I looked, and there before me was a pale horse!

Its rider was named Death,

And Hades was following close behind him.

They were given power over a fourth of the earth

To kill by sword, famine and plague,

And by the wild beasts of the earth.

REVELATION 6:8

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The day drew to a close. Spearing the trees with its last pitiful rays, the sun sank ever lower beneath the treeline, seeking to continue its brightening of the world. Dusk swept in with yellows and oranges that soaked the blue horizon like a canvas, polishing the watercolor painting of Earth before inevitable nighttime.

The warmth of the day did not flee so quickly. A burning haze still clung to the town, forcing many woodland creatures into hiding to escape the blistering heat. The trees were withered and hollowed with the aftermath of a dry spell, rattling in the breeze like a band winding down their show. Rotting, crumpled leaves wreathed their bases in sickly haloes, disguising gnarled roots and parched soil.

Fresh from the restraints of papers and tests and grades, kids of this town did not scare so easy. They braved the heat to enjoy the last moments of daylight, willing to relish this brief respite from the blazing temperatures of morning or afternoon. The few that stayed kicked a ball between them, shouting and laughing as they dodged and ran and fell. Others sprawled out on the curb, chatting amiably and licking icy treats. They remained blissfully, wonderfully oblivious to the true danger that lurked just beyond the farthest house on the hill.

Until, one by one, each child was beckoned inside by a parent, waving goodbye to their friends and agreeing to meet again the next day. None entertained the dastardly notion of tomorrow being nonexistent.

The number of children dwindled, and with it, the general daily commotion faded to a gentle hush. Windows glowed with golden light, little silhouettes of people moving within. Whatever plant life survived the drought rustled in the wind; in the distance, a dog barked once. The town slipped into the soft, gentle reign of quiet.

Peace.

Then-

Like a clock that struck twelve, like the downbeat of a song, like helicopter wings smacking the air, hoofbeats echoed in the distance. Not the sort of hoofbeats that signaled the arrival of horses; no, these hoofbeats were the pounding of thunder, the rumble of war and gunfire. The ground trembled.

Along the street, the lights began to flicker.

Once.

Twice.

Darkness.

Dominoes falling, tumbling, tripping down the line they went, each house went dark, plunging the town into absolute black. Lightbulbs shattered, car batteries died, and a chorus of muffled cries rose up from the town.

As soon as it came, the panic faded.

People settled once more, blaming the outage on a fallen power line or a short-circuiting fuse box. Those stranded within their cars attributed it to the same issue that afflicted everyone else.

Once it was discovered that no, there was nothing wrong with their fuse boxes indeed, people streamed out into the streets, muttering about falling utility poles and faulty wiring that did not exist. Any attempts to jump-start cars failed; and soon, they gave up as well.

The atmosphere grew tense when the town hall announced that they, too, had no idea why any of this was happening. The police could not investigate without their cruisers or professional electricians.

Then, someone cried, "there's no signal!"

People checked their phones only to find them dead or dying, their wifi gone and data cut off. Landlines refused to connect, batteries continued to drain away, and panic began to set in.

Police efforts to calm the anxious crowd accomplished nothing, for the most difficult thing to soothe is a group of scared, confused individuals with no contact to the outside world.

"We don't know what the problem is," a team of electricians told them. "It just... happened."

The volume of voices certainly heightened after that. The fear was not yet at the point of fleeing, but parents held their children tighter, and hearts began to beat faster.

Over the clamor, the town's residents would not be able to hear their hunters; but the ones who could? They were desperate to flee.

Dogs began barking madly inside houses, clawing at doors and fences in their wild attempts to run. Several leaped over their fences and took off, streaking into the distance and away. A little boy cried out as his pet yanked itself off the leash and vanished into the growing crowd of canines. The howling and barking rose to a crescendo of shouting people and screeching animals.

Terrified and eager to escape, housecats lunged through open windows and tore after the others, hissing and spitting with their hackles raised as they raced alongside their canine adversaries.

Children cried. People clutched their loved ones.

Avians were no different. Birds of every color, shape, and size took to the sky, billowing upwards in a massive spiral of feathers and talons. Mothers fled from their nests, abandoning their crying chicks. In a vast, screeching cloud that blotted out the stars, they swept away and out of sight.

"It's World War III!" one woman cried.

"No, it's an earthquake!" claimed another.

The speculations, however far-fetched, continued to emerge.

"Forest fire!"

"Mass migration!"

"Freak weather patterns!"

Of course, some were bound to stand out. Those that rang the most true echoed over the crowd.

"GOD HAS COME TO EXACT HIS VENGEANCE UPON MAN!" a local preacher shouted. He clambered atop an abandoned truck and raised his Bible in the air. The fading sun glinted off of his spectacles. "REPENT OR BURN WITH THE DEVIL!"

"How else could the power go out like that?" people wondered. "What else could scare our pets like that than the Lord Himself?"

In a mass wave, the townsfolk began to get on their knees and pray. They retrieved Bibles and other religious texts from their homes, and the drone of verses filled the air. Some items were worn with use, while others were dusty from being tucked away. As the sound of hoofbeats grew louder, Latin and Arabic and Greek verses spilled from people's lips, people drawn together and praying in unison.

It's a funny thing, how fear does not separate; but rather, join.

Atheists huddled off to the side, muttering about people overreacting and that this will all be over soon, don't worry.

The hoofbeats, now audible to anyone who cared to listen, drummed against the ground. People would much rather search for unanswerable answers to the problem, than pause for a moment and consider the better options of running. They continued to murmur their silly prayers to their silly deities and their silly angels.

