Description

War
⌈And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword. And the name of this man was War.⌋

♠Theme

[url=link]30 Seconds to Mars - This Is War[/url]
[url=link]Eminem - 'Till I collapse[/url][url=link]Artist - Song[/url]
[url=link]Artist - Song[/url]

⌈Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind.⌋

⌈Nickname⌋
He has no monikers of the sort that would portray affection, although War goes by many names as well as faces. His current one, now that he is on the surface, is Bartram. He does not think it counts that his sister Alkedama calls him Bart.

⌈Age⌋
Just as the Angels, War is timeless. They know no beginning or end, and therefore he has no actual age. His appearance is somewhere in his mid-twenties.

⌈Gender⌋
Male

⌈Race⌋
Horseman | Spirit

⌈Role⌋
The 2nd Horseman [War]

⌈Face Claim⌋
Roy Mustang | Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood

⌈War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today..⌋

⌈Hair Color⌋
Black

⌈Eye Color⌋
Obsidian

⌈Skin Tone⌋
Creamy

⌈Height⌋
5'10"

⌈Weight⌋
175 lbs

⌈Physical Description⌋
Bartram is a rather handsome man with a sharp face and a body lean and lithe of muscle. He is tall, as well, and is often fawned on by many ladies. It doesn't help that his human occupation is that of a cop.

⌈The objective of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his.⌋

⌈Potential Interest⌋
None at the current moment: His love is fighting, and death is his mistress. Or, you could say that Death is his brother. Both are true.

⌈Skills⌋

Manipulation

Killing

⌈Abilities⌋

Pyrokinesis

The Rising

⌈War does not determine who is right - only who is left.⌋

⌈Habits⌋

Scowling

Old Speak

⌈Likes⌋

Death

Chaos

⌈Dislikes⌋

Angels

Order

⌈Strengths⌋

Alamgir

Manipulation

Whatever

⌈Weaknesses⌋

Understanding

Holiness

⌈All war is deception.⌋

⌈Personality⌋

Mad | Destructive | Cruel | Confident

Bartram is exactly what he seems: cold and calculating, he is a master at manipulation and even better at killing things. He has the utmost confidence in his abilities, and prides himself on being able to make Alamgir surface within Kirito. All Bartram needs to do is be within twenty feet of the boy, and his brother automatically rises. He also tends to have a measure of control over his other brother, Khalid. He also tends to be his sister's voice of reason.

Bartram enjoys making people uncomfortable and enjoys watching them suffer. Often he watches from afar as events that he set in motion come to fruition, and cruel smile on his face all the while.

⌈In war you will die like a dog for no good reason.⌋

⌈History⌋
Bartram has existed long before the world did, though he has not always been on it. Eons were spent in nothingness, and he was born into the man his is now roughly fifteen years ago, only a few years after his brother Alamgir came into this earth. Bartram knows exactly what he must do, and it is almost time for the horseman to move. He must make sure that Alamgir has complete control over Kirito, so that the four Horsemen an ride to their destinies.

⌈War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse.⌋

So begins...

Bartram's Story

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Setting

New York City, New York

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#2013-12-21 02:10:21, as written by Dynamite

The Mad Raven was one of those dimly-lit, smoky places leftover from the Prohibition era, where one had had to be clandestine about the consumption of alcohol. The wooden tables and wooden floors were all dark, the walls an off-white that had grown hazy and dull and occasionally stained over the years. Despite this, it still had some polish to it—everything therein was well-made, crafted by hand back when there’d been no other choice. The glasses gleamed, the wood shined, but the overall atmosphere was dark, almost claustrophobic. Perhaps it would have been, if Khalid remembered what it felt like to fear anything.

He’d come uncomfortably close to remembering, in her presence. Sephiriel. The angel who’d almost slain him, all those years ago. He didn’t hate her for that—privately, he thought it might have been better if she’d succeeded in that. But she hadn’t, because he had stepped in, given up all his glory and his purpose so that Death might live another day. Fate, he had always known, appreciated a bit of dramatic irony every now and then.

This time, all he carried for Dama was a large package of licorice, but he’d thought it at least somewhat important that he report his findings to Bartram in a timely manner. The two of them were located in a back room, perhaps the only reason Dama was allowed in at all, and he handed her the package silently before turning his attention to War. “There were complications,” he said before the question could be asked. “Heaven has chosen a Champion, and Alamgir was suppressed. There was little chance of taking him away from a Seraph, the Lady, and a Demon Prince. Especially if he were not willing to go.” He wasn’t sure, but perhaps even the full measure of aura that he would allow himself to use might not have worked. Beyond that, and he would have needed to resort to his father’s blood, and not just his power as a Horseman. That was something Khalid did not do. Whatever the reason.

This, too, was all part of the grand weave of the end times, however, and so Khalid did not see it as presenting a particular difficulty. Indeed, that Sephiriel had been sent so early meant that there was a greater chance for her power to be corrupted before she undertook the Tribulation. And if she failed there, then the game would belong to those who planned and schemed as Bartram did… and to Khalid’s sire. Who won the day in the end was the one thing that none were permitted to see.

Bartram had been nursing his empty mug for perhaps five minutes when he felt Khalid's approach. All of the Horsemen had a sense of knowing when one of them were nearby. Bartram was not at all pleased. Khalid was alone. Still, he said nothing, allowing Death to explain, which he did. Bartram sighed. "It is Kirito who is unwilling, not Alamgir. But with with the Champion being chosen so early...I do not like this."

"Bart doesn't like anything. Bart is never happy unless he is killing something." There were three empty ice cream dishes in front of her, and she was already half-way through the bag of licorice. Bartram shot her a silent glare. "Thank you for your excellent classification of me, Akeldama." He returned his attention to Khalid. "I suppose this was partially my fault. I underestimated the mobility of their pawns."

Something dark flashed behind Khalid’s bright blue eyes, but his face did not otherwise change. “I once made a similar mistake,” was all he said, and then he took a seat. A member of the wait staff brought him a drink, and for a while, he just stared into it, before he picked it up and tossed it back, setting the shot glass back onto the table with a soft clink. “They’ve chosen the Storm-Singer.” Neither Bartram nor Akledama knew of his history with Sephiriel—this was something he’d kept to himself, but Bart at least would know her by reputation. The Second Sword of Heaven, after only Michael himself.

