1 Prologue
The grounds burned of fire as bodies lay upon each other. Souls seeping through the ground as the sun sets and becomes cloaked within the blood that lays upon the grass of time through war. Blades lay flat and cold with soaking of red smearing through metal.
Clouds begin to turn dark as night while blood smeared into the air. More of deceased men lay bare as their armor rot underneath a black leather boot that belonged to a man who fears no one. His black metal and leather mask turns to the left as his cloak flies before him until he no longer steps onto the body below him. He turns away as coughs fill into the air.
The man turns a bit to see who coughs as he notices a soldier still coughing and gasping for air. He turns his body back around as his black metal claws shine within the dying sunlight.
The soldier gasps for air as he holds dearly onto his wound, his brown eyes looking into the caked sky. A mere smile crosses his face as he speaks in a foul tongue, "May the Lord take thy hand into the heavens." He notices the masked man approaches him as he takes in a deep breathe and closes his eyes. Not wanting to see another thing other then his Lord taking him into the heavens.
"May your Lord take thee hand into his ass." A claw goes through the soldiers face. Blood shot through the air as it lands onto the grass surrounding the 2 men before the masked man stands back up. Letting the blood drip off of his claw.
A soft footstep walks up behind the man as a skeleton hand with no skin as it glowed a gentle cyan blue. Ripped cloak hooded figure stands next to the man, "Fear is no longer in the eyes of them no more, Igor"
Igor turns his mask over the hooded figure, "I am not fearing shit. He had no intentions of dying, but rather I should have clouded his brains with pests." He turns his mask towards the dead body below him, "Let his Lord eat out his penis."
The hooded figure takes their hand off of Igor as they turn around. Their dirty red cloak with white lining flies behind them as they begin to walk away, "We have to head to the kingdom."
"Eztli and Zuberi are heading there already." Igor turns around as well and follows the hooded figure as his Russian accent becomes more noticeable, "Let us not waste anymore time, Wanjala."
Both figures walk towards to horses that are feeding off rotting flesh which flies above one of the horses.
One of the horses was pale as white. Marking itself as though it was hungry, but each time its lips touched a rotting body, the body would continue to rot until the horse becomes skinnier. Hooves are almost as grey as coal could be. The other horse appears to eating ravishingly while its green sickly ill coat flushes out the health around it. Flies flew out of ears and going into the body and munching onto its flesh. Bones appearing more faster then anything that anyone could wish to see.
No saddles lay on either horse.
Wanjala got themselves up onto the pale horse as they watch their fellow companion get onto the other. Both rides off to the kingdom where the other 2 lay...
It did not take Wanjala nor Igor long to find Eztli and Zuberi on their horses. Seeing Eztli in his signature dark red and black pirate outfit as a huge butcher knife was in its scabbard. He turns his head over to the other 2 who is freshly arriving. He sits upon a fiery dark red horse, who is ready to battle anything that is in its sight.
Zuberi wears a long black robe that hides his face just like Wanjala. His blue hands holds onto a leather strap that is being held onto by the horse that allows him to sit upon. A skeleton head with black body as white fire comes out of its mouth. 2 swords holds themselves in their own scabbard.
"You both ready for a blood bath?" Eztli says in an Aztec accent.
Wanjala nods as he looks over to the other 2 as they begin to agree. The 4 horsemen rides their horses down to the kingdom as they begin to battle once again...
The sky turns dark with stars bleeding in a cry. No clouds in sight to forget the strain that the moon has for seen. Never to let such a tragedy go.
