//------------------------------// // Chapter 6 - Dreams of War* // Story: We Are All Just Puppets // by Zachurra //------------------------------// The blackened amber gates slowly parted slowly to reveal a large throne room of similar color. One might mistake it for a cathedral if not for the raised throne at the opposite end of the room and the map of the world towards the center that stood on a table with four large fangs at each corner that jutted towards the center like a dome. As well it contrasted a cathedral in that it contained no stained glass, but instead they were replaced by simple and large open windows that allowed one to view the land for miles and miles unless the horizon was obscured by mountains. A single man wearing all black sat upon the throne and watched as four men approached him. They stood side by side, splitting right down the middle upon reaching the map table before rejoining before him. They varied in size but three remained similar in stature. The one that stood out to him the most was the one on the far left end, for he stood much taller and his hair was a cold white. To add more to the oddity, the smallest of the group held the same color. A rather unique hair color for ones who called themselves Demons. “My lord,” The one in the center right bowed courteously, “My name is Horrus Rabe, second of the Horsemen and hold the title of Death. My past life was that of the seer Destruction. I acted as the war strategist during our recent war with the Angels.” God Damien rose up and stepped down from his throne. He stopped in front of Horrus and stood only slightly taller. It appeared that Damien’s green eyes were trying to pierce the vale that was his blindfold in order to look into his eyes and his soul. “It appears that your strategies were flawed, Horseman of Death.” He said. The man seemed to have a permanent glare and his very presence was like standing in an inferno of flames, but Horrus stood his ground. “I prefer to think that if the late God Varanesh had heeded my words, our victory would have been assured.” Damien looked over him one more time. He truly represented the gloom of death with his jet black hair and dark grey trench coat. He remained statuesque and professional in his stance; solid, confident, and with his hands cupped behind his back. His eyes turned to the right towards a shorter man, obviously the youngest of the group. Upon stepping in front of him, the young man put his fist to his chest in salute and gave a small bow. “Vice Virtus. I hold the title of Horseman of Famine. My former life was that of the assassin Anger. Under the former reign, I specialized in tactical insertion, espionage, assassination and special operations.” The Horseman said quickly but clearly. Damien didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to his words. He was listening, certainly, but he was much more focused on Vice’s grey-blue eyes. His posture and speech made him sound just as professional as Horrus had, but his one flaw was that his eyes spoke every truth and hid nothing. They spoke of pain, of torment… Something recent? Perhaps the death of a loved one, or a recent failure to someone close? Whatever it may be and whenever it may have occurred to him, it was clear that the thought still plagued him to this day. It was a weakness, no matter what it was. However, a weakness can be the source of great strength. Damien turned to his left and strode past Horrus to see the next in line. His clothing reminded him of a western character, a dusty brown, almost black, coat with similarly colored attire to match. He removed his hat and graciously bowed, “Dante di Ombre, at your service.” He looked up to reveal an almost condescending smile and a pair of hazel eyes. “Horseman of Pestilence, formerly lived as the Horseman of Carnage.” If Damien had been one to let the whole God thing go to his head, he likely would have disciplined this Horseman of Pestilence for his seemingly sarcastic tone of voice. And what was this of Carnage? He certainly wasn’t a Horseman that had stood out during history… Damien wasn’t even sure he had even heard of this Carnage character. Either he didn’t exist and the man before him was lying, or Carnage was stricken from history for some reason. “And what duties did you perform?” he asked. “Oh, lots of things. A real ‘jack of all trades.’ However, I was commonly sent on diplomatic missions.” A diplomat? Curious. It was very out of character for such a man to become one of the highest ranking military officials in their world and yet be used for such petty tasks. Damien looked deeper into those dark brown eyes, hoping to see just what kind of person he really was. … More and more curious. This man wore a mask, that much was evident after searching long enough. However, whatever kind of face that was hidden behind this mask was beyond even him. He was a man of secrets and held a surprisingly intense feeling of…darkness. Perhaps something to look into later. Damien continued on. When he reached the last man in the line, his eyes slowly moved up see the face hidden behind a veil of white hair. The person in question simply stood before the him, saying nothing