Thomas Anthony Lay
Issue #1
“Sent by almighty God to bring about the absolute destruction of mankind. God’s harbingers signal their arrival, the initiation of the apocalypse. Death rides out on a skeletal steed, sat tall and fleshless draped in tattered robes. He reaps the souls of the fallen with his scythe. His lipless skull gives the impression of a grin as he harvests, stealing life from the innocent. He coughs.”
“What?”
“Coughs. Like when you have a tickle in your throat and-”
“I know what a cough is. Does it say that there?”
“Yes, look… Are you going to let me read or not?”
“Sorry, continue.”
“War gallops forth on the most magnificent chestnut-brown steed ever to grace mankind. Giant hooves gouge scars in the earth as he rides. Every human he touches is filled with rage against their fellow human. Mortals fight to the death giving yet more souls to the reaper and as War incites fire and destruction with every cough he-”
“Sorry, sorry… Coughing? Are you sure that’s what it says?”
“For fu- yes! I’m reading verbatim. Listen!”
“Sorry. Go.”
“War incites fire and destruction with every cough he spreads to the populace. Behind him rides Pestilence, sat thin and gaunt atop a shimmering white steed. He rides through towns and villages alike spewing disease and sickness. Humans of all kinds suffer immeasurably and drop from unspeakable illness. As Pestilence coughs over mankind, so too does his raspy voice preach deliverance unto the one true God.”
“At least that one makes sense! What does it say about me?”
“Amidst Death, War, and Pestilence, Famine rears his black-as-night mare on hind legs inflicting a terrible hunger across the world. As he croaks the word of God, mankind’s food supplies wilt and rot until there is nought but ashes left to eat.”
“I don’t get all the coughing, are you sure that’s what the Bible says?”
“Bible? No, this is ‘A Handy Guide to the Apocalypse.’ Why did you think I was reading the Bible?”
Famine sighed and shifted her hefty weight on the pristine leather sofa.
“Well, it’s totally wrong. For a start, Pestilence and I are women, right girl?”
Famine reached out a thick hand and playfully slapped Pestilence on the shoulder. Her tight jumper sleeve pulled back exposing her wrist. Pestilence recoiled and scrubbed the slapped area.
“Don’t touch me! Have you even washed your hands? Ugh, I’m going to have to put this jumper in the wash now. And no, we aren’t women. Technically none of us is anything: we’re not human or even mortal.” Her frail and delicate voice drifted through the air.
Pestilence rose from the sofa. Her pallid face twisted to disgust as she removed her crimson jumper. Lengths of blonde hair fell, coming to rest below her shoulder. She stormed to the washing machine in the nearby kitchen and threw the garment into the drum. Famine rolled her eyes and swiped her hand through the air. She took advantage of the extra space and stretched her legs out, propping herself up on a chunky arm. War averted his eyes and shuddered in his armchair on the other side of the small room.
“At least put some socks on. Bare feet give me the creeps.”
Death closed his eyes and threw his head back in laughter.
“What?!” demanded War, his words deep and booming as usual.
Death continued to laugh. His legs folded beneath him on his own armchair opposite War. War flailed his arms about violently in an attempt to get Death’s attention. Death opened his eyes and squinted through tears at his colleague. He watched War point to his lips and read the words flowing from them as if his mouth were an open book. Death's lips twitched as he mimicked the motion of War’s own.
“What’s so funny? You! Father War, bringer of destruction, afraid of bare feet!”
“And spiders,” added Famine as she passed a hand through neatly trimmed short curls.
“And snakes!” called Pestilence from the kitchen.
Death began to count on his long, skinny fingers as he reeled off more, his voice deep and airy, almost whispery like he’d been a smoker his whole, inhumanely long life.
“Small spaces, large spaces, sharks, water, shadows, bees, heights, ducks, docks, di-”
War jumped up, his shaven head brushing against the ceiling, and pointed at Death.
“I’m not afraid of any of those things! I’d... just... rather not be exposed to them is all.”
“Oh yeah? Touch Famine’s feet.”
Famine raised her foot and wiggled her toes.
War promptly returned to his seat and opened the book again. “I’d rather continue reading.”
“I’m surprised you’re not afraid of reading,” muttered Famine.
All but War fell about in fits of hysterics.
