Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of Félicien Rops, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
Chapter 44: Working class hero
Yavin outpost, Kirat dimension
Year 42 of the Confluence Republic (visitor time)
The Yavin outpost was an old Confluence base in Kirat that these days mostly served as a waypoint or safehouse for explorers on expeditions. Kirat was a light realm entirely devoid of matter, so the base was constructed from magic fields, although these fields appeared to those who perceived them exactly like matter would in the Confluence dimension. Since these fields also generally functioned like matter, it was not clear to anyone what precisely was the difference between the two. At any rate, the Yavin base looked like a fairy tale princess castle suspended in the middle of literally nowhere; the SC board commandeered one of its towers to house their captive.
Both the agents and the insect-reptile were in Kirat with their physical bodies. This was unproblematic as long as one stayed within the pocket created by the dimensional shift magic; should the pocket break down, however, any matter inside it would instantly disintegrate. (There were safeguards, of course; should the pocket collapse, contingency magics would transport the agents back to the Confluence. The insect-reptile would expire, however.) The agents moved into Yavin by pushing their pocket around.
Communicating with the insect-reptile was made easier by the fact that the SC section now had a fair bit of experience with the Diankoran language, but the creature was uncooperative. Seeing that their agents needed some recuperation, the board sent in a team of professional interrogators and language specialists to deal with the captive. After some trying and failing, the interrogators found that they could get the insect-reptile to cooperate better by rewarding it with tiny amounts of energy whenever it communicated; the language specialists’ best interpretation of the creature’s name, stylized in line with the names of other known Diankorans, was Lumen Affer.
Lumen claimed to be a person of no particular influence in Diankoran society and provided only very general information about their home realm. In order to receive as much energy as possible, however, their strategy seemed to be to speak as much and say as little as possible; this was great for the linguists, but the interrogators only managed to confirm that the Diankoran government was located in the palace of the city of Dat and had some sort of ruling council at the top of the hierarchy. Lumen consistently differentiated between two societal segments referred to as Diankoran and peasants, the former apparently being used only for insect-reptiles and the latter for the humans (deep scans of the peasant family had confirmed that they were anatomical humans; no one could explain how this might be so). Compared to the humans, Lumen’s use of the Diankoran language was substantially more sophisticated, not only in terms of vocabulary and grammatical structure but also in the sense that they – Lumen insisted that they had no gender and did not reproduce sexually – were able to pronounce a much greater range of sounds. It appeared that the humans in the Diankoran dimension spoke only a broken and dumbed-down version of the full Diankoran language.
Meanwhile, the SC board learnt that Isengar and Nurgle had surrendered to Z?rgiebel, who was currently chatting with them in his office. The two Elders claimed to be happy to assist Confluence authorities in any way they could, and the board suggested they could first make themselves useful by asking Scelera whether he knew who had approached the energy hoard in Erd. Nurgle proceeded to do so straight away, embedding the message in the launch of the Apollo 11 mission. The couple was otherwise free to do what they wanted, and ended up spending many hours being interviewed on the famous ether show Shadows and Secrets before retreating back to their still-undisclosed hideout to sleep through the resulting media storm.
Coincidentally, perhaps, the Erd author finished Chapter 40 describing the encounter with the insect-reptile in Erd and begun writing Chapter 41, which chronicled the first Confluence incursion into the Diankoran dimension. If the Diankorans were paying attention to what the Erd author was up to, these chapters would undoubtedly arouse their interest. The SC board classified these chapters as confidential but, in order to placate citizens’ desire for information and also give Isengar and Nurgle some respite, released chapters 33-39 to the public.
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For their second incursion into the Diankoran dimension, the SC agents decided they would start in the same area as before and then perhaps move towards the city of Dat. Some interesting developments had taken place after their previous visit. The peasant family knew that it would be dangerous for them to talk to anyone about what had happened, but nevertheless decided they could not keep this to themselves. To minimize the risk, the father of the household told the story only to some sort of religious specialist serving the area. This person was greatly enthused, since the arrival of such a band of angels or heroes had been long prophesized; according to the prophecy, this band of heroes would first reclaim certain artifacts that belonged to them, punish those who had unrightfully usurped the power of these artifacts, and then travel to the Palace in Dat to inform the Ruling Council that their tribute collectors were disloyal thieves who lied to their masters and robbed and suppressed the people of Diankoran. After they dealt with this problem of disloyal servants, the heroes would then roam the realm to ensure that the Council’s noble and benevolent orders were carried out to their letter.
