thirty-nine.
[War was not dead. That was the first foolish thought Death had. The second was that she could deal with this. That was a utter fucking joke, just the way Khaos had made death seem (unforgivable, it was unforgivable entirely).
The loss of Famine a year ago had been bad and the sense of feeling lost and uncertain had come before weighing heavily on them all. It had also been the start of her realizing they were not nearly as strong as she believed them to be.
Through no fault of their own, of course. It was that Khaos bitch. She had condemned them and she had lead them to this existence as perishable meat. Throughout the months, Death learned to cope and even began to allow those not in their tight little circle to help them. To be of use. They had to learn to cooperate with those around them, at least those worthy of them who would not wreck their balance or overtake another Horsemen in importance.
And now War was dead. And Death, as calm as she appeared outwardly, felt something crawl around inside even as it began to fester. She hadn't left the arena when she began to write to her comrades.]
[Filter: Horsemen]
I want her body. We need to find a way to get her body.
I am perfectly calm, I don't want to be questioned, we just need to get her back before they do anything to her. Anything at all.