Waves of outrage broke across the ranks of the assembled Jhagati the moment Storm offered his blood. Curses poured out over the two combatants, fierce and as hateful anything William had ever heard. Who were these men to defy the holiest of the Jhagati’s rituals?

“Blasphemy!”

“Kill them, kill them both!”

Anger and spite were nothing new to William. He’d faced down and killed enough people that he was sure he’d heard every venomous thing the Jhagati could throw at them. He let the words slip past through his thoughts and focused instead on the second portion of the crowd, the one’s not worked into a hysterical fever pitch.

“Blood was offered, blood will be claimed.”

“They come. They come.”

This was what William was listening for. The fanatics in the crowd continued their rhythmic chanting in the face of the chaos going on around them. They were the true believers, the ones who would shape the power of the ritual. And there was no doubt in William’s mind that the ritual held power.

Energy responded to those chants. The sluggish ocean of power resisted the motion at first, but the steady rhythm of the Jhagati relentlessly beat at it, coaxing it to life. William felt the vastness of the ancient magic washing over him, even if it was hesitant to actually touch him. Idly he wondered if this had been a place of power before the coming of the Jhagati or if the tribe’s slavish devotion to it had built it into such a place. Whichever it was, the magic of the arena would prove to be too much to halt once the Jhagati got it moving. William’s only hope was to channel it to serve his purpose and not the Jhagati’s.

He nodded to Storm and walked to the center of the arena. While he wasn’t afraid of the electromancer, William knew enough tales of the man’s prowess to be both impressed and wary of Storm. Given all of the uncertainties that he had about finally coming face-to-face with the Horseman of Death, William was glad to have the mage at his side and not trying to stab him in the back. Now he only had to worry about the other three Horsemen and making sure their spirit’s stayed in place.

In Amra, William’s homeland, the people worshipped personified aspects of reality. These spirits weren’t gods in the way that the Thayne of Althanas were, but were manifested facets of reality. The same spiritual liege could be worshipped in two separate Households and though they would both be drawing from the same source of power they could have completely different personalities, appearances, and capabilities. One shrine could worship the Lion of Amra in his form as guardian of the land while another worshipped it as the Great Hunter. Both were equally valid, and the armored lion was the same as the stalking cat, even though they were in no ways similar.

This was how William had come to understand the so-called Horsemen of the Apocalypse. His studies had revealed a dozen different factions in Althanas’ history that worshipped and venerated these beings. Each was unique in its own way, though the underlying principles remained the same. The Horsemen of War, Pestilence, and Famine were already bound to William, so he felt a connection to the Jhagati’s Horsemen even though he had never directly faced them.

William stopped in front of the first arch. The grisly relief carved into the stone showed a parade of skeletal figures being tormented by the light of a harsh and brutal sun. Overhead, the statue of the Horseman of Famine cut an imposing figure. William was amazed at the level of craftsmanship in the arch’s design and reminded himself that he’d have to spend more time studying the individual arches once this affair had been concluded.

He closed his eyes and let the images fade away into darkness. Likewise he forgot the dust and the angry sun. He forgot Storm, the chanting Jhagati and the arena itself. He let only one thing into his mind, the arch and the swirling magic that flowed into it. Then he reached out to touch the magic with the magic cursed void inside him. The magic pushed back, its ancient design too complex and solid a thing to be dispersed by something so frail. Its purpose was to summon an aspect of Famine to the arena and it would not be deterred.

That was what William needed to know, and as the magic pushed back against him he brought the piece of Famine within him out to meet it. The magic of the arch shuddered at the familiar touch, held for a second, and then simply ceased to flow. As far as the magic was concerned, it had done its duty. An aspect of Famine stood within it. William had succeeded.

He snarled a savage, vicious smile at the realization and then moved quickly to the next arch to repeat the process. And then again, leaving only Death’s arch untouched. The Jhagati had fallen silent, both the anger and the reverence subdued by this sacrifice’s odd behavior. They sensed that something was wrong with their ritual, that they’d somehow lost control. But by now the surging tide of power had been whipped into too much life to be quelled by the tribe. There would be no stopping what was coming next.

And that was Death.