The ironic thing was that, if not for Khalid, it likely would have been Michael, not Sephiriel, who was chosen for this task. The Horsemen had been hoping for the selection of Gabriel or Raphiel—the first because he was more peaceful than his brothers, and more likely to try something other than force, which would never work. The second because they were most prepared for him, as it had been hinted in the Book that he had something to do with it. Also… he was known to be on poor terms with the people in question, and internal conflict would have helped their purposes. Sephiriel was a better warrior than either of them, but a riskier choice, because she was not a diplomat. “I suppose it might be best to leave them for a while. She may well dig her own grave,” Death observed neutrally. He knew better than most just how hard it was going to be for her to get along with them.

"Or she may well dig out her trenches. We need Alamgir now. We go back. This time, with all of us." He did not mean immediately, of course. That was tantamount to suicide, but he was not going to sit by and simply watch. The longer that Kirito was in the presence of the angel, the easier it would be for him to suppress Conquest, no matter how much influence the other three exerted. Bartram could bring Alamgir forth with no question, but Kirito would be fighting just as hard.

"Does that mean Dama gets to come, too?! Dama wants to see Gir! Oh, oh, isn't Azzy Gir's father?! Can Dama squish him, Bart? Please?" Few knew about Akeldama's history with Asmodeus. Akeldama had come from Asmodeus' circle, originally. A little odd, as one would expect her to come from Gluttony, but she did not. She and Asmodeus had once fought for the rule of Treachery, and she had lost. She was looking forward to getting back at him.

For once, Bartram did not scowl at the girl. "If he gets in the way, yes. Yes you can, Akeldama."

Khalid looked at the empty glass in front of him for a moment. It was really a shame that alcohol had no affect on him whatsoever. Being drunk for this might have been kinder. But if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that the world was never kind to him. So he sighed softly through his nose and leveled his eyes on the other two. “As you wish,” he said, “But I do not think this will work as you expect it to work…” There was a pain growing behind his left eye, and the mark that bisected it tingled faintly.

Fate was up to her old tricks again.

Setting

New York City, New York

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#2013-12-24 03:44:49, as written by Naga's Shadow

Alamgir quietly slipped out of the window. He had things to do, and he’d be damned if he let some lapdog of Heaven get in his way. Oh, wait, he already was damned. That thought made him smile as he walked toward the Police station. It was a bit odd, really. Bartram was always flashy, but head of Police? Alamgir shook his head.

The receptionist gave him an odd look when he asked for Bartram, but called him back nonetheless. The first thing Alamgir did was duck and dodge a tackling hug from Akeldama, who had shrieked happily and tried to launch herself at him. He glanced back at her, the girl sprawled across the floor, giggling like a mad woman.

”Gir! Dama missed you!”

Alamgir rolled his eyes. ”Yeah, I missed you too, kid.” His eyes lighted on Bartram. ”So, I made it. Delayed, but hey, I’m here all the same.”

Bartram sat with his hands in front of his mouth. ”Well? What is our next move, Alamgir?”

Alamgir looked at him, amused. ”We wait. It’s not time yet, and there is little we can do. Frankly I’m not entirely sure why you summoned me, Bart. My leash will get even shorter, now that Sephiriel is here, and she knows about my living situation.”

”So….Gir isn’t gonna stay? But Dama doesn’t want Gir to leave…Oh, Dama knows! Dama can squish the angel!”

“The angel isn’t very squishy, Dama,” Khalid replied, flatly as ever. “And I don’t look forward to being us when she and the rest track you here, Alamgir.” He wasn’t sure that meeting here now was entirely advisable, actually, but he was enough in this to show up when summoned. Nevertheless, it was clear he had no particular love of the scheming, and he chose mostly to stare out the nearest window into the darkness beyond. It was… uncomfortable, when they were all together. He could feel the evil inside himself, stirring where he’d buried it deeply. Not the Horseman—that was something he’d accepted long ago. He didn’t fear it. What he did fear was the hateful power of his father, that resided in him still, buried so far down he hoped he’d never have to reach it again.

Akeldama’s face fell. ”Oh…but Bart said Dama could squish her…”

Alamgir smiled slightly. ”Perhaps later, kid. And as for Seph, she won’t be tracking me here, because you and I are about to leave, Deathy. The kid wants to talk to you. That’s really the only reason I came at all. So, Dama, you stay here with Barty, okay?”

Dama puffed out her cheeks, but agreed nonetheless. Bartram scowled, but said nothing. He really had no say in what any of them did, even if he didn’t agree with it. When nothing more was said, Alamgir stood up, looking at Khalid. ”Well, Khalid?”

[font=cambria]Kirito wanted to speak to him? The news didn’t even put a crack in his tranquil expression, but Khalid had not expected it even so. He blinked slowly at Alamgir, and then pushed himself up off the wall he’d been leaning against. “Very well,” he said at last, and followed Alamgir from the building. They walked a ways, but Death did not particularly take note of where they were going, or care. It wasn’t as though he could get lost, exactly. “And what does Kirito Fuhen wish to say to me?” he asked, still in a monotone. He’d stopped walking, though.

Alamgir only smiled slightly, stopping when Khalid did. "Ask him yourself. See you around, Deathy." And with that, the slow coloration of the man who stood before Khalid changed from red and white to all purple, Kirito re-emerging. For a second, he only looked at the other horseman, who stood and waited.

"I seem to be running into a lot of people lately who either think that they have no choice in matters or they're too stupid to realize they have them. I'd ask which one you are, but I'm pretty sure I already know. You look just like I did not too long ago. So, maybe it's stupid to even bring it up, but, I've never denied that I was stupid."

He paused, taking a breath. "You and I are a lot alike. We're both half-demon and half-annunaki. And we're both horsemen. Yet we're standing on different sides of the tracks here. I'm just a little curious as to why you've chosen the destruction of all humanity rather than fighting against it."

