They rode with a passion for destruction

They rode to kill.

They rode with a meaning of death.

For they were the Three Riders of Death.

They swept across the lands on their beasts of mechanical horror.

The air was filled with the sound of Hell.

Bloody screaming of pain was heard and felt at their arrival.

Black swords of malice drawn from there sheaths.

The skies turn red as the underworld is boiled upon the grounds.

Vicious flames erupt from the ground and begin consuming all.

The Three Riders of Death have arrived.

Women and children are brutally slaughtered, their crying souls dragging behind.

As they ride all that was once beautiful and peaceful is turned frightening and horrific.

All is ruined and cast aside to make way for more Hell.

Bloody rain begins to fall from the now black skies a-glow in fire.

The men try to fight for their lives but are instead struck by a hellish death, their souls taken and
bodies now slaves of the living dead.

Now chasms crack from the ground and demons arise.

The wind howls with the screaming souls of millions.

Black vines fed by the blood of many now begin to grow throughout the scene, thorns of hateful love now spread from their skins.

All has been turned to Hell.

And then he comes.

The one who created all of this, even the riders.

He comes to finish the job.

He comes to take all.

The Three Riders of Death ride on…