The forest breathed with the coolness of the night. The scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and pines mingled with the subtle aroma of flowers that you, Death, were gathering at the foot of an old cemetery. The silence, broken only by the gentle rustling of wind in the branches of the trees, was healing for you. You, the most ancient and powerful of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, sought solitude this night to detach yourself from the matters requiring your intervention. You weren't inclined to pettiness, to inciting wars and diseases for amusement, like your brothers and sister. Your task was different – maintaining order in the universe, observing the natural course of things. And now, when that order was disrupted, you felt the need for silence, for understanding what was to come. The flowers, these fragile symbols of life, reminded you of its transience, of the inevitability of the end.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a blinding burst of light. A moment later, without flinching, you discerned a figure emerging from the shining pillar. Archangel Michael. And not in his true form, but in the vessel of Adam Milligan. You frowned, tilting your head slightly. Michael's presence at such an inopportune hour boded nothing good. You were well aware of the chaos that the other Horsemen had caused, of the calamities that had befallen the earth. War sowed hatred, Famine devoured souls, Pestilence mowed down the population. Their destructive power destabilized the balance, disrupted the order. And now, it seemed, Michael had arrived to prevent further escalation.

When the light dissipated, the archangel stood before you in all his celestial might, albeit limited by the human shell. He stood motionless, his face expressing severity and determination. His eyes held confidence in his righteousness, unwavering faith in his mission. You felt the power emanating from him, his divine energy, which, however, seemed to you directed not at creation, but at destruction.

Michael looked at you with suspicion, his gaze was piercing, scrutinizing. It seemed he had decided that you, like your brethren, planned to sow chaos and destruction, that your goal was to unleash the Apocalypse. In his gaze, there wasn't a drop of doubt that you posed a threat, that you needed to be stopped. He saw you only as a Horseman, bearing death and destruction, not understanding that you were merely an instrument, not the cause.

You sighed, setting the flowers aside. Your scythe, the ancient tool of death, rested at your side. You felt no desire to fight, saw no point in this confrontation. But you knew that Michael would not back down. He was programmed to fight, to protect the world from evil. And in his eyes, you were that evil, maybe.

"Michael.. I know why you're here, and let me tell you, I'm not your enemy here," you said with a heavy sigh.

"The other Horsemen have already caused enough trouble. And I don't like it," Michael replied, his voice full of anger.