and doing nothing. “And you are?” Damien said after a drawn out pause. He cared little for their introductions, for he knew their names already. He only allowed such ceremony out of courtesy; something he normally did not partake in. However, there was one that didn’t have a recorded name. There was an extended silence as the two men stared at each other; or rather, one stared while the other glared. Damien was about to just ignore him and carry on before a subtle word caught his ear. “War…” “I know you are the Horseman of War.” He said, growing impatient. “Tell me your name.” “… Just War…” Damien’s eyes narrowed. His eyes followed down his long hair and inspected his cold blue and black armor. Its design was intricate in some places and simple in others. On his shoulder plates was the metal formed in the shape of skulls, as were they on his the plates covering his knees and the buckle of his belt. From where he stood he could only see part of the large sword that rested on his back. “That much if evident.” Damien huffed, growing irritated with the man before him. “War’s been around a long time,” Damien piercing eyes rolled towards the source of the voice, and was met once again with that smile that Dante seemed to wear often. The Horseman's hand rose up and lightly tapped his covered head, “Sometimes a man forgets things he doesn’t think are important.” Not important? What, exactly, did this “War” not deem important? Was it his actual name, or was he trying to forget himself? “Am I to assume you are his translator?” He spoke with no sense of humor in his own sarcasm. “I guess you could say that.” He tipped his hat down in feigned bashfulness. Damien only continued to glare. What kind of men had Varanesh put under his command? Vice was only obviously affected by his emotions. Dante was sarcastic and cocky in his speech and posture. War was something else entirely… Horrus appeared to be the only one who seemed professional enough to even hold the position he is in. “And his former?” That smug look on his face faded immediately. “Desolate.” “The Horseman of Desolation?” His eyes rolled back to War, “Well, that does explain things.” Damien turned and began ascending the steps to his throne. However he stopped halfway up and turned to face the four once more. With his hands cupping behind his back, he spoke with authority, “Kneel.” There was a moment before they realized that he was giving them an order. Horrus was the first to do so, with Vice in a close second place. Dante gave his superior a short look before giving a small shrug and following suit. War, however, stood as a statue. If Damien was bothered by it, he did not show it. Then again, he rarely showed much emotion other than anger or irritation. “I make the order only so that you may remember who it is that now controls all of the land you can see from this tower. You will fight for it.” He stepped down from the steps and walked past Horrus and Dante and towards the map in the center. “And you will die for it.” He looked down at the map before him. Every inch of the harsh world was under his command, and he would sooner die then see it driven into the ground like the old God had almost done. Without turning, he continued. “Our world will become a crown jewel once more, just as it was at the dawn of our creation. But in order for that to happen, I must have obedience” He turned his head to the left and focused on one person in particular. “From all of you.” None of them had to turn to know who he was referring to. War stood still and silent. Growing more and more irritated with War, Damien continued, “And if that means you must suck in whatever pride you may have, then I expect you to do so.” “I… bow before no man…” And just like that, the entire platform which the map was laid upon burst into a fiery inferno. The flames went as high as to scorch the ceiling. The Horsemen, minus War, quickly turned to see Damien standing unscathed by the geyser of flames. The flames almost seemed to follow him as he began stepping towards War. “I…” War continued, unafraid, “will only act within my duties to the people of this land… I will not kill simply because you command it… I will not destroy simply because you desire it… And I will surely not bow down simply because you demand it…” The two stared at each other once more. The others chose to remain silent. “We shall see if this resolve proves strong enough to not be broken.” Damien walked past War and the others and began ascending the steps once more. “You are all dismissed.” ------------- “As long as King Varanesh is in control, we’ll never get our just rights! We didn’t get a choice in who rules us, so why do we have to live with the consequences of his tyranny?” Dante sighed and brought his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. War stood silently behind him, leaning against the far wall of the dimly lit room with his arms crossed and head bowed. The two stood before the heads of a rising rebel faction. It wasn’t big enough to call for extreme measures, but it also wasn’t small enough to totally ignore. They had been threatening to create an uprising if they didn’t receive better help during the