War ground his teeth. His eyes traced over the lines in the book though he did not actually read any words. Pestilence strolled back into the room wearing a green jumper and grimaced at Famine’s feet on the sofa. Famine sat upright again. Her rough voice turned apologetic, although not believably so. “Sorry, Stella. Here, sit.”
Pestilence shook her head. “No thanks, your germs are there now. I’ll perch over here. Please disinfect the sofa later.”
She drifted over to Death’s armchair and sat on the arm, draping her arm across the back of the chair. Death came down from his laughing fit and coughed into the crook of his arm, away from Pestilence.
“That’s a point,” said Famine, “what is up with all the coughing in that book?”
War shrugged. His thick, muscled shoulders came to meet his cauliflower ears and dropped again as if they weighed a ton.
“No idea. Maybe it’s symbolism that represents the decline of mankind?”
Pestilence withdrew her hand into her jumper sleeve and covered her mouth, muffling her words. “Coughing is disgusting. It’s a surefire way to spread disease.”
Death craned his neck, watching her lips and then slapped the opposite arm of the chair.
“You spread disease! It’s like… Your whole job!”
“Yes but that doesn’t mean I want to catch them!”
War chuckled to himself garnering the attention of the other three. “You could say this book depicts us as the Four Hoarse-men!”
Death buried his narrow face in his hands to stifle the eruption of laughter that spurted out from his mouth. With this, the other three fell about, tears in their eyes. War beamed with pride and joined the laughter, his huge hairy chest heaving and jerking as he did, uncovered by any garment.
Famine fought through the laughter and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“You know that’s gonna stick, right? We are the Four Hoarsemen, spreading contagious coughing and rough voices across the land!”
When the hysterics finally subsided, Death sighed.
“Oh if God could see us now.”
“It probably can.” Pestilence looked at the drab ceiling and mumbled, “Bloody thing.”
A light rapping at the door caught the immediate attention of everyone in the room bar Death, who instead remained with his back to the door playing happily with his clothed toes, as amused as a child. The rapping came again, although it was more of a bumping. A bumping followed by a muffled scrape. War pointed at Famine.
“Go see what that is.”
Famine placed her palm on her chest.
“Me? I’m not answering it! Stella should go.”
Pestilence gasped.
“Why me?”
“Because if it’s dangerous, you can kill it quicker than the rest of us.”
Three more bumps interrupted the conversation.
“Death only needs to touch whatever it is and it’ll die!”
War agreed.
“True, actually. Dan… Dan!” Death continued to smile at his toes, pulling and tugging at them. Pestilence tapped his shoulder to get his attention and directed his gaze toward War.
“There’s a knock at the door. Go and answer it.”
More knocking and scraping sounded from behind the door. Then a bleat.
“Me? Stella should go, if it’s dangerous she can kill it quicker- Oh wait… No, I can.”
The bleating came again, quietly at first, then louder as it appeared to form words. War hushed the rumble of chatter in the room and listened to the bleating.
“I know you’re in there. Open the door, I have a message for you.”
War scratched his head. “The hell is this?”
The door bumped again. Death stared at War, a puzzled look slapped across his pale face.
“What is it?”
“Sounds like… A sheep? Telling us it’s got a message for us.”
Death doubled over, fits of giggles exploded from his lungs. He fought against the laughter to speak.
“Wow, what?”
He glanced at everyone else’s expressionless faces.
“Oh, I guess you’re being serious.”
War called out to the door and Death watched his lips closely.
“What message? From whom?”
The muffled bleating replied, “It’s an invitation from the tooth fairy offering you a change of career.”
“Really?”
“Of course not really! It’s from God you dingbat, now open the sodding door!”
War spoke softer to Death, enunciating the words clearly.
“Says he’s got a message from God. Go and open the door.”
“How do we know it’s not a trick from Satan?”
After a moment’s pause, the muffled sheep voice responded.
“Oh for fu- I can hear you y’know! Okay, you know what? You got me. I am Satan and instead of just busting your door down and wreaking havoc with witches and harpies and demons and shit, I’m politely knocking because I’ve had a change of heart and want to repent and I thought you guys would be the best place to start.”
War stared blankly at the door.
“... Really?”
A loud, solitary bang made them jump. Death held his heart and jolted at Pestilence’s jump beside him.
