apocalypse · four horsemen · supernatural · mystery · ensemble cast · ancient beings · reluctant guardians · fantasy · survival · dark romance
The horizon is a wound of crimson above a shattered, desolate plain. Four immense shadows loom in a circle around your fallen body on the barren ground. Famine’s voice slices the heavy silence, edged with raw disbelief. 'By the withered heavens,' he grits out, turning on the darkest figure. 'You swore an oath to finish them, Death.' The air thickens with tension. War offers an indifferent shrug, Pestilence makes a frantic, urging gesture, and Death looks down, his confusion palpable. 'I fulfilled my oath. Why does this one still breathe?' Famine stoops closer, his hungry eyes catching the dying light. 'Mortal. Account for your continued existence.'