harsher seasons and protection from some of the more aggressive creatures – both human and non-human – that may catch interest in the rather sizable town. They had even resorted to the manufacturing of projectile weapons. Of all the dishonorable forms of weaponry they could resort to, it just had to be guns. Said guns were ready in the hands of several men, and even some who could pass as children, and each of them were ready to pull the trigger should negotiations become less… tolerable. “And I will say it again,” Dante said, beginning to grow annoyed after repeating the answer he hated giving, “King Varanesh has not been…himself, as of late. He simply hasn’t had the time to continue fulfilling all his duties, one of which being the full protection of his people. He is trying his best under the current circumstances, but with a town this size and so far from the capitol—“ “Not been himself?” A man wearing a cap with a growing beard slammed his hands on the lone table that stood between them and the two Horsemen. “We’ve all heard the rumors, even this far out. Your ‘God’ is preparing himself for war! He’s more concerned with those damn high-class Angels that he’s forgotten about the people he had sworn to protect!” “Listen, I can assure you that there not going to be any kind of war with the Angels. Being a Horseman, I like to think I’m pretty ‘in the loop’ with these kinds of things. And if not me, then I’m sure that the Horseman of War back there would have some idea if things were about to go down.” Each of their eyes turned towards War. His head raised enough to the sound of his title being called for them to catch sight of his cold gaze. Some were unnerved by this, but one man who stood towards the back remained calm even while looking into such eyes. He stepped forward, tilting up his wide brimmed hat to reveal an aging face. “Are we to trust that there is no possibility of you being left out of that loop, boy?” “Vincent–“ The old man raised a hand, calling for silence. “Let an old man have his say.” War noticed Dante’s posture begin to stiffen. A small difference in his tone of voice was enough to show that he feared things coming to this. “Yes, father.” He said. He kept his arms crossed as an unconscious form of putting up a defense. “We’re an important part of the government. Outside of Varanesh’s Harbinger and Advent, we are of the highest rank. You can’t get any higher than where I am right now. And if he wants to go to war, I feel it would be appropriate to at least inform hisgenerals, wouldn’t it?” “That may be so,” Vincent di Ombre said, shifting his weight to one side and crossing his own arms. “But like you said… Varanesh hasn’t been himself lately.” “It is difficult to accept…” All eyes turned to War, who pulled his weight off from the wall to take a step forward, the light in the center of the room more clearly revealing the deathly style of his armor. “But we simply do not have the resources available for such a task… But we can assure you that you will be the first to receive our aid once we are able…” War began to walk towards the door, but stopped upon hearing a shout. “That’s not good enough!” The man from before spoke up. “By the time we receive the help we need, we’ll all be long gone! Either from abandoning this town or from being wiped out by those damned dragons that swoop in from the mountains!” Dante’s fingers curled into a fist, which he slammed down into the metal table, denting it greatly and causing the opposite side to hop off the ground for a moment. “Dammit…” a few heard him mutter. He turned his eyes back to his father and his people. Most seem startled by his outburst except for Vincent and War. A new flare of determination burned in his eyes. “Then I’ll do it.” He said. “I’ll defend my people on my own. I’m not happy about all this either; but this is my home town dammit, and I’ll die before I see it driven into the ground like this.” The militia looked rather surprised by his change of heart. Before long they were either cheering or clapping. Due to the commotion, none of them noticed War moving back towards the wall. He put a hand to the side of his head and his other hand to the wall for support. No one else in the room could hearing the deafening ringing in his hears that causing him such sudden pain. He began to shake under his armor and his breathing intensified. Vincent smiled before circling around the table to pat his son’s shoulder. “I knew you’d come through for us boy. Maybe with you on our side, we can finally get recognition this town had deserved after so many years.” “Are you sure that will be enough?” The nameless man from before spoke up once more, circling around from the opposite side. “I mean, yeah, your support will definitely help, but I think we’ll need a bit more if we want our rebellion to be—“ He was cut off as a large hand found itself gripping his face. War lifted him up to his height, causing his feet to leave the ground. “Correct me if I am mistaken…” War spoke in a completely different tone of voice than he normally gave. The man had his own hands wrapped around War’s wrist, trying to pry free. “But I believe that the punishment for open