A slight breeze stirred the bone-colored hair atop Khalid’s head, but aside from that, he may well have been a statue for all he moved. There was something flat to his eyes as he regarded Kirito, the only sign that he’d even heard was the way his eyebrow ticked upwards by a few centimeters. “Is that all?” he asked simply, breaking his stillness at last only to tug at the end of the black glove that extended halfway over his upper arm, and all the way down. The flesh beneath and above was all inked solid black, actually. Michael was not the only one who needed to remind himself of something.

He glanced up from what he was doing to lock eyes with Kirito. “We are not so alike as you think, Conquest. Your father is a demon, a reformed one at that, and he loves you. My father is the demon, and I imagine he would take great pleasure in ending my life himself, were he able. My mother is dead, and I know her only through the stories of others. I was never given the illusion of choice. The only thing I have ever decided is whether to live, or to die. Now, I endure the consequences of that selfish decision, and wait for the day when I bring misery to people who do not deserve it. I once watched a man fight fate, and the choices he made will, in some small way, destroy the world themselves. We choose, perhaps, but nothing changes.”

It was more than he usually said at once, and for a moment, he wondered why he was even inclined to explain himself. “I have lived in this world for more years than I can properly count, Kirito, and I have not yet seen anything worth saving in it. I will do what I must, and so will you, when the time comes.”

Kirito's jaw clenched slightly, but other than that, he reacted about as much as Khalid did. His eyes did darken slightly, the more Khalid explained. "Now that has to be the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. We have choices, everyone, for everything we do. I could go on a killing spree using my father's blood. I don't. Alamgir could easily just take over right now, yet he does not. You have a choice. You're simply too self-absorbed to see it. At our core, we are alike, whether you choose to see it that way or not. When the day comes when you have to make the biggest choice, I can only hope you make the right one."

At that, he simply sighed through his nose, released the jet-black wings he'd inherited from his father, and took off. He did hover for a bit, first, throwing one last tidbit out there. "You can still choose to not do this. And if you can't find anything to save, then do it for yourself. Selfish reasons are better than blindly following what you call fate."

Without another word, he took off. He truly did love flying. He landed in a tree near the center of Central Park, folding his wings in, the darkness cloaking him from the late-night park walkers, of which there seemed to be plenty. Alamgir poked at the back of his mind, but he ignored him.

Selfish? He had always been selfish. It was why he was alive instead of dead. Because he’d reached for his power when she should have rejected it. It was ironic, that the boy called him selfish like it was a pejorative, then told him to save the world for selfish reasons. As though he were capable of such a thing. No… they were not alike at all. Shaking his head, he flickered and vanished.

Sephiriel, meanwhile, was flying in a beeline for Central Park. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that Kirito was missing, and though Alamgir had complicated the matter of finding him, she’d felt the shift that meant one had changed to the other a little while ago, and she flew now swiftly to his location, invisible to the few humans about below. She found herself in a park, and alighted gracefully on the ground, banishing her wings and going on foot the rest of the way, until she found herself beneath the tree he was perched in.

She had heard much talk of Asmodeus’s black wings, but she had hitherto been unaware that his child had inherited them. Nevertheless, she did not react overmuch, placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head back to look up at him. She didn’t say anything, though; by now she could guess that he would put plenty of her words in her mouth for her. He tended to do that, as though he knew everyone better than they knew their own thoughts. She was scowling as usual, of course, and the look radiated enough disapproval that words were perhaps entirely unnecessary.

Kirito was not at all surprised to see Sephiriel. He was actually a bit surprised it had taken her this long. And the way she was scowling at him...he shivered slightly. She reminded him of his mother. Still, he said nothing, simply jumping, landing gracefully next to her, his wings folding in and vanishing.

He looked at her, a placid expression on her face for a second before saying, "You know, people probably wouldn't be so hesitant to be nice to you if you smiled a bit more. Right now you resemble a she-wolf with endangered cubs. Not exactly the most approachable thing on earth."

“It is not my job to be ‘approachable,’” Sephiriel replied shortly, lowering her hands back down to her sides. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Not that you seem to have much concern for what my job is, of course.” Because if he had, he wouldn’t have run off on his own like a complete idiot. Did he not understand that there were people out there, powerful people, who would love nothing more than to kill or possess the Antichrist? She wasn’t thinking of the other Horsemen, either. Even they were only pieces, parts of the seething, roiling whole that would eventually mean the end of the world, and if they were not victorious, existence itself.

A small pause, and then she seemed inclined to drop it, mostly because they’d never get anywhere on this topic—both of them were too stubborn to really resolve anything at the moment. “Does your little night-tour of the city have any more required stops, or will you rejoin your family now?” As she was presently here, she didn’t care. It was easier when the Witnesses were together, but Cassiel was with Michael now, and Asmodeus and the Lady and Tsukiyo. It would be difficult to be safer. Not that anything was truly safe anymore. Not for them.

Kirito watched her for a while, contemplating. She seemed to think that everyone was out to get him and Cass in one way or another. Maybe they were, too, he really had no idea. But that didn't mean he was going to let it -or her- stop him from living. Antichrist or no, he still had choices, as he'd just impressed, or tried to, upon his fellow horseman. So, he grinned slightly. "Well, I wasn't planning on it, but yes, now that you're here, there are a few places you can go. Actually, there's once place in particular. I haven't been in a while, they'll probably be excited to see me. Do you have any idea what a night club is?"

She didn’t like the look on his face. That half-cocked grin was one she was used to seeing on Uriel’s visage, and it always meant trouble. Actually, considering this was Uriel’s grandson, she wasn’t surprised. But she’d told him that she wasn’t to make his choices for him, and she’d been telling the truth then. So she sighed through her nose and crossed her arms over her chest, banishing her armor back to the apartment, leaving her in the clothes from earlier that day, and resolved into visibility. “I have a feeling I’m about to find out,” she replied sourly.

Kirito's grin only deepened. "Yup. You get to see one of the many reasons I will not simply give in to Conquest." With that, he turned, headed in the direction more or less considered the slums. It was a crappy part of the city, graffiti everywhere, garbage, a few homeless people, and more than a city full of abandoned buildings. One such building was blasting music so loud that you could hear it a block and a half away. Some and different colored lights flooded the dark alleyway, and Kirito simply pushed the door open.

Instantly, he was tackled by two guys, one putting him in a head-lock while the other gave him a noogie. "Aw, c'mon, TJ, you'll ruin the hair!"