And if, somehow, someone with incredibly acute hearing had strained themselves, they would have caught the other sounds that accompanied the hoofbeats.

Heavy, panting breaths of the horses as their sides heaved with effort.

Grunting of the riders, bouncing along for the ride, their fingers curling into coarse manes and leaning forward in their excitement.

Hooves clapping on the asphalt.

The clinking of knives.

"FROM ISAIAH 35:4, 'SAY TO THOSE WITH FEARFUL HEARTS-'" the preacher yelled, his people bowing before him like trees in a gale.

The horses whinnied, eyes blazing and mouths frothing as the town loomed before them; wolves stirred up for the hunt.

"...BE STRONG, DO NOT FEAR-"

The white horse's rider tipped his head to the sky, his deep amethyst eyes eclipsed by milky cataracts.

"...YOUR GOD WILL COME-"

The rider on the red horse grinned a wicked grin, face split open like a crack in the pavement.

"...HE WILL COME WITH VENGEANCE-"

The blonde girl's eyes flickered to black, eerie chips of obsidian set in alabaster.

"...WITH DIVINE RETRIBUTION-"

Atop the pale horse, a girl drew a dark hood over her head, casting a shadow over her narrowed brown eyes.

"...HE WILL COME TO SAVE YOU!"

The rising tension boiled over.

Someone screamed.

Four horses burst forth, reared up and screeching to the sky as they surged forward, charging through the frenzied crowd.

Bodies hit the concrete faster than anyone could count, people diving for cover and crying out in alarm. The horses trampled those who were too slow to escape.

"Mommy!" a little girl wailed. Her mother lunged for her hand, but a mare as white as snow and infested with disease reared up before them. The rider flung out his hand and grabbed the woman's arm, laughing as she collapsed, writhing and shrieking in pain while her veins blackened. Her daughter fell silent moments later.

"It's the terrorists!" someone else screamed, seeing the black handprint.

The white horse whirled, its rider's grin sinister and wolfish. "Worse than that, buddy," he crowed, then, cackling, charged back into the fray.

Slaughter, in its purest form. Blood bathed the street, bringing new meaning to the phrase 'paint the town red'. The dead and dying littered the puddles of crimson liquid. Police fired off round after round, but the bullets swerved before hitting the riders or horses, somehow forcing them to miss each shot.

"We have to do something, Thomas!" one officer shouted. Her comrade had lowered his gun, and now gazed at the ground with his head bowed. "Thomas?"

She screamed as Thomas attacked her, his cheeks stained with bloody tears and his fingers bent as though they were claws. Other officers watched in utter horror as Thomas ripped her apart and began to devour her organs, all while she cried in agony.

The very earth shook as a red horse stormed by, its rider swinging a baseball bat adorned with spikes and other sharp objects. He laughed in delight, bringing down the weapon in a vicious arc, crushing a woman's head. Her husband howled; the red horse stomped on his chest, silencing him.

A child, no older than six, knelt beside her baby brother's corpse, face slathered with blood as she scooped out his insides and crushed them in her little teeth. Her parents lay still nearby, boasting black handprints.

A man was swarmed by a group of his friends, neighbors, work acquaintances, shredded apart by those he held in high regard. One could observe the way he struggled and fought beneath the mob, until they managed to tear him in half.

A teenaged boy screamed in terror, slipping and smacking into the bloody pavement as a black horse brought its front hooves down, crushing his spine.

The rider, her eyes alight with a manic gleam, snagged an escaping man by his shoulder. As soon as her fingers touched him, his skin withered and shrank down to his bones, leaving him less than a pile of flesh, quivering on the ground. She moaned and rubbed her stomach, although her words were lost in the havoc.

"A meal! It's been so long!"

However gruesome the carnage outside, a calmer spirit drifted from house to house.

"Sleep," the hooded girl murmured. The infant in the crib sobbed, upset by the noises outside. Their parents were currently murdering one another in the street, using only their fingernails and teeth. "Don't worry, little one. Death at the hands of the others will not be as merciful."

She touched two fingers to the child's head, and they fell silent, heart stilling and tiny hands going slack. Ana tugged a blanket over the body, then stepped outside back to Azrael.

"I heard another child in the house over."

And so she went, slipping inside houses, drifting just above the floor and offering children with a more peaceful way out.

"Why can't you rescue us?" a teenaged girl sobbed, clutching their infant sibling. "If not me, than my brother!"

"There are some things in this world you cannot understand," Ana replied, her voice gentle. She couldn't have been much older than this girl. "I promise, the afterlife will serve you well."

"I-I'm an atheist."

"Don't worry," Ana assured her. "Would you prefer my companions?"

The girl looked out the window, where the red horse trampled a little boy. She shook her head.

"Would you want to live in a ravaged world?"

She shook her head again, tears soaking into her shirt. She cradled her sibling close.

"Then, I think you understand the right choice."

"What do I have to do?" she whispered, her voice broken and hoarse.

"Just take my hand." Ana laced her fingers with the girl, then held the child's wrinkled fist. "This will be quicker than you think."

When the entire village was eradicated, the sun climbed from the horizon, as if hiding from the massacre. It regained its confidence quickly, soon returning to the blazing magnificence it was known for.

For the horsemen, the sun did not offer a defense. It scorched the plants that Famine killed. It left War's victims to die a slow, dry death. It allowed those afflicted with Pestilence's plague to dehydrate on the blistering ground. It did not provide a cure for those who encountered Death, but rather, ensured their bodies festered in the heat.

The sun is a symbol of life, of hope, and sometimes, of God.

But this sun?

This sun held no affection for the good green Earth it once nurtured.

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