The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

A white horse and its rider stood before a young man, the rider was covered in boils and blisters and had a green highlight to her skin. Her eyes were the colour of an oak tree, her lips chapped from dehydration.

The young man stood in the middle of a wasteland the heat overwhelmingly powerful. He was wearing thin leather armour and wielded two katana.

The woman looked down on the man with disgrace and he felt as if he had done something wrong. She wielded a bow that looked like it had been woven from emerald green leaves and arrows made of spider webs. To the man, she looked ill yet somehow powerful and dangerous. She hadn't drawn her weapon but she scowled at the man from her white horse.

The horse itself was grotesquely beautiful, its fur a silky satin white and its eyes a ferocious metallic gold. Its chest had skin flaying off of it and the man could see the horse’s ribcage, it lacked its beating heart and lungs. Beyond the bones there was a sickening emptiness.

A strong gust of wind blows through the empty lands and ruffles the shoulder-length brown hair of the man; he heard the galloping of more horses and turned around trying to spot the other animals but to no avail. As far as his grey eyes could see, there were no other living things.

The ground surrounding him was covered in bones, human mostly but there were some bones that he didn't recognise.

Slowly the man blinked his stone eyes and grass began to grow at his feet, and a single flower rose from the parched soil in-between the man’s feet. The flower was large; the petals all different shades of blue. The aroma reached his nose quickly after the colours had formed. It smelt of everything that he didn't have. It smelt of grassy meadows and a cleanliness that felt like freedom.

The man bent down, his back cracking as if he had been standing frozen in place for millennia, he picked up the flower to take a closer look at it but as soon as his rough fingers touched it the petals changed colour. This time they were blood red and all he smelt was the sweat of men. Far away his ears heard the roars of a single man sounding as if he were going into battle. The man felt a sudden outburst of rage and he dropped the flower in surprise.

The man heard the pounding of horseshoes against the dry ground come closer. Again he twisted around towards the noises to see the oncoming creature. Foe or Ally? He asked himself this and weighed out his limited options, he could run but he knew that he would surely starve or dehydrate to death. Then, he could also stay here in the presence of a woman who looks like she should be dead and her horse that remains perfectly still unless told to do something.

The man made his decision by drawing his beloved katana, made purely of diamond. In the sun, the sparkled like jewels that could have once been owned by a queen. He wielded one in each hand and braced himself for the oncoming blows. The sick and blistered woman dismounted her horse with a grace that any man or woman would have thought she would have lacked. Her body shook with humour and she let a laugh escape her ill-coloured body. Her voice was rich and sweet like freshly made honey and the sweetness stunned the man. "You cannot harm me, Mortal." She spoke with the same honey-coated voice.

The horseshoes become louder now, sounding as if they're right next to his head. The drumming of the steps was intense, the rhythm quickens and you stop himself from turning and searching. Searching for some sign of this insanity.

The man closed his eyes and saw a dark forest, all of the trees grey, withered and dead. An owl chirped away at him from atop the tallest dead tree. He heard the horse again; he heard it coming from the heart of the forest. His heart beat faster, drumming along with the steps as he travelled quickly to the sound ignoring all other sights that he saw in his journey. In the centre of the forest there was a single Elm tree, its trunk healthy and alive. He walked towards the tree, captured by such beauty and couldn’t help but touch the fine wood.

The man heard a scream and underneath his hand he felt a burn, fire winds its way around the tree as if to strangle it mercilessly. Soon after, the fire devours the last living thing in the forest, leaving the tree burnt and ashen in colour. The wind comes through again but it was weak, as if to sigh in hopelessness.

He opened his eyes in horror; the woman still stood there a cruel smile plastered on her sickly coloured face. Whilst her smile was cruel, her eyes had a softness that most do not. She walked toward the man, him muscles stiffening with every step that she took. She walks gracefully as if she had not a care in the world. She reached down and picked up the flower that he dropped. When she touched it, the petals returned to their former blues. She passed it towards the man but he was unsure of whether to take the flower or not.

He took the flower reacted to his touch yet again, but the petals begin to wrinkle and the colour fades. His chest began to feel tight, he struggled to breathe and felt sick, felt like he was going to retch but the man’s stomach growled as if he hadn’t eaten for many years. His throat was dry and he found himself longing for the wetness of water. His eyes began to flutter, heavy with exhaustion, his legs trembled and he soon fell to the ground in a matter of seconds, yet he still clutched the flower with a vice-like grip in his sand-papery hand.

He dropped the flower, but as soon as it fell from his hand the man found himself wanting to hold it again. He watched the flower with droopy eyes and stared in shock as its faded colours returned to their normal blues as he began to feel rejuvenated. He pulled himself up off of the ground and stared coldly at the sick woman. She had done something to him, the man did not know what, but he at least knew that she had done something.

She still smiled, but this time it wasn’t cruel, it was genuine appraisal as if he had done something to please her.