"Kiri! The hell, man, I haven't seen you in forever! We thought you'd up and left us!"

They let him go, all three of them grinning from ear to ear. Kirito leaned forward, yelling over the sound of the music, "Don't tell Rex I'm here yet, I gotta show Seph around before they start the begging!" Tj, a tall man with hair as blue as the Doctor's Police Box, leaned over, looking at Sephiriel. He waved slightly, nodding his head in her direction.

"Howdy, little lady. You got it, Kiri, but just remember, you kinda stand out." Kirito grinned. "Don't remind me."/color] Kirito jerked his head at Seph, leading her back to one of the empty corner booths. The place was packed. [color=#1bacde]"Welcome to The Streets."

And that's just what the place was. It was nothing more than a dance hall, really. There were over a hundred people, young and old, and no alcohol in sight. They were all there to simply do what they enjoyed: dancing.

She didn’t really understand what this place had to do with Conquest, but she supposed he might simply be referring to the fact that he didn’t like to give things up that he liked, that he found them worth having. The music was a bit loud for her to think properly, and she could feel the bass tones thudding through the ground, traveling up her legs and spine in vibrations. She returned the nod she was given, though she didn’t say anything—she’d probably have to shout to be heard, and she wasn’t much inclined.

Sephiriel wasn’t quite sure she approved of Kirito’s calling her by the familiar nickname, but she was even less certain that she liked being called a little lady. She was thin, obviously, and not overly tall, at five and a half feet, but diminutives were not her favorite thing. Still, she supposed the humans could be forgiven for it. As long as they weren’t actually trying to demean her, and it seemed unlikely. She slid into the seat across from Kirito, glancing around the area with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. That was fairly normal for her, honestly, given how little she knew of her surroundings.

“What is the purpose of this establishment?” she asked dubiously, frowning a bit. He’d been right about one thing—she wasn’t someone who naturally found herself inclined to smile.

Kirito shook his head slightly, propping his head in his hand, watching her in a amusment. "It's somewhere you can be yourself. Just watch." He looked over to Tj, and nodded. The man grinned, and headed over to the Dj, whispering in his ear. The music suddenly stopped, and the dj shouted in his mike, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to say, we have a very special guest tonight. We haven't seem him in weeks, put all ya'lls hands together, Kirito actually came back!"

There was a hush before an upsurge of applause, and Kiri only grinned. He glanced over at Sephiriel and winked as the music began to play again, and he stood up, shedding his coat. All he had on was a simple pair of jeans and a black sleeveless shirt.

And then, he danced. This was who he was, and what made him happy. It was why he would never stop fighting. Everyone here accepted him, and didn't judge him, or expect him to be something. Here, he was just Kirito. And that was all he had to be.

Be herself? She was herself everywhere. What else was she supposed to be? Nevertheless, she decided not to point this out. Perhaps it was simply another mortal plane thing that she did not understand. Judging from the loud words—the man’s amplified voice reminded her of a certain time when Metatron had shouted at Gabriel, only that had carried the full power of thunder—and the reaction from those assembled, Kirito was well-known here. She only blinked at the odd closing of one of his eyes but not the other, wondering for a moment if he had something stuck in it, but it seemed to be taken care of, because he headed out onto some open space thereafter, the crowd parting for him.

She wasn’t sure exactly what to call what followed, as it looked very alien to her, but then, that was pretty typical. She supposed it was a motion art form, like the kinds of dancing she knew and also the fighting arts, but it was very different. Sephiriel propped her hand on her chin, listening to the music and observing the way the motions seemed to compliment the choppy, bass-heavy nature of it. There was a certain symmetry, she supposed, and she nodded thoughtfully.

It took him three dances, but Kirito finally managed to get away from the crowd. He was sweaty, but grinning from ear to ear as he went back to the table where Sephiriel still sat. He grabbed his jacket, jerking his head at the door. As much as he loved it here, he never stayed very long. And by now, his sour mood had vanished, though heavy thoughts still weighed on his mind.

It was as they were walking in silence that Kirito actually voiced one of them. He supposed it would sound rather odd and maybe even arbitrary to her, but he asked all the same. "Have you ever just wanted to be something else? Something other than what you are?" The expression on his face was a light one, but there was a slight undertone to his voice.

She considered her answer gravely, her footsteps matched in time with his. This was a skill she had learned long ago, though admittedly, she was usually a half-step behind the people she guarded. She had a feeling that would make most humans uncomfortable, however, and whatever else he was, Kirito had been raised like a human. “Of course I have,” she said at last. Folding her hands behind her back, Sephiriel watched her feet on the sidewalk for a little while longer before she decided to elaborate. “I have lived a very long time, Kirito. I do not think that anyone who watches ages pass by never wonders what it would be like to be otherwise than they are, and I think many of us come to desire it, too. There are times when I have wanted to be a lesser angel, or a man, or even a human being. But these things have always passed. There is no use wanting to be what one is not, only in striving to improve what one is.”

Kirito smirked slightly. That was a more straight forward answer than his father had given him, when he asked. She was right, of course, but...even with all of his bravado, and all his fighting, it never got easier. Alamgir still got out, and around the other horsemen, he didn't have a choice, Alamgir surfaced whether he fought or not. His smile was bitter when he answered, "Yeah? And just how in the hell do you make being the fucking antichrist a better situation?"

[font=cambria]She looked up at him sharply, her eyes narrowed, though not with anger. Lifting her chin as though to compensate for the difference in height between them, Sephiriel spoke firmly. “You remember that it is not all you are. Even I can see that you are a convergence unto yourself, a piece of chaos in order. You accept this about yourself, and you harness it. You remember that Alamgir is you, but that Kirito is also Alamgir.” She looked away again and frowned, the expression somewhere between thoughtful and troubled. “But perhaps I have said too much.” She was no guide, only a guardian.

Kirito had looked down at her, surprised at her tone. Something she said made sense, more than he thought it would. He'd heard something like it before, of course, and from quite a few diferent people, but...

