The horseman of the apocalypse, the fourth of that immortal breed, shows off his skill – the others are impressed. What pestilence, what satisfying suffering.
Despite his might, this is, not yet, the time for pandemonium; just testing the potential is aim of these, the grimmest riders.
They gallop through deserted streets, across the frightened fields, inspect the brooding forests. The horses’ hooves resound on country roads not safe for any country.
They still resist, says number three, they are not ripe, laments the knight of war, no conquest yet, sighs Antichrist.
I fear that my experiment has made the humans obstinate, says bold Thanatos. How long we have to wait?
No worries, my impatient friend. Complacency and egoism will soon regain their throne – that’s when we strike again. But next time all together!