He heard the horseshoes again but this time the man saw the horses. Three more come into view, a Red Horse with a rider as large as an ogre, his hair blonde and so long that it trailed behind the horse. Strapped to his back was a sword with a blade as wide and as tall as the man, splattered with fresh blood. The second horse was black and looked like it needed to be fed. The black horse's skin was stretched thinly along its body, nowhere near thick enough to cover its veins and bones. The black horse's rider also was unhealthily skinny, his skin ghostly pale and his eyes black, hollow like the depths of an abyss. Above the rider’s shoulders was a set of scales, thick black liquid in one and white in the other as if to represent the balance of Good and Evil. The third horse was a dark green, the eyes a bright fiery red. The rider was the most hidden of all; he wore nothing but a long black cape with a hood covering most of his face. The skin on his face was hidden by a mask made of human bones, pieced together like a mosaic but his eyes, like his horse, were bright red as well. He wielded no weapon but had a shadow in the shape of a terrifying monster follow behind him.

The man moved protectively in-front of the woman and she laughed heartily at him. The three horsemen circle around the woman and man, the Red horseman drew his blood splattered sword. The man braced himself for battle but he was shocked to hear shrill laughter coming from the woman.

"Pestilence, what have you done?" The Black Horseman spoke, his voice hoarse and raspy like an old mans, and his skin was sweaty like he had a fever. He took the scales off of his shoulders and placed them on the ground; he then dismounted his horse slowly. His bones cracked with every movement, as soon as he touched the ground he slouched over in pain. He waved his fingers around, "Come here, my pretties." He sung in a horrid voice. The man waited in suspense, waiting for something to happen. In time cockroaches crawled out from cracks in the grounded and climbed on top of each other, forming a stick of sorts under the unhealthy man's hand.

Pestilence, which you assumed was the woman, spoke still laughing in a high-pitched tone. "I've found myself a pet. You've all seen what he can do." She whispered behind her hand, acting as if he couldn't hear her.

The Red horsemen then threw himself off of his horse, marched forward triumphantly and grabbed Pestilence by the throat. "Is this funny to you?" He held his sword to her throat which only made her laugh more, his skin began to turn pale and he too began to sweat with feverish symptoms. His breaths became short and black spots covered his face. "Woman, don't play games with me!" He roared, it sounded much like the roar you heard when the flower was blood red.

"War, release Pestilence and let her explain." The Green horsemen grabbed both of their foreheads silently and threw them apart. For moments you saw terrified expressions on both of their faces before they were tossed away.

Pestilence and War rose as if nothing had happened; she brushed the dust off of her black robes and walked forward. War had not bothered to cleanse himself of the dust. His eyes were filled with rage and bloodlust.

The man with the scales stepped forward, "Yes, I'd much like to hear this. This... Boy, has potential but Pestilence, You can't surely be thinking about taking him under our wing? Humans aren't pets, Graceful Lady."

Pestilence stepped forward and bowed an apology to the man with the shadow. "Apologies, Death." She said, her voice trembling slightly when she spoke the Fourth Horseman's name.

Death waved her off; around him the ground seemed more lifeless that it was before. The grass around his feet was brown and stiff like cardboard. "Explain yourself."

Pestilence looked up towards the old man, "Famine, I did not use the right words before. I do not wish for a pet, but this one has a certain magical power that Demons will want." The old man listened to her with contempt; he considered every word that she spoke.

"You wish to keep him for the sake of the Balance?" Famine simplified her words effortlessly, his voice still raspy and croaky.

Pestilence nodded.

War strode up to the boy and grabbed him by the chin and jerked his face around as if to search for something. "I see nothing of value, and what of those Peacocks? They will want him too I assume." He grunted, the rage and bloodlust still swimming in his amber eyes.

Pestilence nodded again.

"Come here, Child." Famine beckoned the boy forward; his fingers were long and stained with bruises.

The man stepped forward wearily, unsure of what would happen. Famine smiled at you, revealing rotting gums and blackened teeth. "Touch the scales, child." He ordered softly, his voice was full of knowledge, despite the crispiness of it. Famine seemed to know what he was doing and he seemed highly respected in the group, even by Death who appeared to be the leader and feared by all.

"Tell me his name too, child." He asked politely but made no effort to hide his curiosity.

The boy reached forward and touched the scales. The thick black liquid turned electric blue and the white blood-red. "Nephamel" He said absent-mindedly as Nephamel watched the scales move by themselves.

Famine looked at Nephamel and raised his eye brow as the blue liquid seemed to weigh down the red. "Blue is intellect, red is brute strength." Death said to the boy, his voice as hollow as Famine's eyes. His voice triggered a fearful reaction inside Nephamel and his heart began to beat faster.

Pestilence walked up to the scales and watched closely. "I told you, Famine. They will want it." She said quietly, she sounded distant, as if concentrating on the scales.

Famine regarded her words and then he placed his black eyes upon Death. "The council is his responsibility, the decision lies in his hands."