Something about hearing it from someone who was not family seemed to make it click. A slow smile creeped across his face, and he just shook his head slightly. "Thanks, Sephiriel. I needed to hear that."[/justify]

Setting

New York City, New York

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#2013-12-28 04:03:28, as written by Nephilim

Sephiriel, of course, knew exactly what the aborted sentence had been about to finish with, but she wasn’t about to say it. There were some words that, once spoke, could alter the course of fate itself. Some words had power—she knew that very well indeed. If she or anyone else said them now, things might not go as they were supposed to. Her chance of failing in her sacred mandate would increase, and if she failed, the world failed with her. So it was a bit of an underestimation to say she was relieved when they never actually made it out into the open air.

Kaz looked back and forth between Momo and Des for a moment, a sly little smile that Asmodeus knew very well flickering over her face before she returned to the matter at hand. “So, we get them back,” she told the girl. “How exactly are we supposed to go about that? Is there a plan or is this a ‘make it up as we go along’ situation? We’re pretty good at those, actually.”

Morgan rolled out his shoulders, his neck cracking in the process. "Until the seven years of Tribulation actually start, War and Famine can switch bodies, move from host to host. But once it starts, they're sealed in whatever body they're in, for good. The problem is, no one really knows when the Tribulation will start. That's something that changes with every passing second. It's never constant. So, we're pretty much winging it. Frankly, we're not sure how to get them out of their hosts." He had smiled at Tsuki, shaking his head slightly. Always the emotional one. It became rather apparent just how much he'd missed them in the last fifteen years.

Desdemona, on the other hand, was far from pleased. Her scowl had only deepened the longer the conversation dragged on, and finally, she couldn't take it any longer. "No." She said sharply, and Morgan cast her a sideways glance, but allowed her to continue speaking. He knew it would do him little good to try and stop her. "There is no we, and there never will be a we. Morgan and I can handle this on our own."

Morgan sighed through his nose. "Des..." He said slowly, when he trailed off. His attention was taken by two things: the sudden upsurge in Kirito's aura, and the sudden appearance of another aura altogether.

Bartram had appeared across the street from them, and in response, Alamgir stood where Kirito had. There was little time for any sort of reaction, as a split second later, Des had gone straight for War. Morgan had taken only one step when he was stopped by a hand at his throat. Crimson eye met crimson eyes, Alamgir grinning up at him. Morgan could only smirk slightly. "Conquest."

"Mammon."

With that simple word, the two of them vanished, reappearing a short distance away from each other, and one thing had changed about both of their appearances: Alamgir was now sporting the black wings of his father, whereas Morgan's wings were a deep crimson that matched his hair. Morgan scoffed slightly. He didn't have time for this. Des was not faring well against War, the Horseman was simply toying with her.

Cass, As! Get Des, get her out of here! I can handle Alamgir."

As nodded once, glancing over at Caspar. Of course, he did until something rather hard hit him, sending him backwards into the building next to him hard enough to crack the wall.

"Hello, Azzy....Bart said Dama can kill you. So Dama is going to kill you."

As groaned, blood running down his face from the top of his head. Great, this chick. This day just kept getting better and better.

“Like Hell you are!” someone else answered, and a sturdy shoulder plowed into Akeldama’s emaciated-looking side. Kazehana did not look pleased, but she had not forgotten that this was Des’s sister. Whether the girl wanted their help or not, she was going to get it—that was what they did for the people that helped one of their own, and taking Asaroth into her body to help Morgan definitely counted. So killing Famine (because hello, the skinny Horseman was obviously Famine) wasn’t an option, but that wasn’t to say that she’d take kindly to the girl threatening her husband. Not by a damn long shot. Conjuring several soul spheres, Kaz used them to try and pin Akeldama to a wall, as she’d once done in a practice bout to the demon fighting her son.

The weird was back, and it never seemed to run out of ways to throw her for a loop.

Cass, on the other hand, stepped in to help Desdemona, who was obviously struggling against War. Though Seph looked narrow-eyed for a moment at the fight between Alamgir and Mammon, she did not join it, determining that in the end, Bartram was the bigger threat here. She doubted the demon would even think of killing Conquest, and she’d deal with it when it happened if he attempted the feat. There was a flash of light, and Sephiriel was once more bedecked in her shining armor, a longsword in her left hand and a shield in her right. Cass was holding a simply massive zweihander, which he swung around as though it weighed nothing, forcing War back from the green-haired girl.

When Kazehana slammed into Akeldama's side, it was like hitting a brick wall. Akeldama barely even moved. Her red eyes only swiveled over to the purple-haired woman, a slightly confused look on her face. Then, a look of knowing passed through her eyes. "Oh, Dama knows you, you're the Lady." She looked at the soul spheres, and then, she leaned forward, swallowing it whole. She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Oh....that was yummy. It's too bad you're the Lady...Dama would love to eat your soul...but Dama isn't allowed to kill you...Bart would get angry." She looked almost rueful for a second, her gaze returning to As, whom she glared at.

She jumped lightly, and vanished, reappearing in the air above As. All it took was one light touch on top of his head with the ball of her bare foot. For a second, As didn't feel a thing. And then, there was a crushing amount of pain at the top of his skull, blood leaking from his ears as he collapsed. "Dama said she would squish you, Azzy..."

Bartram, on the other hand, had simply been blocking and dodging the girl's swings, whose anger and fear and pain were only making her less powerful, and reckless. He had come for one reason: to get Conquest. He'd expected Sephiriel to be present, not the entire family. He wasn't even sure who this Desdemona was, or why she was so intent on attacking him with a Soul Scythe, of all things.

It was when Sephiriel and Caspar stepped in that he finally did attack. With a flick of his wrist, a stream of fire shot directly at Desdemona, wrapping onto her wrist and forcing her to let go of the weapon. Caspar swung at him, and the Horseman only flickered, the blade passing through him harmlessly. Desdemona's eyes widened. He shouldn't be able to do that, not yet anyway. With another flick, he sent the girl flying straight into Caspar, his attention then focusing on Sephiriel. "Well, Storm-Singer?"

Morgan, on the other hand, figured there was only one way to end this. Asmodeus was in a bad way, and with three Horsemen present, it was likely that only Sephiriel stood a chance against Bartram right now, and even that chance was slim. So, he acted. He knew what War wanted. Well, he could have it. Morgan feigned a duck, instead making for the Scythe that Des had dropped. Sure enough, Alamgir followed him, and as soon as Morgan took hold of the weapon, he swung it, the blade passing through the horseman. For a second, Alamgir froze, a look of surprise passing over his face. The blade hadn't harmed him.