“Of course not bloody really! Open the blaaaaa door! Great. Look what you made me blaaaaa do. Give me a second, I need to calm down.”
War spoke directly to Death once again.
“It’s… Bleating. And it sounds angry... I think it’s safe, go open the door.”
Death threw his arms up.
“Christ, fine. I’ll go.”
Death hauled himself to his feet. He barely stood taller than Pestilence, still sat on the arm of the chair. The sleeves of his knitted onyx jumper hung past his hands as he edged toward the door and pressed the latch down, pulling the door open. Peering around the door, he sighed and swung the door open fully.
“Guys, it’s the lamb.”
In perfect synchronicity, they chorused. “Ooooh!”
“Of course,” added War.
The tiny fluffy lamb barged past Death at the kneecaps and leapt onto the oak coffee table, knocking over empty glasses. War swatted at the lamb with his boulder-like hands.
“No! Down!”
The lamb snapped at his fingers.
“Back off, big lad! I’m already in a bad mood. Let me say what I’ve gotta say and go.”
War jumped back into his chair and cradled his fingers, lifting his knees to his chest.
Famine’s eyes glistened as she cooed over their guest.
“So cute! Can I pet you? Please, please, pleeeaase?”
“Are you for real? No, you damn well cannot pet me! I am the Lamb of God! I work directly for the great one!”
“Technically so do we, so…”
Famine slumped back with a thud and folded her arms in a grump. Death waved at War from across the room.
“Killa, you’re going to have to relay for me. A lamb’s lips don’t move in the same way as a person’s so I’m having trouble.”
The lamb glared at Death, “What? Blaaaaa”
Death shrugged, pointed to his ears, and looked expectantly at War. The lamb followed his gaze to War.
“He’s deaf but an incredible lip reader.”
The lamb sighed and lowered his head.
“And Killa? Dare I ask?”
“We gave ourselves human names to fit in better. I’m Warrick Killa, Famine is Faye Min, Pestilence over there is Stella Dance, and the reaper himself is Dan Watt.”
A bleat of laughter came from the lamb.
“Dan Watt, now that’s funny!”
Nothing but blank stares glared back in response.
“Seriously? You chose the name ‘Watt’ for someone who is deaf!”
War shrugged, “I don’t get it. Like... Electricity?”
Famine and Pestilence shook their heads and shrugged too, agreeing with War.
“Fine. Blaaaa let’s just get on with it, shall we?”
The lamb paced the coffee table. Its tiny hooves clicked against the polished oak surface as it glared at each of the Horsemen in turn.
“You probably know why I’m here and what my message is. The Bible foretells it.”
War spread his hands and shrugged. The lamb stamped a hoof making little more than a mediocre clap.
“Have you even read the holy book? I mean, it kind of tells your entire life story and the fate of mankind! It gives you principles to live by! It was written by your boss!”
War held up the guide he’d been reading previously.
“Got this. A Handy Guide to the Apocalypse. Principles are easy, just don’t be a dick, right?”
“There’s more to blaaaaa it than that!”
“Is there?”
The lamb ground its teeth and stamped both its front hooves several times, bleating mercilessly. Famine held her fists to her chin and cooed.
“Awww it’s so cute when it’s mad!”
With a nasty glare from the lamb, Famine dropped her arms and leaned forward.
“Go on lambie, what’s the message?”
“For real? Fine, I’m just going to get this over with. I can’t leave until I’ve told you everything so just sit tight and shut up. I want to rattle through this and drag myself as far away from you idiots as I can.”
War raised his chin and nodded at Death.
“Said it’s gonna tell us something and then go. Also, apparently hates us.”
Death slunk into his chair looking defeated.
“Well, that’s not very nice.”
With its eyes squeezed tightly shut, the lamb inhaled.
“So, as you guys are obviously too stupid to even read the Bible, it might come as a shock to you to learn that you need to carry out the apocalypse. I’m talking fire and brimstone, global catastrophe, way bigger than the flood back in the Noah days.”
The air in the room thinned as the Horsemen gasped. Pestilence leaned forward, then back again when she became aware of the distance between her and an animal. She put a sleeved hand over her mouth as she spoke.
“Like, nobody? Why? Why is God so angry?”
The lamb’s voice broke into a high pitched bleat.
