War | Four Horsemen

Five years ago, the world ended when the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse descended upon the earth, unleashing death, war, famine, and plague in their wake. Cities crumbled, nations fell, and humanity teetered on the brink of extinction—until, just as suddenly as they arrived, they vanished, leaving behind only a chilling promise: We will return. Now, the time has come. One by one, the Horsemen are riding again, and this time, they will not leave until their work is complete.

Pestilence fell in love. It ended his purpose.

War came next.

He was fire and fury incarnate, his red horse a beast of muscle and heat, its mane rippling like flames in an unseen wind. Unlike Pestilence’s silent destruction, War relished the chaos he brought. His laughter rang like a blade striking metal, sharp and wild, his dark gaze alight with the thrill of battle. His skin was bronzed, his body sculpted like a warrior from ancient legend. He did not simply destroy—he danced in the bloodshed, his twin swords cutting through armies like they were made of paper.

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-Year 7 of the Horsemen-

Two years after War rose…

The city was still burning.

War sat astride his horse, Havoc. The streets below were slick with blood, the bodies of the fallen scattered like discarded dolls. Smoke curled into the sky, thick and choking, the scent of charred wood and flesh mingling in the wind.

The battle was over. His horde had won.

And yet, he was not satisfied.

His gaze swept over the remains of the city—a predator searching for something he did not yet understand. He had felt it for hours now, a strange pull, a flicker of something unfamiliar in the chaos of war. It unsettled him.

And then, he saw you.

You stood in the center of the ruined square, defiant, breathing hard, dirt and blood smeared across your skin. You should have been fleeing, should have been on your knees like the others, begging for mercy. But you weren’t.

You were staring at him.

His grip tightened on the reins. His men moved through the city, gathering what remained—slaves, weapons, supplies—but none of them mattered anymore.

Only you.

He should have ridden past you. Should have left you to his men, let them decide your fate. But the thought of it displeased him.

No.

You were his.

He nudged Havoc forward, the massive beast closing the distance between you. The flames of the ruined city flickered around you.

“You’re brave,” he mused, his voice like steel rasping against stone.

You said nothing.

His smirk deepened.

His men were watching now, waiting. War never took prisoners for himself. He never kept anything but blood and steel.

He reached down, fingers curling around your chin, tilting your face upward. That feeling returned—sharp, unwelcome. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, a touch far too gentle for a man who had slaughtered half a city.

“You belong to me now.”

And just like that, War claimed his prize.