The Four Horseman - The Four Horseman Series Book 1 (E-Book)
Four resurrected souls. One Devil’s Pact. One final chance.
Famine, known as Petor in his previous life, joins forces with the legendary figures of Conquest, Death, and War..
Together, they form the resurrected Four Horsemen, their lives reignited by a devil’s pact. Resurrected in the bowels of a forgotten temple, buried under a city in the midst of a siege, they’ll have to find a way out.
The devil’s deals are always double edged, while they breathe once more their cultivation is gone. To recover it, they’ll have to use all of their skills to craft and fight.
Beyond the city’s walls the devil’s contracts await them. Promising gold and access to their devil’s wares. Gear that could change their fates.
If they fail, there is no devil waiting to snatch up their souls—no chance for them to rewrite the last line in their stories.
“A foul-mouthed pirate, a living suit of armor, a healer with a curse for killing, and a merchant who can trade in anything—Michael Chatfield’s Four Horseman has it all. Unforgettable characters, epic cultivation mixed with sprawling fantasy, a unique crafting system, and gritty action that will leave you on the edge of your seat.” – James Hunter, author of Viridian Gate Online, Rogue Dungeon, and Vigil Bound
Petor let out a shuddering breath, the cracking burning sensation no longer tore through his mana channels.
Not how I thought Yasseen would greet me. His relief turned to wariness. He hadn’t been turned over to a lifetime of penance—yet.
He rubbed his chest, wearing simple clothes, his armor and the arrow that had ended his life were gone. And no medallion.
The light of a campfire flickered, he rose studying the place. Beyond the flame’s light, fog twisted and danced, leaving hazy impressions of what might be trees.
His eyes turned upwards, not a single star lay in the sky.
No food, no water, no weapons or gear. “And no fucking idea where I am. Doesn’t look like the afterlife.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “Though our esteemed goddess could have been lying about that too. Like she did everything else.”
“No!” A woman raged at the heavens, rising from the ground she reached for a weapon that wasn’t there and stumbled forwards, realizing her new surroundings.
She reached toward the campfire and stilled. Her eyes darted around as she lifted her other hand from her stomach. She wore form-fitting clothes. A frown spread across her face as she rose to her feet. She opened her mouth to talk to him.
Her hair was raven black, purple pupils faded into black. Her face held a severe beauty to it, of a person of focus.
“--oing to kill--” Another woman flopped to her side, catching herself before she landed in the dirt.
The twisted smile on her lips turning pensive as her eyes, filled with a ghostly smoke, flicked between the raven haired woman and Petor.
She rose, pressing a hand to her stomach, tilting back her tri-corn captain’s hat.
She wore loose-fitting sailor gear, filled out by her curves, her hair a shock of red pulled back into a ponytail under a wide-brimmed hat. “Well this is not what I was expecting this morning.”
An armored man grunted as he caught himself on the ground. He got his knees under himself and looked up at them.
His eyes were the color of lava, his armor was dented and scarred, lines and runes carved into it glowing with the same power.
“What the fuck is happening?” Petor asked.
The man rose from the ground, a full head taller than Petor and nearly twice as wide.
“I think I died.” He scanned the area around them.
The glow faded from his armor. Petor squinted, seeing through the armor. Not wearing—he is the armor. Well apparently, I’m dead too, this fucking day I swear.
“I have to agree,” the black haired woman said. “Though I do not adhere to a religion or a god.”
“Well, I shouldn’t be dead. I fixed that awhile ago,” the sailor woman said. “I’m Mya Asmani. And I still don’t have your names?”
“I’m pretty sure my old goddess wasn’t going to let me go. I’m Petor--” Champion-in-training no more. He cut off his usual address bitterly.
“I killed my god, I’m Valter.”
Silence spread as they all looked at the armored man.
“Well, yeah that wins,” the red head said.
“Desari…Haker.” The black haired woman muttered her last name, while watching the others for their reaction.
“Where the hell are we?” Petor asked.
“Once a soul reaches the Celestial Plane they are drawn into their pledged Celestial Realm or picked between gods,” Desari said. “This must be a Plane between.”
“There are other planes?” Petor asked.
“To every world, there are at least seven Planes. The Mortal Plane its mirror, the Abyssal Plane, then the adjacent Earth, Water, Air, and Fire Planes and finally the Celestial Plane, where gods create Celestial Realms.” Desari’s words trailed off, focused on something behind him.
Petor followed her gaze. A red line cut through the darkness, spreading down and around, creating an archway.
“The hells?” Valter muttered. “I can’t summon my gear.”
“Not even a pinch of powder,” Mya turned her pockets inside out.
“I don’t have my storage device and all the gear I was wearing was taken,” Petor turned his head, while keeping his eyes on the forming archway.
“If we are in the Celestial Plane, we are but souls. The only power we have is that of our own souls,” Desari said.
Magic, actual freaking magic spiraled around her hand in purple lettering.
Mya balled her fists, looked at them both and sighed. “Ah fuck this.”
Petor grunted. “Well at least we have pants.”
Valter started glowing again like the goddesses own statue.
A mage, a pirate and set of armor and a veteran walk into the Celestial Plane. There’s a punchline somewhere in there.
Twin mounts pierced the red-lined inky darkness. They were larger than most horses, armored hides of midnight black and stone gray, with yellow eyes of captured lightning. They snorted heat as they plodded forward, pulling a carriage. Lamps at the four corners illuminated its black wood, purple paint, and gold filigree. Matching crates covered the roof and back of the carriage. Warm light spilled through the windows.
The portal closed as the carriage came to a halt. The door opened, stairs unfolding to the ground.
A humanoid stepped onto the stairs, pointed ears sticking out of either side of his top hat. A monocle highlighted his yellow eyes, identical to his mounts’. It was attached by a golden chain to the left breast of his doublet. It was a fine thing of golden stitched patterns. A cloak hung over his back, red-lined and as dark as the wood of his carriage. Black pants and boots filled out the man’s wardrobe; a fine blade hung from his hip.
“Friends!” He laughed, spreading his arms as he stepped down from the carriage, the light of the carriage back-lighting him and his impish smile. “I heard that you four were dead. Ah, it has been a rather large pain to find you and gather you all here!”
“Who the hell are you?” Mya asked.
He took off his hat in a swinging bow, his other hand countering behind him. “Interplanar trader Limos, at your service.”
He rose, his yellow eyes dancing in glee as he affixed his hat back upon his head. “It is truly an honor to meet you all.”