//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: A Thing for Theatrics // Story: Apocalyptic Riders // by RedundantRedundancy //------------------------------// Tireless, the phantom horses galloped. Across the icy northern wastelands of Equestria. Across dunes of snow, past shadowy mountains that loomed in the distance, into the direction of where their destination would appear. Scythe and Ebony Blade, two warriors, one elder the other younger, the Reaper and the Red Flame. *** Even Death's well-trained eyes were not enough to see through the damned blizzard. By far, it was worse than the Icy Veil. The only things visible were the shifting, frozen dunes above the permafrost. It was a seemingly fruitless journey. "There!" War growled to be heard across through the howling wind. Barely visible in the distance was a lone building that stood out among the ubiquitous snow and frost. The closer they were, the more details came to view. Small lamps place within the building, two equine shadows within, a single track of metal and wood trailed into the snowy desert, a form of transport sat silent on the track. Death's senses then heightened. A chill ran down his spine. A touch of brimstone in the air, the foul smell of burning flesh, the distant screams of tortured souls and the ominous dark purple portal that opened in front of the two Horsemen. "On guard, brother," Death eyed the portal, his scythes now in his hand, "someone follows us." The Red Rider only grunted and Chaoseater was ready. Then - quite literally - all Hell broke loose. *** His angular iron helmet spun in his lazy hand as he walked across the Charred Council's domain. His two pistols hung on his belt, within reach should they be needed. Beside him, buzzed a nine-eyed, mouthless creature of a weak build but a strong and arrogant personality. "Will you hurry?!" Panoptos yelled, frustrated. "Relax, bug," Strife replied, "we're almost there." And sure enough, they were. Still, Strife took slow, lazy strides that irritated the Watcher. Seconds became slow long minutes, each step a lazy, lasting crunch of ash and dust. Panoptos growled all the way. "The things I do for this place." "Get used to it, you're gonna be a slave forever anyway," was the insulting remark of the Horseman. Panoptos grew silent, and Strife grinned. Eventually, the hellish chamber that held the triple flaming idols of the Council was reached. Panoptos let out an exasperated sigh and fluttered before the idols, with Strife following behind him. "Strife..." The leftmost idol spoke. "Two of your brothers are currently assisting an unexplored and neutral world. Their reports suggest that The Legions of Hell are somehow involved in this. A captive mentioned 'the Prince', whether this be Lucifer or someone else, you are to assist War and Death immediately." "You begin your mission as soon as you are fit to leave," the central visage said. "I am ready," the Horseman replied calmly, donning his helmet. "Good," said the rightmost idol, "any questions?" "Only where I need to start." *** A Trauma, around ten of the Phantom Guard, two Knights of Perdition and a Fallen. All of these flew out of the portal, landing with a loud thud on the snow. The Fallen Angel, however, flew up and circled the area, holding its rusty blade and glaring at the Horsemen. It let out a roar that shattered the blizzard like glass and alerting the nearby building of the upcoming clash. "This will be fun, don't you think?" War said, charging before Death could reply. Death only squinted at the enemy, then sent Despair back to where he came. Muttering in an ancient language, he placed his palms above the snow and chanted, closing his eyes and tapping into his powers. The snow around him shuddered. Things formed underneath, lifting the snow up and shaking it off. Then, hovering in the air in front of him was a skeletal buckler, similar to Mortis, a skeletal chestplate, iron boots covered in ancient markings, all of them emitting a power that once resided within each of the First Born Nephilim: the fury and rage of the dead conquerors. "Ten millennia and I can still summon them," Death muttered to himself, before reaching out with his hand and summoning the old armor. He felt Mortis' rage as it sensed the presence of the armor that once killed many of its own. The armor still fit, and Death could feel old and grim memories resurfacing. He shook them off and readied his scythes once more. War seemed to be in trouble, fighting off the Trauma while at the same time, fending off the other hellish forces. The Fourth Horseman ran. The heavy snow did not stop him at all. Then, as he was within range, Death leaped. On his arm, Mortis hungered for slaughter, and the Horseman was more than happy to feed it. His target was a Knight of Perdition. A target that was not expecting an air strike. A target whose demise would turn the tide. Then, Death landed. And struck. *** A lush green landscape. Far healthier than any other world he had ever seen. It was quiet, peaceful and apparently, inhabited. Strife rode forth, to do what should be done. His horse, Conflict, galloped