“Why in the hell are you gasping? You are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Did you not see this com- Alright I’m done explaining shit to you. All you need to know is that God wants no survivors this time. Hardly a surprise. Look at how irresponsible humans are. God is pissed that its most beloved species has squandered everything they’ve been given. I think God’s planning to start from scratch.”
War furrowed his brow.
“Seems like an overreaction to me.”
“Whatever. Look, the ‘why’ isn’t important. Just do your damn jobs. God wants you to start purging in one month’s time. Just do your jobs and I’m sure you’ll be rewarded.
“What’s in it for us?”
The lamb stared at Famine with an entirely blank look.
“What’s in it-”
It raised its voice.
“YOU are the blaaaaa Four Horsemen of the blaaaaapocalypse! God damn you all! This is your entire blaaaaa purpose, the reason you blaaaaa were created. God isn’t hiring you as mercenaries for blaaaaa Christ’s sake. Jesus wept…” The lamb looked to the ceiling. “Why these four?”
“Well, someone isn’t so cute any more.”
“Famine, I swear to God-”
The lamb breathed again.
War reiterated the lamb’s words and subsequent conversation to Death. Death stared at the lamb and shook his head.
“I agree with Famine. What is in it for us? We’ve made our lives here for the past few millennia. We’ve been here serving God and keeping mankind in check since day one. When the population grew too great, Pestilence was there. When tensions rose dangerously high between nations, War stepped in. And when… Err… I guess when she was hungry Famine stole a lot of food but listen, does God really expect us to end everything and then go to heaven and retire?”
The lamb simply nodded then looked at Pestilence.
“God is giving you one last hurrah, as it were.”
The lamb walked to the edge of the coffee table and bowed its head revealing some tiny chain necklaces around its neck, hidden by wool.
“Take these, there’s one necklace for each of you.”
Pestilence held her hands up and shook her head.
“Death, you take them. I don’t want to touch it.”
“Someone take the blaaaaa damn necklaces!”
Death leaned forward and carefully removed the four necklaces from the lamb’s neck. A pendant hung on each necklace. Silver claws firmly gripped a tiny, beautiful gemstone. The stone glistened, even under the dull light in the living room. Dazzling emerald smoke danced within a crystal clear exterior, unaffected by movement. Death threw one to War and one to Famine. He held the third out to Pestilence who pointed to the table.
“Leave mine there, I’ll wash it before I wear it.”
Death obliged and asked the burning question.
“What are these?”
“God’s final gift. With these necklaces, you can travel to any point in Earth’s history and interact in any way you wish. God wants you to have some fun, relive some of your favourite moments before you complete your work next month.”
War’s eyes widened.
“Won’t that change the course of history?”
“Yes, but who cares? You’re ending it all next month anyway. Go crazy.”
“Death! Death!” War flailed, “Time travel necklaces! He said we can do whatever we want, whenever we want before the apocalypse!”
Death’s face lit up.
“Woah sweet! How do they work?”
“Just think of the place you want to be and crush the gem between your fingers. It’ll-”
A tiny shatter grabbed everyone’s attention and Famine disappeared in a puff of green smoke.
No more than a couple of seconds later, Famine reappeared with a giant pork leg in one hand and a horn of ale in the other. She finished chewing a hunk of meat and glanced around the room at everyone staring at her.
“What? Everyone knows the Vikings had the best feasts!”
War chuckled.
“How did you know you could get back?”
“I didn’t, but if I’m spending my last month anywhere it’s there. When I arrived I saw the necklace was whole again so I grabbed this and gave it another smash. Seemed to work!”
The lamb sighed and shook its head.
“As I was saying: once you travel, the necklace will repair itself instantly. Crush it again to return here. Repeat as much as you’d like. Knock yourselves out.
The lamb mumbled, “literally.”
“What if we want to go to separate places?” asked War.
“You can communicate through the necklaces too. Close your palm around it and think of who you’d like to contact. Their necklace will shudder, then if the others grip it you’ll be connected telepathically. It should even work for Dan Watt over here.”
The lamb chuckled to itself, “Heh… Dan Watt.”
Death examined the necklace closely, scrutinizing every perfect facet.
“And you’re sure whatever we do in the past is safe to do?”
“That’s what the Alpha says. Do what you want. Changing things won’t make a difference, you’ve still gotta end the world in a month’s time one way or another.”
War gave Death a thumbs up and Death pumped the air with his fist.
