Sam sat at the breakfast table in his mildly innocuous, extradimensional apartment. Yawning, he reached up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then stretched out one arm across the table, a slightly pale, but human, hand closing around the newspaper. With the other hand, he grabbed his coffee cup and took a sip, bringing the nearly-full cup to his mouth, taking the greatest possible care to avoid spilling the steaming black liquid all over his red-checkered robe. Luckily, he had replaced the cup by the time he turned his attention to the headline on the newspaper. His jaw dropped, and with it fell all pretense of his being human.

WHAT IN THE NAME OF- (The word which followed was composed mostly of sounds completely unpronouncable to the human voice, and would have driven all but the most intelligent and understanding mortals to a madhouse in three tenths of a second. If anyone had been able to survive hearing the sound, and knew an incredible amount about the organization of the universe, he would have recognized the True Names of seven Archangels, thirteen Demons, two Daemon Princes, and twenty-three of the Gates of Hell.)!!! The newspaper dissolved into nothingness, clenched firmly in his skeletal hand. Blue sparks of eyes glittered in his eyesockets. RULER OF KHAZAN, EH? WE'LL HAVE TO SEE ABOUT THAT....

*

Four figures rode calmly up to the base of the KOMBG Center for World Domination. Three wore dark leathers, one black, one white, and the other red, arranged in a rough triangle with the white form at the center. The fourth figure wore a black, pin-striped suit, it's face obscured, like the others, by a mirrored motorcycle helmet. They were moving far too fast for gender identification. At least, until they stopped, directly in front of the giant double doors of the fortress-like Center, with a suddenness that, considering their speed, would have sent bikers the size of houses pinwheeling over the handlebars. The riders did not even move.

They dismounted as one, leather creaking around the three, the other moving as silently as the grave. None of the figures removed their helmets. It became clear shortly, however, that the red-garbed figure was a woman, her body slender and graceful in a way that did not at all suggest delicacy. She moved with the grace of a striking serpent, a sword slung across her back.

The white-garbed 'man' took point, skin flaking off the back of his hands as he moved, the very concrete stained where he passed. As if he did not notice the immense city, or the machines of war arrayed around him, he walked forward. The doors were immense, girded with omnium, and by any rights, no one should be able to get through without vK's personal clearance. Still, though, when the phalanx reached the doors, they opened with as little protest as a man gives when a freshly-sharpened katana is rammed through his abdomen.

They passed through the security checkpoint without anyone noticing. Once, a mecha-encased soldier turned his head in their direction, but the red woman turned her head in his direction, and he returned to his business. Uncontested, they reached the elevator at the far end of the hall. It's front access panel was encrusted with security card systems and locks, but it, too, opened.
It should have been impossible to reach vK's office level using the elevator. The system had purposefully been designed to cause anyone stupid enough to try and attack the Man himself to have to run up ten flights of stairs, under heavy fire from special KOMBG-make Gatling Gunns. This did not particularly matter to the phalanx. When the door opened, they were on the proper level, and stepped out, their motorcycle helmets still firmly in place. They were on vK's level.
Three mecha-enhanced guards to either side of, and in front of, the door. These men did not fail to notice the walkers, or look down when the Red Woman looked at them. "Do you have clearance for this level?" asked the leader.

They gave no answer, walking forward with the inevitability of the evening tide.

"I'm sorry, we're going to have to detain you for questioning."

No answer. Still, the phalanx drew closer, until they were almost touching the guards.
"You'll have to come with us." The guard on the left side of the door reached out and grabbed Red's arm with one thick, metallic claw. The one in front of the door reached out for the phalanx leader, preparing to talk into his mic. The final guard warmed up a plasma cannon, training it on the calm trio and the man in the suit.

Everything happened at once. It sounds like a cliche, and perhaps it is, but, in this case at least, it was true. Before the guards could even complete their thoughts, the phalanx moved. Not just did they move, they moved. The sound of straining cybernetic muscles riveted the air, almost completely overshadowed by the sudden burst of a plasma cannnon. The dust took moments to clear. Where the trio had once stood, there was a smoking crater. Where the guards had once stood, now stood the trio. To either side of them stood two guards, one now shrunken in on itself in a mockery of the old pride, the other oozing a foul-smelling green liquid. At least a hundred small fragments of the other were scattered around the room. His body, three-ton mecha and all, was resting across the room, one hundred feet away, where it had struck the wall hard enough to double up from the force. Blood leaked from the joints. The man in the suit had not moved. He walked straight through the air over the crater as if he was standing on solid ground. The door swung open before them, and they entered.