Death nodded. "It is our duty to keep the balance, so we will keep Nephamel and should the need arise we will train him in our arts. This is, only if he agrees."

War was seething with anger. He threw his sword into the ground and buried it into the ground to the hilt. "This has nothing to do with the council!" War yelled throwing his hands up in disgust. "He will-"

Death glared at War, his shadow behind him crept towards War. War stopped; sweat breaking on his brow as fear began to become plain on his face. "You dare question my decision, War?" Death hissed lethally and War cowered away. "Should the boy wish he will ride with us." his voice was stern.

Nephamel nodded his head slowly and took his hand off of the scales. The liquid in the scales returned to their previous colours. One black and the other white, but this time the black outweighed the white. Famine sighed, "Death, they strike again." Nephamel looked at the four horsemen in confusion. Who was this 'they'? And why did the black liquid weigh out the white?

Pestilence looked away from the scales and at Death, "Whose turn is it this time?" She asked sounding bored, as if this was something common. She wiped her greenish forehead, her brown eyes spotted yellow.

Death sighed, "It's far from here, I fear that this may be worse than it seems." Death's voice was strong and stable but he did not seem as bored as Pestilence had. Famine wheezed out a sigh and climbed upon his horse, his horse's legs trembling in weakness. "Pestilence, until this is dealt with, the boy is his responsibility."

Pestilence nodded and waved her hand above the ground in front of Nephamel. Golden dust fell from her finger tips and the shape of a Griffon formed. The Griffon was majestic in a royal way, the wings were pure white and as fluffy as fur, its body was covered in a deep brown pelt that shone against the sun's rays and its beak was a fiery red. The eyes were the most distinct feature of all, its eyes were a watery golden colour, and they narrowed at you and then changed to a light grey colour. Nephamel watched those eyes for a few minutes, watching them change from gold, to grey to a bright green.

"Climb upon the Griffons back, it will follow us." Pestilence spoke, ordering the boy like a common folk but her voice was still sweet and somewhat nurturing; it was a voice that did not suit her whatsoever.

Nephamel climbed onto the Griffon, and held on to its silky fur. The Griffon is warm and muscular; Nephamel could feel each muscle move as it breathed in and out. He looked ahead to the horsemen; each had mounted their horses and rode off quicker than the wind. The pounding of their horse’s hooves was loud and Nephamel’s heart began to pound against his chest in the same rhythm.

After a few moments, the Griffon let out a war cry, bunched its leg muscles and soared high into the sky. The winds were crisp and cool against his skin, below the horsemen seemed to only be specs against the vast wasteland. Death's shadow seemed far more frightening from above. It was in the shape of a shark, mouth wide open stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to snap...

Nephamel blinked, looking away from the shadow, he had to concentrate. He was riding with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse; and he had no idea what tasks he would have to endure throughout his journey with them. Was Nephamel making the right choice?

He reasoned with himself, if Nephamel had denied them then they would have left him for the animals of the Wastes. Nephamel cringed, thinking of what kind animals would have preyed on him.

The Griffon drifted down, flying above the head of Death. He let out another war cry and shot forward.

In front of the Griffon, there was an army of Demons shouting and brawling. Once Nephamel looked closer he saw angels, they wielded guns of sorts, blue energy being shot from them. If the Demons were hit by the energy, they cried out in agony, their skin sizzling from heat. He could smell the scent of decay from where the Griffon was flying.

The Griffon plunged forward and used its beak to pluck an angel form the sky. It tackled it to the ground and mauled at its throat. The angel threw the griffon back and Nephamel was tossed off of the back of the Griffon, his back slamming against the dry ground.

Demons and Angels alike crowded around him, looking upon Nephamel with greed. An arrow made of webs flew past his eyes and pierced two demons through the head with one shot. Pestilence leapt off her horse and stood in front of Nephamel, knocking an arrow and taking aim. She breathed in, calm as the clouds, her muscles relaxed and she released the string. You followed the arrow in its flight, watched it go through an angel's eye. "Fight, Nephamel!" She ordered, knocking another arrow to her Corinthian leaf string.

Nephamel unsheathed his diamond katana and wielded them both in each hand; he spread his feet wide and ran into the fray, careful of Pestilence's arrows flying everywhere. Nephamel’s first opponent was twice the size of him, his skin vermillion; he held a large sledge hammer that rested on his shoulders. He laughed heartily and stared at Nephamel with a cold and murderous gaze.

The ogre swiped down at Nephamel with his hammer, his movements were slow, slow enough that he darted through and sliced at the ogre’s knees in a single blow. Nephamel hacked at them like a madman, the ogre’s blue blood splattering over Nephamel’s body, the demon roared and swiped again, Nephamel took no time to stab the demon’s stomach and twisted his sword upwards so that it pierced the ogre’s heart. Nephamel tore his katana out and stabbed both of the demon’s red eyes with each katana. He dropped his hammer and swiped at Nephamel with weak hands but he simply dodged the attack in time before the ogre fell down, flattening an angel and two imps.