, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. I still had the stone spines, but my wings had fleshed out marginally with the feathers. And I suddenly realized where all that gravel had come from. The feathers had broken free of their encasement.
�
�Upgrade,” I mumbled, comparing the feathers to those hanging from my Devourer. Identical.
Like my Alicorn, Grimm.
I narrowed my eyes, deciding to call bullshit.
That voice had made it sound like this moment was some big surprise that no one had known about other than them – whoever they were.
So why did I feel like I’d opened up a few Christmas presents early? Grimm, years ago, and my Devourer just recently. Had that been why my final transition had been delayed? That I’d needed the Devourer to complete the transformation into the Horseman of Hope?
In my fascination with my new wings, I hadn’t noticed the Four Horsemen crossing the rest of the distance. They stopped several paces away, studying me.
“Rejoice and shit!” I said, flaring out my new wings in a slow twirl, realizing that it was instinctual. I didn’t have to consciously think about moving them, stretching them out, or tucking them back. It was almost like I’d always had them.
Callie was going to lose her shit. I couldn’t wait to show them off.
Death cleared his throat, dismissing my comment. “Mordred’s fighting the time freeze, and despite your pretty feathers, this fight is far from over. In fact, I think he’s been holding back. I can feel him pulling deep on his remaining Souls.”
I turned to look at Mordred, and saw him standing there with eyes closed, slowly muttering under his breath, like he was praying. I grunted dismissively. “Dudes…” I said, shaking my head, unconcerned. “He’s down to Five Souls – Four of those stolen from Hell, and then his own. And there are Five of us. Are you guys allowed to play, or am I on my own?”
“You smell… different,” Famine finally said, leaning closer to sniff at me with his stained scarecrow mask.
I grunted. “Hey, back off, cornstalk. You’re going to mess up my feathers.” I knew the least about Famine, compared to his Brothers. I’d spent the most time around Death, but I’d also confided in War and Conquest over the past year or so. Even though I didn’t know Famine’s legend, something about him just seemed to mesh with me. He seemed more easygoing, always quick with a joke, and overall less serious than his Brothers.
The others had sad, depressing origin stories. Maybe Famine had saved a village from starvation and thought to himself, never again will I let anyone go hungry. I’m going to bake pies for eternity, but I’ll pretend to be the Horseman of Famine to throw everyone off.
“Famine is right,” War murmured thoughtfully.
“I’m the Fifth Horseman. We’re not supposed to be twinsies. You guys are all different,” I added, pointing out their attire.
They shared a long look with each other. “Your bell toll was… not what we were expecting,” Conquest said, his Renaissance doctor mask cocking like a bird, reminding me of the DemonStork Mordred had roasted in the Dark Land’s first ever Burning Man Festival.
“Look. You guys offered me this job. I took a while to commit, but I expected a little warmer of a welcome than this. Time to make up for it. Throw me a party and tell me you’re allowed to play,” I said, pointing a thumb behind me at Mordred.
Death nodded, studying me thoughtfully. “Yes. We’re here at the Dueling Grounds. We can play. And I think we will have to play in order to have a chance…” He trailed off, eyes locked onto my Devourer, especially the fact that it was humming in my fist. I was actually grateful for the new stone skin, because it made the vibration of the Devourer more tolerable. Before, it had felt like holding onto a live wire. A current just below the sensation of pins and needles you got when your foot fell asleep. Death looked troubled. “Something is wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
He was the only one also holding his weapon, I noticed for the first time. I pointed at his wicked scythe. “You have a stick, so I’m keeping mine. At least my Devourer goes with my superhero outfit.” Seeing his scythe made me glance down at the brand on my palm, since it was also depicted on my Crest. My brand was still there, but outlined in white crystals against the black. It might have been my imagination, but I noticed a faint, golden light outlining it. My Ichor, or just the sunset’s reflection? I dismissed it for now.
The ground let out a slow, rumbling groan, and I turned to find that Mordred – despite the time-freeze – had packed on a few pounds. His body was now wider, thicker, and sporting black veins. His eyes were still closed, so I considered now a perfectly good opportunity to attack.
I hefted my spear, preparing to give Mordred a new throat piercing.
Death suddenly grabbed my wrist, shaking his head. “Let him finish praying. We have time. And we need to talk.” Cool air wafted out from his claw, and this close to his skull Mask, I felt like I had opened a freezer door in a steamy commercial kitchen.
I lowered my spear, glaring. At least, I think I was glaring. I wasn’t sure how well my facial gestures translated to my Mask. “This guy is an asshole. Trust me.”
War cracked his neck, his Mask suddenly rippling with fire. “I’m getting bored just standing around, and I’m anxious to see what…” he studied my wings thoughtfully, “Victor’s Secret Angel can do,” he finally said in an amused tone. “Maybe he can prance around, fanning his fancy feathers while we take down this chump.”
