The tension changed. It was denser now, charged. Not just the kind that came before violence, but the slow-burning kind, forged in old power and older grudges. The air between Malekar and Vorian hissed—volatile, waiting to combust on a single word.
Each time they prepared for battle, the same question hovered: would this be the day Vorian stepped too far, challenged what he was never meant to claim?
She hoped so. Let it be today. Let this farce of a competition end, once and for all.
“We are the Four Horsemen.” The words came soft, in that silk-smooth tone Malekar used when he was ready to ruin something.
Fire prickled beneath her skin, sinking deeper with every syllable, closer to hunger than anything holy.
“With each step and every stride,” he continued, “we usher the apocalypse in our wake. They dread us before they ever see us. Terrified just knowing we exist.”
His gaze never wavered from the sleeping valley below, the quiet town sprawled out like an offering.
“The survivor becomes our herald.”
Kaelric let out a low whistle, barely audible. His eyes showed the same fever driving her hand to her blade.
“They carry the memory,” Malekar went on, “running until their feet split open and their screams break their throats. And when they can no longer speak, their silence carries more horror than any sound.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“Onlookers will pity them, believing they’ve beenspared. But our mercy is worse than death.”
Rynna’s palm met the leather armor protecting her chest with a dull thud.
This,she thought.This is why he’s Death.
Even now, something pulled inside her, eager for what havoc she might unleash tonight—what bloody delight might unfold between the carnage and Malekar’s command.
And what came after. In their tent.
“They’ll keep their limbs. Their minds, barely. But their eyes will never stop seeing red. They will hear only the howling of the shades we leave behind.” He spoke with finality. “Love will be beyond them. Gentle touch forgotten. They will speak no words save the shrieks of what we have done to their world.”
Her body moved without permission, a slow press of hips against the horse’s spine as tension seeped between her thighs, wet and impossible to ignore.
Daziel and Kaelric let out primal grunts—"urrrrahhh, urrrrahhh, urrahhh"—matching each beat of their fists.
Malekar looked to Vorian. His eyes were cold, devoid of warmth or doubt.
And Vorian, for all his bluster and earlier boasting, did not step forward.Warmerged back into the fold, thumping his chest in measured rhythm. Steel rang against steel, leather creaked, and beneath it all, the dull roar of advancing bodies swelled.
There were perhaps fifty of them—raiders, both men and a handful of women, who had fallen into step with the Horsemen at various points during their endless march across continents. They were the discarded and the damned. Thieves. Murderers. Violators. The lowest dregs of humanity, drawn as if by instinct to the scent of blood.
Like mangy, half-starved dogs trailing a warband, they moved with a wild hunger. Drawn by the oppressive miasma of death and darkness, the Horsemen spread, clinging to that aura as if it were salvation.
Malekar dipped his chin to Vorian, who responded with one final, brutal thump to his chest—so forceful it would have shattered the ribcage of any ordinary man. Then he released them, the shockwave of his battle cry rolling out in all directions, crashing over their gathered raiders.
Horses reared, screaming in tandem with their riders, and the vicious horde erupted, brandishing weapons and howling in response as they surged forward. Hooves churned the earth. Blades gleamed. Shouts rose to the sky like thunder chasinglightning. They stormed down the slope, descending upon the peaceful farms and the vulnerable town like a plague given form.
Rynna watched them go.
Dust billowed up in their wake, turning the sky into a gritty haze. The air thickened, coating her tongue and nostrils in a dry, metallic taste. Ahead of the rabble rode Vorian, Daziel, and Kaelric.
The beasts would run wild, flushing out the weak and stir the strong. Whatever survived the initial slaughter would be worthy of attention.
She turned to Malekar as they waited for the air to clear. “How long before Vorian needs a more explicit lesson?”
“Hard to say.” He didn’t look away from the unfolding chaos. “Depends on whether he thinks he could find a replacement. He likes the idea of the Four, and I don’t think he’s ready to give that up, or let just anyone in.”