rebellion…” He continued stepping forward before slamming the back of the man’s skull into the wall. His body went limp as his head was completely crushed. “…Is death.” Dante was the first to react, “War! What the hell are you—“ He ran forward, grabbing the arm that hung at War’s side. War turned just enough for Dante to catch glimpse of his blood red eyes before War connect the back of his hand with Dante’s head, sending him into the wall and out into the hallway. Vincent ran out the open doorway to tend to his son. Back in the room, the soldiers aimed their rifles and fired at the great armored behemoth. War dropped the limp rebel and shielded his face with his forearm. The bullets uselessly deflected off his armor and the sound of crushed up shells clanged on the ground before him. Each of the soldiers watched in fear as War’s arm descended to reveal those bloodthirsty, glaring eyes. In a heartbeat he appeared before one of the men, punching him with enough strength to cause an audible crack from the sound of his bones breaking upon hitting the floor. War snatched out of the air the rifle he had been holding and quickly brought it to the other soldier’s face. He was a young man by comparison. The sight of the barrel mere inches from his face caused him to back into the wall. When he could retreat no further, he began to slump down towards the floor. He wasn’t quite sure which would give in first as he looked down at the pitiful sight before him: the walls that held back his tears, or the control over his bladder. It seemed that they would both cave in at once as War pulled the trigger, only for the response to be an audible click. It seemed that the prior owner had used up every round of ammunition in the fruitless endeavor of trying to kill one such as he the first time. War shrugged and tossed the gun carelessly to the side. “No matter.” He said casually before raising his other arm up with his palm forward. A blue light glowed from beneath his gloved hand before a powerful blast of energy blew everything apart. The force of energy was enough to blow the door off its hinges. Smoke and debris leaked into the hallway where Dante and Vincent had been. Dante grabbed his father by his jacket and quickly began leading him away. War raised his hand once again, firing another blast. The two took a turn just in time, avoiding the otherwise deadly attack. Feeling a small pain in his palm, he ceased the flow of energy and looked towards where the pain was centered. Most of the glove that covered his hand was gone now, and the skin beneath it had seemed to have melted or burned away. But below the skin was not muscle and blood, but armor plating. Engraved into the armor was a circle containing a five pointed star. Memories suddenly flowed into War’s mind. Memories of wearing a different kind of armor, and taking something sharp and driving it into his own hand, carving out the Seal he now stared at. It had been painful, or so War remembered, but being able to unleash attacks as often as he wished proved more than useful. Everything then faded to a haze of red. The loud ringing returned to his ears, threatening to destroy them. When it all faded once more, he found himself standing above a broken Dante. He was clutching his chest and lay amongst some equally broken rubble. War, despite efforts to stop himself, raised his palm up towards his former comrade, ready to send him to oblivion. He could only sit and watch as the energy swelled up in his palm, ready to be unleashed. A sudden sting hit his arm, sending it just far enough to the right for the blast to blow apart only the ground. Both eyes turned to see Vincent with a sword in one hand and a handgun in the other. The barrel had a small trail of smoke flowing out. “Run, son!” he shouted. Dante complied without thinking, trying to get away from his friend and would-be murderer. Vincent covered his son retreat with several more shots. These shots hit harder than those from the rifles for some reason. With each shot, War stumbled back a step. The volley stopped around the sixth shot. War moved the arm that was covering his face only for it to be met by a small round object. It clanged off his breastplate before exploding. As the smoke cleared, War still stood adamant. However, his breastplate now hung loose and some of the skin on his face had been blown off. Once again, beneath his skin was metal plating of either red or silver. He grabbed the breastplate by the collar and tore it off, revealing more scarring and armor. He felt his wings burst from his back as he shot forward, ready to take on this new challenge. Another haze of blood passed, blurring War’s vision. It came with the same intensities before fading just like before. This time, however, he had control over his body. He stood amongst mountains of rubble and destruction. The bunker that had once housed the small rebel group was now nothing more than ash. His eyes turned down to his own bloodied body. It was not his blood. The wounds that he had received were closing at a rapid pace, his skin fully regenerating. He flexed his wings, sensing that they were still there and intact. His little inspection was halted