That was when something strange happened. Conquest grabbed both sides of his head, and with a bright surge of dark energy combined with an odd crackling noise, Kirito and Alamgir stood about three feet apart, mirror images of each other save for their coloration. Both of them blinked at each other, and then they both passed out. Morgan caught Kirito, letting Alamgir go. He turned to Bartram. "Well, he's what you wanted, right? Then take him and get out of here."

For a second, Bartram glanced at them all, disbelief in his eyes. He then simply picked up Conquest and said shortly, "Akeldama!" He then turned on his heel and vanished. Dama giggled, glancing down at Asmodeus. "Looks like Azzy lucked out today. Dama thinks you should get some help though. Bye-bye!" With a giggle and a twirl, she, too, vanished.

Kaz was at Asmodeus’s side immediately, gently inspecting his head wound. She converted two of her spheres into wisps of energy, treading these through her fingers and touching the point of impact as gently as she could. This would not heal immediately, not even with as much as she could give it. Cass and Tsuki were superior healers to she, but she could do something to help him—though it was the furthest thing from good, the wound was not fatal. “Shit, shit, shit… talk to me, As,” Her free hand moved to his cheek, resting there gently.

Her focus was such that she almost missed what was happening to her son, but though there was nothing she could do about it, she watched War carry Alamgir away. “What the Hell, Morgan! That’s my son you’re letting him walk away with!” Not that she was sure there was really anything else to do; though Cass and Sephiriel were still fine, Desdemona wasn’t looking good, and Kirito was unconscious. The fallen angel set the girl gently on her feet, shaking his head.

If Khalid had shown up to this fight, it may well have become a slaughter. Caspar was actually somewhat interested in the fact that he hadn’t, when his presence would have made it quite the decisive stroke for the Horsemen. Sephiriel looked thunderous—though Bartram hadn’t scratched her, she hadn’t managed to do anything to him, either, and now one of her charges was gone. “There’d better be a good reason for this,” she said slowly, referring to the fact that Mammon had let Bartram walk away with Alamgir in hand. “Otherwise, I’m going after him.” It wasn’t smart, but it was her job to guard him, and she was feeling very much like a failure right now. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to, and she didn’t like it one damn bit.

Before either Fuhen knew what was going on, the battle that had sprung from nowhere resulted in most of them being hurt, and Kazehana was trying her hardest to heal Asmodeus. Immediately, Tsukiyo beckoned Cassiel to follow her, and she obliged her mother. Tsukiyo set a hand on Kazehana's shoulder as Cassiel went around to the other side, rubbing her hands together to kickstart the warmth. "Cassie can take over from here Kaz," she spoke to her sister, ushering her away from Asmodeus so Cassiel could have better leverage. Cassiel glanced towards her aunt and offered a smile before returning her attention towards Asmodeus.

"You're wounds are going to need an accelerant, so this might hurt a bit Uncle Dei-Dei," she stated, hovering over the unconscious demon. Taking a deep breath, she summoned her light and began threading her fingers together, however; if one peered close enough, they would notice small bouts of fire mixed in with the light. The fire would force the skin to singe slightly, causing its natural instincts to heal while being aided by the healing factor inherited from both parents. Once she was finished, Cassiel sighed, leaning back on her legs slightly. "There. Uncle Dei-Dei should be fine...for now," she stated, glancing up at Kazehana with a tired, yet bright smile.

Morgan let out an exasperated sigh. "Your son is going to be just fine. Alamgir will have no choice but to return. They are of one soul, he can't survive without Kirito, and he well knows it. What I did was the only way to ensure we all came out of this alive." Des looked weary, holding her wrist gingerly.

"He has forty-eight hours to return to his other half. Kirito will not wake up until he does. But will Bartram simply let him leave?"

"He won't have a choice. Aside from that, none of the Horsemen command any of the others, not entirely. War can't stop him from leaving. Go after him if you feel you must, Sephiriel, but it would tantamount to suicide."

Desdemona sighed. Like it or not, they were all tied together in this. She picked up her scythe, stowing it away. "We should get off the streets. Prince or not, it will take Asmodeus a while to wake up. Famine's attacks are nothing short of brutal. Morgan is right, Alamgir will have no other choice than to return. It is not the greatest of solutions, but it is perhaps the best one available right now."

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#2014-02-24 21:37:13, as written by Dynamite

Akeldama's big red eyes swiveled back and forth between Khalid and Bartram, for once, uneasy with her two brothers. Bartram had announced that it was time they retrieved Alamgir. While the Horseman of Famine was excited to get her third and final brother back, she was unsure about his plan in doing so. Even so, she kept quiet, until something caught her attention.

"Bart...will Azzy be there?"

Bartram looked over at Akeldama, a scowl on his face. He nodded once, and smirked slightly at the sadistic, cruel grin that spread over the albino girl's face. If there was any way to motivate the girl, it was with the chance to kill someone, especially Asmodeus.

"Yes, I am sure the Prince will be with his son. The others are all gone, the Witnesses are alone other than Asmodeus and Storm-Singer." That may prove daunting for some, but with all four of the Horsemen together, it would be nothing. "I will leave the other Witness to you, Death. Conquest will be my dealing."

Khalid did not like the plan. Mostly because he’d never liked anything about what he was supposed to be, the fact that he had to kill people to fulfill his purpose least of all. But this was a war, or it would soon be a war, and his place in it had been decided long before any of this. Long before his birth even. What could the child of the Devil be but a monster?

Still, monster though he may be, he was not one who enjoyed his nature. He enjoyed even less the role that he was to take in this venture. Sephiriel, he knew could withstand him for long enough for Bartram to do whatever he needed to do. Kirito, he would fight if he had to—with regret, but he would do it all the same. Cassiel, though… she still didn’t even know what he was. Khalid did not have meaningful connections with people. He knew this. Had chosen it, in fact, to avoid precisely this kind of problem. But… something about the fact that she didn’t know he was Death, it made him feel… nice. He could practically hear his father’s voice in his head, mocking him for that. What right did he have to take advantage of the kindness she so freely offered? He thought… he didn’t know what he thought, to be completely honest with himself, and he usually was.