with an air of arrogance that equalled that of its Rider. It was a white horse, covered in battle armor, scars, and white, fierce flames that whipped in the wind like hair. Its Rider was clad in leather, a worn out scarf covered his neck, his guns hung from his belt, his helmet gleamed and the air of confidence around him glowed like an aura. Then, there he saw it. A city atop a mountain, or rather, hanging by its side. Tall spires and towers touched the sky, a neat collection of buildings whose architecture flowed with an endless intricacy. Curves, lines and squiggles dominated most of the paint and design, all of them a mix of yellow, purple and blue. "Now," Strife muttered, "where the hell are you, brothers?" *** Blades clanged, flesh ripped. Limbs flew and heads fell. Wings tore and cries echoed. Death and War fought like the skirmish was no more than a mere exercise. With every minute that ended, a demon fell. One by one. Slowly, the once white snow became the dark red of demon blood, and the sickly green of the two Knights' spit. Soon after, the two stood surrounded by a pile of flesh, bloodstains and a rank smell that hovered in the air. "Seemed easy enough." War muttered, slowly bringing Chaoseater back into its strap. Death nodded, and whispered an incantation. Slowly, the dead bodies sank into the ground, becoming part of the permafrost. "This city must be near." Death said, eyeing the ground. "Well, what are we waiting for then?" War said, starting to trudge along the snow. Death followed, keeping an eye out for anything that might happen again. Minutes of trudging did they finally see the silhouettes of the equines in the distance. "Hold," Death commanded, "something's not right." The Pale Rider squinted, so did his brother. Behind the equines was a large, living shadow. It followed them, slowly beginning to expand. Then came a roar from deep within the black mass. A head formed, it was - yet again - equine in shape, but this one had a curved horn that was as red as War's cloak. It then began to chase it's intended victims. "It's like nothing in Creation can ever stay peaceful." War muttered. Death only grunted in agreement, and summoned Despair. So to, did War summon his mount and joined Death in the ride. *** Each jump took Strife higher and higher up the mountain. Each landing was graceful and silent. He did not sweat nor did he grunt. This too much of an easy task for the Rider. "So much for a challenge." Strife muttered arrogantly. Minutes passed and the Rider now stood above the city's walls, scanning the buildings and the inhabitants. "Would you look at that, Conflict's little cousins." Strife smiled within his mask crouched. "Now, how do I enter this place?" His eyes glinted. "Brother Death always had a thing for theatrics, so why not?" Strife jumped, summoned Conflict, and landed right on the saddle. The surrounding ponies scattered upon seeing the Horseman. "I guess that surprise was just right, don't you think so too, Conflict?" The horse only grunted. "Thought so too, now, onwards, and you can have some demon bones for dinner later." *** "War! How does one fight a living shadow?" "Fire perhaps?" "Sounds like fun." "Well, you always had a thing for theatrics." Death rode on, silent. Either oblivious to the remark or just immune to it, no one would ever know. As soon as he was within reach of the shadow, Harvester's twin scythe blade blazed with a green and sickly flame. He slashed at the black mass. The air around the shadow sizzled and the blackness dispersed, disintigrating into nothing but dust. It did not take a command for War to realize that fire was useful. Immediately, the Red Horseman rode into the mass, both rider and mount turning into living fireballs. The shadowy equine howled and thrashed, glaring at the two Riders. It's eyes widened, and once more, it roared. Within minutes, the creature had dispersed and ran away, disappearing behind the shadows of the blizzard. Death and War turned to the astonished faces of the ponies behind them. "Why so surprised?" Death said. He received no response. "You're welcome. Now, keep moving, it's best we stay out of this damned blizzard." *** Strife stood in front of the castle, still atop his mount. He had been surrounded by the equines, all pointing spears at him. The Rider merely twirled his guns in his hands, as if bored of the situation. "Might as well give up, little ponies. I could beat you anytime." Conflict neither in agreement. "Heh, even your bigger and badder cousin agrees." It was then that a single guard came running out the castle door. "The Changeling captive is gone!" Strife tilted his head, and underneath the mask, he grinned. All of the equines were distracted, some had lowered their spears, others looked the other way. "Well," Strife said, "off we go, Conflict!" The horse reared its legs and leaped higher than the ponies could imagine. The Horseman landed precisely where he intended. On the lowered castle gate. "See you later little ones, I've got a mission to do." Dumbfounded, the guards could only look at the Rider galloping boastfully away into the castle.