End time came. Mother’s skies grew dark as the giver of life-giving light and warmth turned away.
The creators of north, south, east and west saw that their child was dying and clasped their hands in sorrow. Each entity shed a single tear – and from that tear was born a pale rider to oversee the destruction of that which had been the fairest child of them all.
The riders breathed fire and toxic fumes, while their wild steeds were crafted of smoke and mirrors and wasted plastics.
And the names of the riders were Lechery, Gluttony, Politics and Algorithm…