He did not want to fight her. Beyond that, he was not sure he would be able to. Fate was unfair, as she’d always been, making someone as gentle as Cassiel the second Witness. He was long over how unfair it was that he had to be twice-damned, once for his father and once for his own status as a Horseman. The Horseman everyone hated the most, at that. None of this made it to his face, which was simply blank as ever, though something in the nameless void he might once have called a heart shuddered at what he was going to do. He felt… revulsion, towards himself as ever, but the strength of it was even greater than what he was used to. Nevertheless, he accepted it, and merely nodded to Bartram. Perhaps he should warn War that what he thought he would be able to accomplish would not be so easy.

But he didn’t.

Kirito shivered, something feeling...off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and neither could Alamgir; he'd asked. His hair was an even mixture of purple and white as he absentmindedly messed with the shadows around him. His skin was crawling, as if trying to warn him of something. His father was distracted, that much he could tell, and he wished that he could relieve that somehow, but he didn't know what was wrong in the first place, and he knew better than to ask.

Suddenly Alamgir's aura flared, and Kirito got the warning a fraction of a second too late; he blinked in surprise as Akeldama appeared in front of him, her face extremely passive. "Dama is sorry, Kiri..." For a second, he really wondered why she was apologizing, she hadn't done anything to him, but then his own question was answered as she hit him, sending him back into the wall of the house. He coughed, his eyes wide in surprise. A hand went to the back of his head, coming back bloody. He cursed under his breath as Bartram appeared, too. What the hell were they doing here, now of all times?

"You will be coming with us, Conquest. Do not make this harder than it has to be, Witness." The man spat the word at him, and Kirito grit his teeth. Even Alamgir was seething underneath his skin. "I think not, Brother."

The final word was said with a slight contempt, his tone making it clear that Alamgir had no plans to go with them anywhere. Bartram scowled, sparks snapping in the air around him as the very air burned. "Famine, Death, you can go. I will not need you for this." Akeldama looked uncertain, but then spun and disappeared. Bartram reached back, a two-handed greatsword materalizing into his hand, which he wielded with ease one-handed. In response, Kirito formed a spear from shadow, the black wings unfurling from his back. He'd need just about every ounce of his power in order to pull this off; he couldn't sense Khalid, but he did not doubt that the fourth Horseman was lurking somewhere.

Khalid lingered on the edges of the conflict for a bit longer than Dama had, but in the end, he, too, disappeared. That woman, the one that Caspar had married. Her time was at an end. Cassiel’s mother would die tonight, and he wondered why he felt relief that her daughter would not follow this day. That match would be his, and his to control. His fate might be written in stone, but it was not needed that he fulfill it today. He would return her kindness with the only thing he had: time.

He wondered if she'd hate him for it, given what she was about to suffer.

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#2014-03-01 10:47:54, as written by Dynamite

Two and a half months came and went, surprisingly quickly considering that the new Demon Prince and Angel did very little in that time. There was little they could do, honestly. During that time, Kirito's hair never did loose its white hue, but his eyes remained that deep purple. The time was up, and he was the Prince of Hell's 9th Circle, in every sense of the word.

It was time he had a chat with his brother.

With that in mind, he stood for the first time in almost ten weeks, and simply walked through the portal he'd opened, though he stayed in Purgatory. He was mindful of the fact that Sephiriel was still following him, and he would not begrudge her that. It was her job; Prince or not, he was still a Witness. He came to a stop in front of a rather large old manor home; it was quite far on the outskirts of New York City. All the better; the less people around, the less he had to hold back. All three of them were in there, he could sense them.

Akeldama was the first to appear, her foot intent on colliding with his jaw, however; he caught her foot in his hand, red eyes sliding over to look at her. His expression was neutral, and he held her there for a second. He drained over half of her energy, at which point she simply crumpled to her knees, looking stunned.

"Gir?" She looked surprised. She'd sensed Asmodeus, not Alamgir, yet here he stood in front of her. That was when she saw a flicker across his forehead, and she understood. He'd taken his father's throne. "Where's Bartram, Akeldama?"

Khalid blinked slowly, perhaps the only sign he gave of still being alive. His breaths were currently so shallow that they hardly stirred his chest at all, and his gaze remained fixed on the old clock on the wall, though it hardly seemed that he was seeing it. In fact, he was barely registering anything around him. It was usually like that when his father spoke to him across realms. The mental voice would slither through his mind like oil and snake venom, leaving a trail of pain behind. Khalid was mostly immune to pain by this point in his life—it was debatable whether or not he even felt it anymore, beyond acknowledging that the sensations were those which would cause anyone else to feel as though they were being flayed, or torn apart, perhaps.

Episodes like this one had started about a year ago, though they had never been frequent. This was only the sixth or so, but the last two had been less than a month apart. When his father spoke, Khalid—or as he was always addressed, Azrael—was compelled to listen. Only when he sensed a rift opening from Hell, the Ninth Circle no less, did the lord of all demonkind relinquish his hold on his intended vessel, idly curious as to what the puppet-child would do with this new situation.

He sensed Dama’s predicament immediately, and he was at her side instantaneously. He heard the question, but he did not answer before he tugged the glove from his right hand, exposing more pale flesh, and placed the pad of his index finger on the girl’s forehead. What was taken had been returned, though Khalid himself appeared no different for the exchange, and indeed pulled her to her feet by her elbow thereafter, flicking a blue gaze between the angel and the new Demon Prince. He was sensitive enough to changes in Hell to have known about this one almost as soon as the previous Asmodeus had. Replacing the dark fabric over his right hand, he answered for her. “He is within. Why?”

A little smile flickered over Alamgir's face as Khalid appeared. He was aware of his current predicament; the four Horsemen were, after all, vestiges of Lucifer's own power given will and form. Still, that was not the reason he was here. "After what he did? You of all people should know the reason I am here, Khalid. But, since you are here...did you even put any more thought into what the kid posed to you, what was it, three years ago now? I thought he was an idiot back then, but he ended up winning me over in the end. So what about you?" Bartram could wait for a few moments longer, after all. His death would come today.

