Wings Of The Chosen (Published!)

Chapter 3

Baca, stay with the humans. Tristan, to me.

Bishop's voice echoed within Tristan and Baca's conscience.

"Now what would bring our good friend from the depths below? Care to take a swing at the reasoning, Baca?" Tristan asked, looking over at his brother.

Baca, as usual, stayed silent.

Tristan huffed and rolled his eyes, "Just occasionally, don't be afraid to join in on the conversation."

Baca only grunted a reply and spread his wings, halting his decent.

"Enjoy your babysitting duty!" Tristan yelled back as he tucked his wings and dove towards the trio below.

Bishop and Raisha had just landed a few feet from Death, their alert posture betraying how anxious they truly were. The Horseman remained idle, sitting atop his beast like a statue.

"He is definitely not the life of the party...Oh, now that's one of my better ones!" Tristan raised his hand and looked around, "Right. I'll just high-five myself on that one," he mumbled to himself, clapping his hands together.

When he landed behind Bishop and Raisha, Tristan slammed the hilt of his massive axe, which stood as tall as his five-foot, burly frame, against the ground, causing it to shutter from the impact and crack beneath him. He opened his mouth to say something witty, but Bishop cut him off with an upraised hand without turning to facing him. Tristan closed his mouth with a sigh and reluctantly kept quiet.

Death continued to sit in silence. His beast was snorting profusely, saliva dripping from her snout, Tristan could feel the hatred emanating from the warhorse. Only Death's grip upon its reins kept it from charging forward and trying to run the three Archwarriors down under its massive hooves.

"Horseman! Why have you come to the realm of mortals?" Bishop asked, his hands resting on the pommel of his archsword.

Death finally spoke. His voice was a deep rumble, echoing in the siblings' ears, as if thunder itself was projecting beneath the shadowy cloak.

"My quarrel is not with you this night, Warriors of Heaven. I merely come with a message. And to observe."

Tristan scoffed, "Couldn't you just send an email? Maybe a text," He put his hands together like he was holding a phone, "'Hey Bishop, just wanted to let you know—"

"Tristan, enough," Bishop said calmly, never taking his eye off Death.

Tristan heard the faint sound of armor creaking and when he looked over at Raisha, his sister's axes shook within her hands. She wore a feral expression openly, not masking her disgust at the presence of Death so close.

Easy sis...Tristan called to her. If she heard it, she gave no indication that she had.

"What message?" Bishop inquired, narrowing his eyes.

Death slowly extended his left arm and pointed. Tristan watched as a black armored hand protruded from his robe. It was as if the gauntlet was alive. Tristan could make out small faces slithering over the armored hand, like a snake coiling around its victim. The endless faces locked onto Tristan's as they went by, their cries for mercy were endless pleas for someone to end their suffering.

These were the souls damned to a fate far worse than death.

Tristan shuttered as Death answered Bishop's question. "My Lord is aware of what your father envisions for this unborn child. He has need—"

"Raisha, stop!" Bishop's voice cut through the air.

Tristan barely registered the movement as Raisha bent her knees, pushing off so hard that that the ground buckled beneath her. She flew at Death with her weapons poised to strike. The Horseman shifted his cloaked head towards her; Tristan could feel the air surrounding Death begin to crackle with power. He adjusted his hand, opening it slightly as the infamous scythe materialize in his grasp. It appeared as if he was holding a shadow, bathed in a black mist, the weapon seemed almost transparent.

Raisha let forth a roar, swinging her axes as she did.

Clang!

Raisha hovered in mid-air, veins bulging in her neck, wings beating furiously behind her as she was inches away from Death's shadowy hood.

Death's cloaked face leaned towards her. "Listen to your brother. Be grateful we have need of you or I would end your existence here and now," he said coolly, still keeping Raisha at bay with one hand on his scythe. Their weapons shook from the tension.

"You think it would be that easy?" she hissed back.

Bishop appeared between them, "Enough!" he shouted, "We will listen to what Death has to say. He is not our enemy this night."

Bishop gently pulled his sister away. Raisha never took her gaze from Death as she ruffled her wings and backed off.

"Bah. Should have let her send him back to the Underworld," Tristan mumbled.

Death continued speaking as if nothing had happened. "Heaven, Hell, and the mortal world, all have need of this child. My lord has sensed something boundless within him. He will be essential in the future of what is to come." He paused for a moment, his shadowy gaze turning towards Bishop before he continued. "My Lord's throne is at risk. A war will come which will affect all beings if this 'Usurper' is victorious." Death's hands closed tighter on the reins of his beast, and Tristan couldn't help but notice the venom in his words at the mention of this "Usurper."

Tristan chuckled "Lucifer getting tossed out of places is nothing new." He slapped his knee. "Zing!" he added, clutching at his stomach from laughter.

"How is that our problem?" Raisha spat, still looking as if she wanted nothing more than to finish what she started.

Death kept his focus on Bishop, "You know what it would mean for all–mortal as well as our kind, if the balance is upset."

Bishop clenched his jaw and nodded, "The bonds that separate our worlds would be shattered. All mortal life would be hunted until they were eradicated."

Tristan scoffed, "That's what your side wants, isn't it? I mean, we're good, you're evil...taking mortal souls is sort of your calling. I've seen your business card!" He crossed his arms and asked, "Shouldn't you be on this usurper's side?"

The ground quaked beneath their feet, causing Tristan to grip his axe a little tighter,

"I am the Reaper of souls," Death growled, spreading his arms wide. "What place would I have in this existence if no mortals needed guidance to the afterlife?"

Death's warhorse began snorting loudly, swaying back and forth and slamming her massive hooves against the ground. "My Lord beckons." Death turned to Bishop once again. "My Lord has not shared with me all he knows of this boy's fate...this troubles me greatly..." He trailed off, turned his warhorse, and in a swirling black mist, he was gone.

"What in Father's name was that all about? And he failed to mention exactly who this so-called usurper is," Tristan said, baffled.

Before anyone could respond, a shrill cry sliced through the cold air, shattering their thoughts.