The office was, surprisingly enough, not at all plush, and, in fact, very utilitarian. vK sat behind a desk of the finest mahogany, his hard, thin face creased with an ever-so-light smile. "Good day, gentlemen. And lady," he added, his eyes falling upon the Red form. "Now, before your termination, would you mind explaining to me exactly why you attempted such a futile gesture? On some mission for the JLA, I suppose?"

The figure in white reached up and removed it's helmet. What this action revealed was enough to make even vK blink in astonishment. The face beneath was parched white, the skin stretched so tight over it that it peeled in several places, revealing black, maggot-writhing flesh beneath. The teeth were yellow and uneven, like corn on a blighted cob. A low, ratcheting sound emerged from deep in his throat. He was laughing. "Terminate us? You have no idea of who you deal with, human. If we wanted to assault you, you would be dead already."

One of vK's thin eyebrows rose in an obvious show of skepticism. "Oh, really? Then would you mind telling me who you are, and why you are here?"

"We are the Horsemen. Or, at least, most of us are." The peeling hand waved in the general direction of the black-suited figure. "This is Uriel, Archangel of Death. Soon to be the Horseman of that office."

"I've dealt with celestial beings before."

The laugh came again. "Not like us. If you faced anyone of our caliber, you would soon be speaking with our unfortunate brother."

Rather annoyed, vK pressed on. "What do you want, then?"

"We have come to make a proposition of you."

"Make it, then."

"You doubtless know that there are those amongst the populace who will stop at nothing to destroy you, even with your backup?"

"I know of at least one," the man replied guardedly.

"Yes. We have come to provide you with... aid. None can stand against us. Not even the Universe could resist Our coming.

"And what would you get in return? A dimension of your own?"

Laughter. "Nothing so crude. We oversee the destruction of worlds, not the worlds themselves."

"What, then?"

"Our brother. You may perhaps know him. He is the one called Sam.

"There are a lot of people by that name in-"

"This one is approxomately seven feet tall, and wields a scythe."

vK nodded. "That should narrow it down considerably." A pause. "What do you want? Do you want me to spare him if he resists?"

This time, the white figure nearly doubled over with laughter, teeth and bile spraying onto the expensive oriental rug from his foul mouth. "There is nothing you can do against him, nothing anyone ever could. All we ask is that we are the ones to eliminate him."

"But you just said-"

"He may not be killed. He must, however, be drained of his power, which we shall grant to our newly ordained brother.: Again, he waved towards the figure in the suit.

"And why do you ask that?"

"It is enough for you to know that the Powers We represent have ordered that his mantle shall be passed on. We are the only ones powerful enough to do this thing." The tone of that rasping, sliding voice silenced any further questioning.

"Well, it looks like our roads lie together for the moment, mister.....?"

"Pestilence."

To Be Continued

Author's note: The Horseman are now on the loose. Trying to mess with KOMBG has now become... well, terminal. A short rundown of the horsemen's abilities:

War: Stunningly beautiful. Has not spoken in the last several thousand years. Wields a sword. War's hand-to-hand strikes can penetrate the heaviest power-armor. Using the sword, there are virtually no limits to what she can do. Fights tend to break out around her, even amidst close friends and battle-hardened regiments.

Famine: Virtually skeletal, with no meat or muscle on his bones. He is, however, strong enough to fell even the strongest warrior. His 'weapon' is a pair of scales. When involved in a fight with Famine, the opposing party will be gradually drained of his energy. If Famine actually touches a person, or turns his attention on to them, they will be struck down, all energy drained from them, and from their power armor.

Pestilence: A fairly tall man, thin, skin, hair and eyes all blanched white. The skin peels constantly, and his hair is falling out all the time. Imagine a man in a state of speed-leprosy. Pestilence causes any and all systems to infect themselves with viruses or bacteria until they are essentially useless.

Uriel: Death. An archangel. Enough said.

As far as vulnerability goes, think Saint of Killers level (if you can hit them at all, as in the case of War). They can't really be killed, at least at this point, but they can be slowed down.

-Darth_Maxx

"I am the Maxx, answer your phone."