Khalid studied the other horseman intently for a moment, then shook his head. “The book of Fate was written long before your time, Alamgir. Long before mine, even. I choose nothing, but if you desire my answer… you can see the numbers above his head as well as I can.” Bartram’s Death Clock was showing his demise today—at least, the demise and banishment of War. He presumed the angel would be quite capable of taking care of the actual seal. She had been one of the three who sealed the devil himself, after all.

Alamgir sneered. That was a backhanded answer if he ever saw one, but no matter. Alamgir looked up at the door, his sneer twisting into a scowl. Bartram stood there in the doorway, a matching scowl on his face as he stared down at Conquest. His eyes slid over the three of them, resting breifly on Khalid.

"I will not ask why you are here, Conquest, but you are mistaken if you think I will not take you with me."

"And you are mistaken if you think that you can." Alamgir then redirected his attention to Khalid. "You did not answer me before, Death. You do not have to be your father's puppet, I don't give a rat's ass what he or anyone else, or even you think. Where do you stand?" He enunciated the last line, his eyes narrowing. Akeldama stayed where she was, unsure exactly what was going on.

Sephiriel’s grip tightened on her sword. She did not trust Death, but what he chose would make the difference between this fight being almost unwinnable and it being relatively simple. She hated it when determinations like that were in the hands of people she did not trust with them. Still, though—if this was the way Alamgir wanted to do things, she would wait. She could be patient when it was really required, certainly more than some of her brothers.

Khalid tilted his head to the side. With the downward gesture of his hand, he summoned a black-bladed zweihander to his grip. He saw the angel tense, but she did not move because he did not otherwise move either. “I stand where I have always stood, Alamgir. On the razor’s edge separating what I want to be and what I was made to become. Between.” Between damnation and redemption, good and evil, shame and remorse. Life and Death. His mother and his father. A devil and a man. Always grey, never black or white. A deep, dark shade of grey most of the time, but grey all the same. It was a status he would not be able to enjoy for much longer. Alamgir did not understand his father’s power, and Khalid hoped that he never would.

For now, however, he was still between. And for the moment, the things he stood between were War and Conquest, but it was to Alamgir he gave his back and to Bartram he showed his sword. He knew what had to be done here. “Your time is done, Bartram,” he said simply, but he made no move to attack. Not yet. Khalid was a reactive fighter more than an aggressor, unless something should tap the wellspring of rage deep inside his soul. As of yet, little had ever done that.

Bartram's eyes narrowed to the point they were almost slits. So this was how it was then. If he had any sense of humor he would have laughed. But he did not, so instead he silently raised his hand, and snapped his fingers. The sheer amount of demons that War could summon onto this plane of existance was many, and that was what he did. Alamgir's eyes slid over them, an amused smile on his face. He, or Death, could compel many of them, but not so many all at once. Satan was the only one who could pull that off.

"So...You wanna play that game, huh? Fine. Let's do this." His own demons, once his father's, came crawling from the shadows, great felines of every size prowling. There was a great clamor as the demons began to claw and tear at each other, and Bartram took the taunt, but went for Khalid, not for Alamgir.

"You are a fool if you think you can walk away from what you are."

His arm was raised, but something slammed into him, rather hard. His ribs shattered as he slid over to the side, the startled look on his face meeting the gaze of the albino girl. "Dama won't let Bart hurt Ka, or Gir." Bartram's eyes narrowed again, and he growled. He regained his feet and went straight for the girl. Fine, he was going to die, but he would be taking them with him.

This time, though, he was blocked, the black metal of a broad blade intercepting the hit aimed for Akeldama. Just as she would not let him die, he had no intention of allowing War to kill her, either. “I walk away from nothing,” he said dully. “I know what I will do, but until then… perhaps there is one choice for me to make on my own.” He could do what he’d wanted all along—he could give them a little more time.

What followed was brutal, but fast. Khalid didn’t even activate his eye; he simply beat Bartram back with several blade-swings, and, when one of the hits was inadequately-blocked, the sword found new sheath in War’s chest cavity, slightly to the right of his heart. The action separated Bartram and War, and with a gesture, Khalid opened another door to Hell. “Sephiriel, the seal.” Reapers could seal some demons, and someone like Khalid could probably even seal War’s spirit, but he didn’t quite trust himself enough.

The angel, removing her own sword from a demon that strayed too close to where she and Alamgir were standing, simply nodded. With a look to her charge that conveyed something along the lines of I’ll be right back, don’t do anything stupid, she followed the spirit into Hell. Time to put War on ice, as the human idiom went.

In the meantime, Khalid removed his blade from Bartram’s body, taking his right glove off again with his teeth. There was a new number above the man’s head now—just an ordinary human one, bereft of the Horseman spirit. He watched for a moment as it changed with his decision, going from almost nothing to a number of years nearing forty from now. Promising, though of course the Apocalypse could still change it back. Would change it back. Two fingers pressed into the man’s temple, and the wound he’d sustained at Death’s hand closed, normal color returning to Bartram’s face. His breathing was still shallow, and he would not wake. He was comatose, though had the world much time left, he would have woken eventually. Now, though… Khalid wasn’t sure it was even a mercy to keep him alive.

Perhaps it was a mercy only to those alive, who would want to see him.

Sephiriel returned, looking a little drained, but otherwise fine. “It is done. The Horseman is sealed.”

It took little to no time for the demons to be subdued, many of them following after Sephiriel at Alamgir's request. He smirked slightly, it would seem that two Horsemen had now crossed sides, and perhaps a third. He rose a slender eyebrow at Akeldama, who looked somewhat lost. Her big red eyes slid back and forth between Khalid and Alamgir.

He cracked his neck as Sephiriel came back. His eyes slid back to purple, but his hair remained white; it seemed to be an after-effect of becoming a Demon Prince. "Then let's get going. I'm sure Mom won't be very happy with me."

It was then Akeldama spoke up. "What about Dama and Ka?" Kirito looked at them with a slight smile. "You come with us, of course."

She looked uncertain, and then looked at Khalid. She would go where he went.

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Bartram

0 · 534 views · located in New York City, New York

a character in “Somewhere Between the Lost and the Forgotten”, originally authored by Naga's Shadow, as played by RolePlayGateway

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So begins...

Bartram's Story

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