NoPixel Imagines/Blurbs

The Third Horseman

The dream started in a strange way. He was in an almost completely white island, the fog so thick he could barely see the lighthouse's rotating light through it and a small fire pit on a metal stand. There was almost no sound apart from the faint sound of water colliding against a shore and the slightly louder sound of a fire crackling. It was cold, though he couldn't really feel anything. He walked towards the sound of the fire and was met with the sight of two shadowy figures. 

When he walked closer to the light, he could make out the two men more clearly. One of them was taller, with a flat cap and sunglasses on his eyes. He wore a nice black jacket, a grey turtleneck, a pair of black trousers, black gloves covering his hands, and a pair of nice black loafers. Beside him was a shorter man who had long white hair, he wore a brown suit with a green vest with a rat on his shoulder and a pair of brown loafers. This shorter man had a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his wrinkled face. Both men looked much older than himself, probably between fifty and sixty. The sight of them ran a shiver through his spine. Looking above him, he saw a crow with red eyes that shone in the thick fog.

"Is this him?" The shorter man asked, his voice almost childish in a way. The taller man chuckled and it sort of unnerved Solomon. 

"This is him." The taller man spoke with a deep and gravelly voice. Solomon looked at the fire then back at the men. In the moment of silence, the soldier looked at them with a close eye. The taller one held himself with a strength that reminded him of his General, and the shorter one reminded him of the General's aide-de-camp who was a First Lieutenant back in the British army that he couldn't remember.

"Who are you?" Solomon demanded, the curiosity burning him.

"I am Norman Bones. I am... Death." The taller one said in an emotionless tone. The smaller one giggled, while he pet the rat that sat comfortably on his shoulder.

"I am Pestilence! But when I was alive, I was Dr Isaac Smith." The smaller man smiled, the flesh on his face seemed to rot as he spoke.

"I've heard about you, Death." Solomon spoke with firmness. The two older men chuckled.

"We've been looking for you, Mr Walker. We've been tracking you through your bloodline for quite sometime." Norman told him with a smile on his face that didn't quite meet his eyes.

"You've been hard to find, we thought that ex-cop was you for sometime but then we saw... well, you!" Pestilence seemed happy.

"Me? What are you talking about?" The soldier raised a brow at the two men. Norman was quickly surrounded by smoke and his head had changed. In place of the almost paper white skin he'd once had, the man's head had turned to a skull. His sunglasses were gone and blood red eyes stared back at him.

"We are the Horsemen. I am Death. This is Pestilence. You are our third, Mr Walker."

"What are you talking about?"

"Have you ever questioned why you are so strategic? Have you ever wondered why, in all of the battles you have fought, you have always won or survived? That was no coincidence, that was not me. No, that was you."

"I was lucky-"

"Everyone's luck runs out at some point. Why hasn't yours?" Pestilence all but chirped.

"You enjoy the heat of battle. You crave the blood splatter. It is just who you are." Norman added.

"I don't... I-I enjoy surviving-"

"It is alright, you do not need to feel ashamed of yourself. We are all similar, you see." Death's cold voice seemed almost... joyous. As if he would be smiling if he'd had skin.

A long moment of silence passed between the three. Solomon had to admit, the man was correct. He loved the way it felt to plan for battle, execute the plan perfectly, the feeling it brought him when he held a gun in his hands and knowing that he held his enemies' lives in his glove-covered hands. He loved to win his battles. How these two older men who he'd heard myths and stories about in the city knew about those thoughts, he had no clue.

"I... you're not wrong." The soldier's voice broke the long silence. After he'd admitted it, he felt a burning feeling in his chest. He looked down at it as he gasped in the pain and paused when he saw what looked like new scars appear. He watched as a long slash across his chest formed and several bullet-sized scars peppered his chest. He felt agony as he felt his body be cut or shot and healed to show the world around him he was a warrior who'd survived an eternity of battle and bloodshed.

"It is because you are like us. You are a Horseman."

"What... who am I?"

"You are War." Death's voice echoed in the fog-filled and silent island. 

"The third Horseman. Welcome!" 

With the smaller man's words, Solomon sat up straight in his bed. He panted as he looked around the dark room. He took a deep breath after calming down, then he walked out to get some water. As he reached out for a glass, he noticed the scarring on his arm. He all but ran into the bathroom, flicked the light on and looked at himself. He was covered in scars, his face's IED scars now less healed and more visible to everyone to see.

There were very few things in life that Solomon Walker knew. One, dreams aren't always just dreams. Two, that dream wasn't just a dream. And third, he was a Horseman. He marked the coming of the end of times. And he was... happy for it.