I rolled my eyes. “Hilarious. Let’s just get this over with. I was ready to physically collapse before this. Not sure how much that impacts my performance, now, but I’d rather not find out by drawing this fight on longer than absolutely necessary. So, can I just stab him in the throat already? I promise I won’t lose any sleep about interrupting his prayer. Or killing him while he’s frozen in time, or whatever the hell this is,” I said, studying their reactions. They gave me no indication about the time freeze thing, which could mean almost anything.
Death ignored me, watching as Conquest sniffed loudly. “Something is wrong. A tension in the air.” He sniffed again, and then snorted. “Perhaps a poison of some kind. Some disease. Or something fighting a disease.”
I pointed at Mordred. “His veins literally just turned black. It doesn’t take an ex-doctor to diagnose that he may be sick in some way.” But deep down, I knew what Conquest meant. He wasn’t talking about Mordred. Something with the Dueling Grounds itself seemed off. As if it was fighting a battle of its own. Likely because it kept having souls stolen from it, and was getting a little uppity with the new kids fucking up the playground equipment, breaking the cosmic rules that the souls the Dueling Grounds were supposed to protect…
Were actually being stolen and sent to Hell, rather than returned home with a body.
Ruin had one-upped us all by actually eating one of Mordred’s Souls. At least I hadn’t seen a Soul sucked down into the earth like before. Even though it looked like Ruin had kicked the bucket, I’d been around when a Beast died, and there had been a few more fireworks involved with the final bon voyage.
Death shook his head at my reference to Mordred. “He’s speaking of the Dueling Grounds. She is upset that her sole purpose is being overtaken, invaded. We can’t let Hell take any more Souls from her or she’s liable to get upset.”
Conquest nodded, snapping his fingers. “That’s what it is! The Dueling Ground’s antibodies.”
I blinked at the two of them incredulously. “Excuse me?”
War chimed in. “Balance,” he said, shrugging absently. Like he had just given an in-depth TEDTalk on Dark Matter, and after being asked a very scientific why question, had answered with a serious face, saying, Because.
Was that why my Devourer had been acting up? Was it also pissed at all the free meals it had missed?
Death pointed a skeletal claw at my Devourer. “The Dueling Grounds might be appreciative of you using that instead of letting Hell steal any more Souls than it already has. You know, spread out the thievery a little bit.”
I grimaced. “You guys are a bad influence. You’re telling me to just rob the Dueling Grounds of a few souls, right after informing me that the place is actually a living entity, a pronoun, and that she might ta
ke offense.” They nodded in unison, seeing no problem with my outburst. I sighed, accepting the duty. I was the gunslinger, they were the cannon fodder. “What about friendly fire?” I asked, thumping the butt of the spear into the ground. “This thing is hungry—”
Death waved a hand in dismissal. “Horsemen are immune to Devourers. We can still fall here, but our souls are safe from your spear.”
I stored the Devourer-immunity tidbit away for later, and nodded. “Groovy. You guys ready? I need you to keep him busy while I… prance about,” I said, drily, shooting a dark look at War.
He chuckled, and began to drum his fingers against his hip in a steady drumbeat.
Famine licked his lips hungrily.
Conquest – Pestilence – sneezed.
Death just stared at each of us.
Then I heard a faint click in my ears, and Mordred abruptly opened his eyes, no longer frozen in time. His eyes were now solidly black like his veins.
Chapter 55
War scanned the area, casually ignoring the berserker Mordred suddenly racing at us.
Like he could see an entirely different scene than us, his eyes locked onto, appraised, and then moved on from various points around the arena. He glanced at Famine, his eyes pulsing once. “Lock in the perimeter. No more of this Dark Lands nonsense,” he growled.
Famine nodded, calmly turned his back on us, and then he began skipping away, suddenly wielding a chain with two burning bowls hanging from either end. Black dust dribbled from the bowls, leaving a trail of dead grass in his wake. Staring after Famine made me miss whatever War had told Conquest to do, but I saw the result.
Conquest launched up into the air, flapping his wings as he whipped out a bow seemingly made from the heart of a glacier. It smoked as he nocked a black arrow onto the string, and then he simply faded from view, blending in with the burning sunset surroundings.
War nodded at Death, and the Horseman began swinging his scythe like he was competing for a Taekwondo Forms tournament, spinning it all over the place before slamming the back of the blade onto the ground so the staff stuck straight up. He scrambled up it like a monkey and then crouched atop it on the balls of his feet, bony skeletal knees splayed out. He cocked his head from left to right, and I realized he was checking on Famine – who was still making his circuit around the ring. Death began rocking back and forth on his scythe like it was a rocking chair, creating a cringe-worthy nails on chalkboard screech, screech, screech.
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