The Fifth Horseman

[i]" It is said, all the way from Mount Doma of the Other World to Poseidon's liquid kingdom of Atlantis, that the Horsemen of Hell will one day return to reclaim their long lost realm. The world knows four of them to exist; Pestilence, Famine, War...and Death. Of all four of 'em, Death is the most curious. He would sometimes cloak himself in the form of an anthropomorphic skeleton, tall and grimm, and present himself to humans. Needless to say most died on the spot. Others he would visit the world as a cool breeze and travel among human cities to study their customs. Creature cities as well. He showed great...fondness towards these bizarre creations that could shift from darkness to light, that could so easily disguise themselves to fit in the human world. He often wondered how Creatures were made in the first place... how they were put in place with such precision in this perfectly balanced world... Of course he put his place in great danger to come up with such inquiries. He was not one to question the existence of a Creator. After all he, himself, had no idea where he came from or how he had become burdened with this task; to harvest the souls of those who had passed.

For all he knew, this world was once inhabited by Creatures only. But not the kind of Creatures seen today... In the old times true monsters would walk the earth, uglier than Demons and stronger than Angels. Death was the one to control them then, riding his pale white stallion thoughout that demented Realm, accompanied by the other three Horsemen. He was powered by the Creator to end the lives of those who stood against their own fate, of those whom power had corrupted. However the horrible inhabitors of his Realm soon started to loose their mind as they were all made of shadows and darkness and had nothing to keep them from destroying their own world. They revolted against the Four Horsemen.

Seeing this, the Creator mourned for his corrupted songs and daughters and shed a tear as he feared for the very existence of his beloved law-keepers. Such was his stainless spirit that out of his tears arose the Fifth Horseman; the first Angel. He shone with pure light and caused shrieks and yowls out of the fowl creatures as he repelled their nature of shadow. He was the Father of all Angels, the Father of all that is known as life today; his name was Valafar -though some call him simply...God.

The Creatures retreated to the shady corners of a planet that had just awoken from trillions of years in darkness. But as a new day was beginning for Valafar and his race the Creatures sworn to return and take their revenge. But on their descendants dawned division; some learned to survive in this new world of light by developing a double nature while others chose to remain in the darkness, plotting their come-back. The first became the Creatures as we know them, with all their different variations and species. And the Angels them accepted them for what they were and using their power created a world for them to live in, the Other World that would be locked away from the eyes of the growing humans. The second evolved to Demons that perished in dark and to this day crave an insidious leader to lead them against the Angels and give them back what had always belonged to them."[/]

Lucifer caressed the trace of Metatron's fine ink with his thumb. To him that was all a fairytale. There were no demons...everyone knew his race had anihilated them ages ago... Or so they'd told him. The book said they were still somewhere out there, waiting to rebel against him and all his alikes... His thoughts were interrupted by a warm palm landing on his shoulder. Michael. The young Angel turned around to meet his elder, sharply pushing the book shut.

"Oh please, don't." Michael said and he bent over to open the book again -landing on the exact same page as before. "I believe you would be interested to hear the rest. Told by someone who was there to witness it."

Lucifer looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and hesitance. He glanced at the book, then back at the Archangel.

"History is not be read, but written." he arrogantly talked back, then pushed himself up and walked away. Michael was left alone in the company of Heaven's great library.

"What will become of that kid?" he muttered to himself. He flipped a hundred pages later and watched the book write itself for a while. History was being written. He was not sure of how he felt about that.