“Okay, great. One more thing and then I’m out of here. You still got your horses?”
Famine and Pestilence nodded. War raised a hand.
“Mine’s fine, but Death’s isn’t.”
“Well, where is it?”
“Dead.”
The lamb sighed again.
“Fine, I’ll sort it with the Big One. I’m done here, you guys are too much.”
The lamb looked to the ceiling and bleated loudly.
“Beam me up, Scotty!”
The lamb vanished. No smoke, vapour, or trail followed the disappearance. War scratched his bushy chin.
“God is called Scotty?”
Famine chuckled.
“Don’t be silly, God is called God. God is God, there is no other description.”
“Then who’s Scotty?”
“Probably a mate or something, I don’t know.”
Death and Pestilence shrugged. Pestilence grabbed a fresh tissue from a tissue box under the coffee table and picked her necklace up with it, carrying it to the kitchen like it was a dead rat. The tap hissed as she scrubbed it clean. Over the hiss, her melodic voice carried through to the others.
“What shall we do then?”
“I don’t know,” replied War, “but the possibilities are endless. I say let’s have some fun. Mess with history, experiment a bit. After all, they said anything goes! Let’s go out with a bang before we actually go out with a bang.”
Famine raised her pork leg. “I’ll eat to that!” She sank her teeth into it and tore off another chunk. Death nodded in agreement, then returned his fixated stare to the necklace. Pestilence glided back into the room and put the gem around her neck.
“Sounds fun! But I refuse to go to Victorian England. It was filthy.”
“So, where first?” asked Death.
War drove the heels of his hands into the leather arms of his armchair and pushed himself up with a groan.
“Let’s prepare our horses and ride out. Party on!”
Famine rolled to her feet and grinned, making toward the door.
The Four Horsemen left the confines of their small farmhouse to the gorgeous vista of a midnight forest. Moonlight bathed the small clearing where their house stood. A delicate layer of mist tangled around the dense tree trunks that shielded the farmstead from the general public. One by one, the shroud of the night revealed the Horsemen’s true forms as they stepped out to the clearing in front of the house. A voice filled Death’s head. Deep. Majestic. A voice that made a King sound like a common house cat.
“Death. Come forth and receive your new steed.”
Death turned to the others. In the darkness, his true form stood twice as tall and twice as thin, a grinning skeleton layered in tattered grey robes. His voice floated on the breeze, like a distant gravelly whisper.
“You guys have to go first. God says I need to go fourth to get my horse or something.”
The midnight revealed War to have doubled in size. Tiny flames flickered and danced as they licked his exposed crimson skin. He lifted a hirsute rock-like hand to raise the visor on his scuffed and scarred helmet but revealed no head inhabiting it. A black void stared back from within, holding nothing but memories of crusades past.
“Weird, but okay,” he remarked, his voice even deeper than before but somehow ethereal, as if it didn’t emanate from a single point.
Again, the awesome voice rolled around inside Death’s skull.
“Not fourth as in the number, forth as in ‘go forward’.”
“What?”
“Oh for my sake. Just go to the stable. Your horse is in there.”
“So, I don’t have to go fourth?”
“Yes, that’s what I said. Go forth.”
“So I’ll go last.”
“No, Death… Just go and see your horse.”
“I’m confused. Do I go first or last?”
God’s voice grew stronger.
“It doesn’t matter!”
“Then why did you say fourth?”
“Jesus Christ, please stop.”
“What?”
“Sorry, my son was… Doing a thing. Look, Death, go and get your horse.”
“Fourth or not fourth?”
“Forget going forth.. Just go, all of you!”
Death shrugged and beckoned the others to follow him.
“God changed its mind, don’t worry about the ‘fourth’ thing apparently.”
War marched toward the stable, his giant footsteps jostled pebbles nestled within the quivering grass. After a few steps, he stopped and turned to the others trailing him.
“If God can talk to us directly, why did it send the lamb?”
Pestilence folded her arms. Her shimmering bridal dress covered her from head to toe, untouched by dirt or grime. Through the sheer veil draped over her face, one could see a shadow of something… Something not quite human. Something that unnerved any who gazed upon her.
“Yeah, right! Why the need for the lamb?”
