The Heir of the Fallen

Chapter 16

Horseman of War, Ares

"Stay right there, Aamon," Ares demanded. "Do. Not. Move." Each word was enunciated with almost a violent distinction, Ares's voice deep, threatening.

The shooter cocked his head to the side, looking at Ares without a trace of fear on his face. The emotion being put forth by the "menacing man in front of him didn't even cause him to flinch. Why, so you can torture me again in that cell? No chance."

"I'm warning you," Ares snarled, stepping towards Aamon. "I will take you down."

"I think the roles are reversed here, dear Ares," Aamon said, laughing as he did so. "I know that you do not know how to kill someone, like truly take them out." He winked a devilish, sly grin on his face, before continuing. "But," he paused, seemingly for theatrical effect. "I do, thanks to one of your friends. And I promise you this. I will kill you if you do not step aside and let me pass."

Ares paused, fear gracing his features for only a millisecond, but long enough for Aamon to notice. In that millisecond, many things flashed through his mind, including some looming shadows of regret, some things he had yet to take care of. It was hard not to get sucked back into the past when the fear of the end came into view in the form of a piece of shit and his threats. Was he telling the truth?

Almost as if to answer Ares's mind queries, black tendrils of power started swirling around Aamon's extremities, and he started levitating slightly. "Since you have become paralyzed with fear, I seem to have the upper hand here." Laughing at his humor, he signaled his exit. "Bye-bye." Aamon was out the doors in an instant. The few bodies on the ground started stirring, moaning, and moving slightly. Ares directed the soldiers to take care of the vermin on the floor. He had somewhere he had to get to, or rather someone.

"Open up!" Ares kept pounding his fist on the Prince's door, wondering where he was. "It's serious, your highness."

Nothing. No response. "Ugh," Ares groaned and went to the next person possible.

Letum. The Prince always said that Ares should go to the next in command, as he so adamantly pointed out again reasonably recently. That used to be Famine. However, Letum was now the second in command. He was wiser than Ares and Joan combined. He was kind and understanding, not quick to anger like himself. Even Ares could acknowledge that. He knew it best to keep a level head about this situation. As Ares headed towards the theater, he silently cursed himself for letting fear get in the way of him when Aamon was right there. Who knew what he was doing now, how many souls he was erasing?

Crossing the town square into the theater, he would have teleported here. But the theater was immune to anyone's magic but the Prince's. Walking into the theater, he crossed straight through to Purgatory, where Letum spent most of his time. People died all the time, and it kept Letum extremely busy.

"Letum!" he called, fading out and reappearing next to him. He had just finished ferrying an older woman into the afterlife who decided to keep her actual age, and she was now limping toward the theater. Why anyone would choose to remain old was a mystery to Ares. His soul was old, but he'd lose it if his physical body were anywhere near the age of his years.

Turning his attention away from the old woman and to Letum, he said, "Do you know where the Prince is?"

"No, why do you ask?" Letum said, cocking his head to the side. "Is everything okay, Ares?" He said, reaching out for the Horsemen of War, his hand resting on Ares' bicep.

"No, Letum, everything is not okay." Ares glanced down at Letum's hand before meeting his eyes and launching into the story, relaying the events at the prison. Letum's eyes widened as he retold the story.