As I stared at the fragile beings, the terror in their eyes was the first thing that was evident. It was as if each individual glossy ball was silently yelling for help while accompanying the actual screams that came from their mouths. They ran from us like sheep from wolves. But who were they to blame besides their selves. We sent messengers into their world to explain to them that the end was near. We disguised ourselves as beggars to warn the common people and even went so far as to try and explain to their leaders what was to happen. But the naïve things ignored our pleas to help them. And for some strange and unknown reason, their cries for mercy invoked pity in my cold and colorless heart. "The four horsemen of the apocalypse!" was what they screamed at my brethren and I. That was what they had called us for centuries and the name was fitting. We signaled the end of their existence and time on Earth. We were spawns of the Devil and created to eradicate them. Nonetheless, the name made no difference. I rode on my black horse and sucked the soul out of a woman and her young child and immediately placed it into my gourd. She whispered my name before leaving her now lifeless body behind. "Death…" But the tone of her voice wasn’t to gain mercy. She sought repentance from me which was, of course, more than I could give.
War cackled like a hyena as he cut the heads off of those who were too slow to outrace his steed. As serene as an infant suckling underneath its mothers breasts. Famine rode to the side and withered their crops and grass with each silent step. Conquest repeatedly stabbed what looked like an elderly woman in the chest. I watched these things happen and no emotion crossed my mind. This was what we were made for. Our current mission was to reach the Vatican and obtain the sacred texts of Nostradamus. The key to bringing about the apocalypse which was in the hands of the Pope at the moment. The old man hadn’t been whisked away by Christ as he thought he would have. He was still in his mansion holding on to the absurd idea that he had the right to excommunicate people. As we grew closer to his house, the men and women who were originally running for their lives started to fight back. Though the display of strength was completely useless against us, I knew the motives behind their abrupt retaliation. They wanted to protect their high bishop and the book. We tore through their ranks and reached the gate. Famine touched the golden design and we watched as it melted away. We stormed into the courtyard and continued towards the stairs. Our horses glided up until we eventually reached the top and casually walked into the long hall reserved for his holiness. Two paladins stood by his side and he cradled the book in his chest. The two at his side rushed towards us with vivid hope in their eyes. War dismounted and parried both lunges at the same time. He gracefully slit both of their throats and ran at the old man. "Give us the book!" he yelled with a demanding force. The pope crossed himself and pulled a knife out of the sleeves of his robe. It slipped through my brother and he gave a rusty laugh. I watched as he drove a sword through the throat of the pope and out of his throne. He took the book and turned toward us. "Can you remind me again why we need this useless series of predictions?"