The Love I Found in Plague

In the Midst of Disaster

It had always been like this, ever since the existence of time. Man had always questioned, had always went against the law of the heavens, rob everyone of one's dignity and belongings and the earth always cried. Now they reap what they sow and all that's good has come to an end. 

His black clothes make a crinkling sound as he jumps off his steed, his dark hand placing the half skull mask on the left side of his face. He shoulders his scythe that could fell lives and buildings in one swoop on his drooping shoulders as he descends down the ground with nary a sound. 

Fingernails claw over dirt grounds, mumbles and wails fill the space. How pitiful these creatures were as they wail and blame the surroundings around them and others but never on themselves. 

Black boots phased through the piled bodies of blood and rotting flesh. There is nothing to do here other than his duty and inquire with the other horsemen. 

“I didn't expect you to be here, old friend.” a voice of silken waters bless his ears. 

He turns around and is met by a man with wild red hair, the rest of it braided until it rests near the side of his upper thighs. He is pale and yet vibrant in his sleeveless white robe and black pants and his wings of blues and bloody red stand stark on his back. 

“You are here, his eyes scan the twinkling golden bearings of his guest. “How many times have I encountered you, Plague?” 

“Long enough. A few times ever since you descended in the sands of Egypt to smite the children and the Pharaoh's son, then there was the bubonic plague, and then the Spanish flu… and here we are today, meeting again after much too many millenias.”  

Plague smiles at him, his dead, red eyes piercing through his hollow and voidant soul. Plague strikes him as someone who would do good if he wanted but no, the few times he'd encountered this particular horseman, he has caused far too many diseases to spread amongst the land. 

“And why strike again this time? Surely you know it is not your time to do so yet? What say your brother of your affairs?” 

"Ah, Death, Lord Atem. Let us not bring my brother into this. He has his own problems to worry about just as I have mine. Why send me away?" Plague struts over to him, a coy smile on his face. 

Atem, Death, stays in his place. He does not move even when Plague's face come close to his, a mere inch apart, his lifeless eyes scan over like he is looking for something before his pallid fingers stroke his dark cheek. 

“Do you find my presence unpleasant?” Plague asks. 

“I did not say that, Yami.” Atem takes a small step back. “But should you not have been obeying orders from above? What will the creator say if he sees you without restraint? You broke away from your chains even.” 

“Oh, these measly things?” Yami shakes the golden cuffs that still had three little chains attached to them. “They cannot hold me down. Even the seals could never. I have to, old friend. I grow weak when I cannot release my domain and powers over the earth.” 

There is truth in that. Just as Atem grows weak when he cannot reap or carry souls to the underworld, Yami grows weak when he cannot unleash plagues. 

War grows thirsty if he cannot scratch the itch of the blood blade he has, Conquest becomes scared when he has no nations to conquer, and even Famine grows insane if he cannot count how many should stay or disperse in crops and livestocks. 

“And yet why follow me around?” 

Atem tilts the defined chin with his fingertips, meeting the lifeless gaze with his own vibrant blood-violet ones, where mortals gazed int them and they would gravitate like flies. 

“I have seen you hiding behind many things, Plague, Yami, and yet you cannot escape my ever seeing eye. You have followed me throughout lifetimes. Why is it that you cannot seem to leave me alone?”

Yami stares at him with the sort of unholy light in his eyes. There is boiling blood and screaming voids behind those eyes of drenched coals. The battlefield of scratching nails and denied cries continue to gyrate in his ears. 

But those blue-red wings twitch and calloused hands grab the one that he had placed underneath the gold collared neck. It is placed on a solid and soft cheek that feels like it has not touched blood or kisses. 

“Must I state out my reason, Lord Death? Can I not stare and follow you from afar?” Yami nuzzles into his hand like it is his only solace. 

“I want explanations, soldier.”

“You fascinate me.”

Here, Atem's thumb rubs the gentle skin like he does with precious petals.

The horseman of Death pulls away a moment later and turns on his heel. He has to go back to his duties, he does not have time to think about what the Horseman of the Plague has said. It is much too troublesome especially this time. 

“I see.” 

Yami, “Is that all that you have as an answer?” 

Atem looks up to the bloody skies. “No, but I am afraid now is not the time to be caught in our own affairs. We have earth and many lives that need to be cleansed and purified from the sins of their generation.” 

Yami laughs a hollow sound like a thousand drones and dying groans. The humans around them curl amongst themselves and cover their ears. 

To Atem, it is the most beautiful sound that has graced his ears. Whoever could despise such a sound that has come from the Plague? 

He catches the wind and mounts his waiting steed, looking down at the winged creature upon the ground and staring some more. 

Yami raises a hand and waves, red essence pouring out like smoke from his fingertips.

He closes his violet eyes and tips his head to the other horseman. Atem has accepted that they are much too different and they have a lot on their domains to handle. 

He slaps the reins of his horse and the being makes a rattling sound of bones and gallops into the sky to enter the void that follows Atem everywhere he goes.

Red smoke filters through the air like thick waters. The humans go about their days as if nothing has happened. All the dead have been buried and the times keep shifting. 

Atem watches this all with unchanging eyes, how his brother in arms brought forth disasters and catastrophes and wars day after day. It has always been their duty to fulfill out the wrath of the Above, he questions sometimes why their purpose is this but he does not go out and explore more than what he is capable of doing; there are many souls that need tending and need to go to their afterlives, he cannot afford to drop everything just for a single rest.