by the hushed sound of sobbing. His eyes scanned the area, looking, hoping, for that one person that survived his uncontrollable fury. His eyes found that person: a man in black, down on his knees and hunched over. His body throbbed with each near-silent sob. War slowly and cautiously made his way over. Dante didn’t seem to notice or just didn’t care. As he came closer, War noticed that Dante had something clutched close to his chest. A black, wide brimmed hat. War fell to his knees. What had he done? What had caused him to commit such an atrocity as murdering so many people without provocation? He reached out, hoping to try and calm the one he had called friend. His efforts to help were blown away as another sob found its way to his ears. He retracted his arm and began stepping back. Every essence of his body told him to right this wrong, but how? How could he stop something like this ever happening again? Coming to a conclusion for his punishment, he reached back and grabbed the first sword he found on the ground. He bent his head down and, in two swift cuts, severed his wings. They fell one after another, falling onto the hard and broken ground. Dante heard the sound of the cuts, causing him to cease his cries. He slowly turned and saw War, wingless and silent. His hair had fallen to cover most of his face, as it would for years to come. ------------- The echo of a world long past faded from War’s mind once more. His eyes opened to see, not another moment of the past, but instead he saw an orange sky. As his vision became clearer, he could see the softened twinkles of stars that were beginning to emerge and herald in the night. In his peripherals he could see the swaying leaves of trees. “It’s about time you woke up.” His eyes widened at the sound of the voice to his right. His head turned slowly to see, not a pony, but a human being just like him. His appearance revealed him to look no older than a teenager but his brilliant blue eyes were surprisingly piercing enough to make him appear as an adult. His hair was jet black and parted. He sat against a tree, a sheathed sword cradled between his legs and arms with a long wooden spear at his side. He wore simple leather and fur clothing, giving him the appearance of a cold-climate hunter. Tied around his neck was a black piece of cloth. A cloth that seemed oddly familiar… “H…Horrus..?” “I’m glad you remember me.” Horrus rose to his feet, carrying his sword by his side. “But… how?” Horrus used his sword as something to lean against as he stood above the one he fought so desperately those years ago. “It appears that our dear friend Pestilence had a surprising number of tricks up his sleeves. Including one such Nemod Sol… A strike set to destroy the very soul. I suppose I should be thankful that he did not take into account that Destruction was still alive and well inside me and wanted to make sure I stayed alive.” War probably wouldn’t have believed it if Horrus wasn’t here before him right now. “Now,” Horrus continued, “It appears we both have a bit of a problem on our hands.” Using the tip of the sheath he put pressure on War’s stomach. War bit his lip, unconsciously clenching his fist. Horrus didn’t seem to care much. “First, you are going to tell me how that monster is alive and active outside of your body. And then,” He pulled the blade from its sheath. It shone just as brightly as it did eight years ago. “We’re going to work out a way to kill him.” And so War told Horrus of how Desolate came to be. He told him of the Guardian and of his ability to manipulate other beings, Demon or pony. All the while Horrus had his eyes closed, visualizing the story that he was being told. By the time his story was finished, the night had come and the moon now presided over the sky. What bothered War, however, was the distant booming he would hear during his story. He questioned Horrus about it, but Horrus waved it off as nothing, saying there was little to do about it right now. War feared that he knew exactly what it was. And as much as he hated it, there really was little he could do to stop Desolate. Even if he could manage to stand, he’d only be killed for real this time, and lose more than just an arm in the process. Now that he was more conscious than he was before, he asked again. “How… exactly, did you come back to life again... and why you look like…that?” “I’ll explain later.” Horrus replied quickly. He set his sword on the ground and cracked his fingers. “Right now, we’re about to have visitors, and I need to get you back to full strength.” He strode over and drew a Seal above War’s crushed knee. War couldn’t see what kind of Seal it was but he could see that it was glowing a vibrant green instead of the regular blue. “Destruction was a master of Seals, creating hundreds beyond the ones that already existed.” Horrus said, reading War’s mind. “They were taught to me as a result. And I hope you enjoy the irony in the energy that was used to kill can be manipulated to heal just as much as I did.” The light intensified, and soon War felt like his leg was being torn off slowly. “By the way, it might hurt a bit.” Horrus said. War could almost hear the smile on his face.