From Hell with Love by Kevin Kauffmann Page B

said as he turned to look at the broken demon, the gruesome exit wound from Crocell’s assault still weeping dark blood on the cobblestones.  “What happened?”
    “He went feral,” Niccolo said tersely, frustrated that his horse was taking so long to understand the situation.  In his mind he expressed his annoyance, but the horse disregarded Niccolo’s efforts and focused on working through his own thoughts.
    “That’s…you think you've seen everything,” Plague muttered before turning to Cadmus.  “Summon Mercy, we’re going now.”
    “We can’t bother Lucifer with this right now, he’s preparing for the Council.  I really want to talk to Buné first,” Cadmus started, but Plague neighed and then stamped his front leg.
    “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.  Buné will know whether or not we can trust this memory from Räum.  I’m assuming we have some time,” Plague said with a note of annoyance, but Cadmus merely breathed out in relief as he tapped the end of his scythe against the cobblestones, dust gathering around them in response.
    “Thank God, you’re reasonable.  I didn’t want to fight the both of you,” he said as the dust built on itself and formed into another horse, which looked expectantly to its rider with eyes missing irises.
    “We were not made to listen blindly to humans, Cadmus,” a rasp came from the pure white horse that had been born out of dust.  Cadmus grabbed at the black saddle and hoisted himself up, his leap far more graceful than anything Niccolo could hope for.
    “I know, old friend, I know.  I’m guessing you were listening,” the reaper asked as he grabbed at the reins of his mount.
    “Of course.  I have eternity to waste and so very little to fill the time,” Mercy rattled while he walked to the far alleyway, stepping around the corpse of Räum.  Plague and Niccolo followed, the Horseman grunting when he heard the statement.
    “Why can’t you listen like that?” he asked as they reached the alleyway and headed to the main road.
    “Should I bother, little man?  You so rarely say anything worth listening to,” Plague said as they exited the alleyway, turning toward the Death Quarter.
    “Why are you so difficult?” he asked, which brought a light chuckle from his mount.
    “Didn’t you know?  We take after our riders.  You’ll have to stop being difficult first.”
    “That’ll be something.  We’d have to prepare for winter,” Cadmus muttered to Mercy, who broke into a light gallop toward their home.
    ***
    Stop worrying , Plague’s voice echoed, breaking through the thoughts in Niccolo’s mind.  He shook his head as the wind whipped through his hair, pulling it back enough to expose his face.  The leprosy had turned into an entirely different malady once he had landed in Hell.  It had maimed his skin, pushing the tissue of his brow and cheek together to obscure his left eye and rendering it useless.  Luckily, due to the nature of souls in Hell, Niccolo was able to see without it.  It had surprised him at first, but since his fall, his eyesight was better than it ever had been on Earth.  The Horseman only thought about it for a moment before he drew the hair back to cover the left side of his face and looked toward Buné's spire rising above the horizon.
    I can’t help it, he thought, relying on their telepathic connection.  The Horsemen held a special bond with their mounts, allowing them to speak to each other without having to worry about biting their tongue or not being able to hear the conversation.  As he sank into despair, Niccolo observed the demons walking through the streets of the Death Quarter.  They were gaunt and macabre, dressed in black and grey garments, sadness playing out through their thin, human features which they stubbornly refused to abandon; the only samples of color belonged to visitors to Death’s domain.  It was no wonder that Cadmus spent most of his time outside of the district.
    The future