Famine looked to the sky, patches of silver hair sprouting from a shaved head reflected the brilliant moonlight. Similar to Death in appearance, but coated in pale brittle skin that stretched over her bones, Famine pointed to the glowing moon. A loose robe sleeve rolled up her frail arm, revealing an angular elbow while her other hand rested on her empty stomach.
Before she opened her mouth, God’s voice boomed inside their heads for them all to hear.
“Look, I have to do this by the book. Do you want to try being God? Any of you? Do you know how hard this is?”
Famine shrugged.
“I’d like to be G-”
“NO, YOU WOULDN’T. None of you would. I’m doing you guys a favour. Can you please just enjoy your free time and finish your job next month? Then I’ll relinquish you of your duties and you can join me up here.”
The Four Horsemen looked to one another and slowly nodded. Murmurs of agreement floated around the group.
“Good. See to your steeds and enjoy your last month.”
Without another word, War led the march to the side of the farmhouse where their mounts awaited. Pestilence appeared to float several inches off the ground and glide, although her dress dragged along the floor, still unscathed, concealing her feet. As they turned the corner, the neighs of unearthly horses greeted them. They flipped their heads and stamped their front hooves in excitement as their owners approached. War patted his giant horse’s neck and it whinnied with satisfaction. The muscles on this horse rivaled War’s own and dwarfed the other three considerably. War climbed aboard and trotted out of the stable.
Pestilence and Famine skilfully hopped up on their steeds; a beautiful contrast of pearl white and pitch black to match their riders. The horses reared onto their hind hooves and galloped forward to join War. Auras of holiness resonated between the steeds as they trotted around the field: one of the few things setting them apart from regular horses.
Death approached his new horse, as skeletal as he but with a fierce burning in its scarlet eyes. He marveled at it. His jaw dropped as he reached a bony hand out to pat its skull.
“Uhh… God?”
God’s voice manifested once again.
“What n- Oh for the love of me. Are you serious? You know you can turn your Death’s Touch power on and off at will, right?”
Death glared at the pile of bones on the ground, all light from the steed’s eyes extinguished.
“I am aware, yes. I just… Forgot…”
“Y’know what? I’m going to go ahead and give you something else. I don’t want you knocking on my door every five minutes because you’ve killed another one.”
“I’m sorry I just-”
“Save it, Death. Here, have this. And try not to break it.”
Before his hollow eyes, a swirl of smoke filled the barn and dissipated just as quickly as it had arrived. Behind its curtain stood an advanced mechanical steed. It appeared as his previous, except the bones now shone with highly polished chrome. Two tiny, narrow windows ran down opposite lengths of each metal bone displaying an effulgent, electric blue liquid. Within its ribcage, cogs and gears turned and ground, powered by an unseen source hidden deeper still. The horse huffed and then neighed, bowing its head to Death. Death stroked its mirrored nose. A grin decorated his face, although in this form it always did, so it was hard to tell if he was genuinely happy. He hopped on and rode out, God’s voice imparting one last message.
“Don’t you dare touch anyone else’s horse. Do you know how difficult it was to make this thing? Normally the humans do the making! I’ll not make another!”
“Yes, God. Sorry, God.”
Death joined the other three Horsemen. They gasped and marveled at his new gift. War’s helmet scanned up and down and across the length of the mechanical steed and a whistle came from somewhere around him. He lifted his hands and signed to Death. Death laughed and responded.
“I don’t know. God sounded pretty angry so I’m going to keep my hands away for now.”
Death extended his arm and opened his palm. Black smoke accented with purple flecks swirled and danced around his hand, extending upwards and downwards forming a shape. The smoke solidified, taking on the form of a vicious scythe. Death twirled it a few times for good measure and laughed a deep, menacing laugh. The other three followed suit. Black and red smoke took on the form of a heavy, wickedly sharp blade in War’s hand. Tinged with green, a swift bow appeared in Pestilence’s hand, and finally, a chocolate bar in Famine’s mouth. She chewed and swallowed, then paused, staring at the others.
“What? Oh right, weapons.”
Black smoke haunted with wisps of grey formed into a nasty, double-headed flail. A leather-wrapped handle nestled firmly in Famine’s grip. Two chains hung from the end, taught with a large, spiked ball weighing each one down.
War coughed and spluttered, waving his hand in front of his helmet.
Famine laughed.
Death stared into space.
Pestilence cried, “Onward, Hoarsemen!”