The disappearance of tribute collector Lumen Affer had caused some consternation in the Diankoran bureaucracy. Attempts to locate Lumen or understand what had happened failed completely, and no one was willing to expend more energy to look more closely into the matter. The bureaucrats could also not agree whose responsibility it was to report Lumen’s disappearance to the tribute overseer, who would not be happy to learn of irregularities in the energy flow and might blame it all on the messenger. To avoid getting caught up in the sordid affair, the bureaucrats preferred to interpret the situation as Lumen simply failing to do their job, which was a matter between the collector and the supervisor and not anyone else’s business. It thus happened that the peasants residing in areas under the jurisdiction of Lumen Affer were, for the time being, deprived of the opportunity to offer tribute to the Ruling Council.
To minimize the risk of jumping into someone’s trap, the SC agents changed their arrival coordinates by about 200 meters; no one was there to welcome them. They had timed their arrival to about an hour before dusk and found the peasant family at home eating a meal. Everything seemed fine with them, and after some deliberation, they floated down to the cottage to knock the door. The adult male of the house, who had previously presented himself by a series of clicking sounds that Confluence linguists, after thorough analysis, had decided to translate as Vladimir, opened the door, then just stood there staring at them. When they asked him if everything was well, he broke out of his trance to click agreement, then informed them, somewhat mysteriously, that Father Andrei wanted to talk with them about where they could find the vestiges. Inside the cottage, the other family members had assumed postures of obeisance.
Charlotte asked where they could find Father Andrei, and Vladimir explained that he was in a village a few hours away; she asked in which direction and the board members in the background Divined the area, identifying a small settlement. They asked a few more questions to find which was the good Father’s house, then the four agents blessed the family with a small amount of energy while waving goodbye and went to see what Andrei was up to.
They found him in his house eating a meal with his family. After deliberation, they had decided to turn off their obfuscation for the people in the village, but there was no one outside to see them arrive. Andrei opened his door wearing clothes resembling, although looking slightly better than, Vladimir’s. He stared at them like they were visitors from another dimension.
Eventually, Andrei explained that there were certain special items the Wise Ones, or in other words the SC agents, would need to complete their mission. These items – a sword, a shield, a pendant, and a ring – apparently had great symbolic significance for the Diankoran peasants. There were a number of legends about them and Andrei insisted they had abundant holy powers but, alas, the tribute overseers governing the regions of farmland around the city of Dat had confiscated these artifacts and wore them as symbols of their authority and power. The Wise Ones would therefore have to take the items back from the tribute overseers before they travel to Dat to help the Ruling Council. While Andrei recounted another of the many legends he knew about these special items – the word he used for them could possibly be translated as artifacts or vestiges – the SC section discussed among themselves.
Center head: Well darlings are you ready to flow with this?
Sophie Strange: We go into this and there’s no way back out.
Right head: Yes. This will change everything.
Watson Doyle: I say we go with the peasants. It’s perfect.
Left head: This is the path. But it’s also a declaration of war.
Bob Rife: Caution to the wind. We attack these overseers, we will attract attention. But we can’t say no to this.
Charlotte Ritter: The worm is turning. Let’s fucking go.
And so it happened that the four horsemen of the apocalypse and their dog descended on Diankoran as standard-bearers of the peasant revolution. Andrei explained that they were now in the region south of Dat, whose Overseer, Ardore Renova, wore the Pendant known as the Rod of Power, distinctly phallic in shape, on their chest at all times. The agents went to Ardore’s stronghold, which was surrounded by a wooden palisade with watchtowers and fires everywhere. In the center of the encampment, a log cabin made of heavy black wood housed the Overseer of the South, who spent every moment presiding over an orgy of sexual dominance, visiting degradation and cruelty upon a harem of enthralled peasant sons and daughters, mesmerized by Ardore’s beauty and power, always begging for more, no one ever sleeping.
The four rode unchallenged through the palisade gate, watched intently but mutely by the many guards on the walls. Taking a stand outside the log cabin, they dismounted and proclaimed in a loud voice that they had come to reclaim the Rod of Power from Ardore Renova, its usurper. For a few moments one could hear nothing except the crackling of the fires, then the door opened and Ardore strode out, fury on their face, retainer-playthings filling up the space behind them like fire spreading through dry grass. “You dare challenge me?” Ardore roared, eyes and fingertips sprouting flames.
But the riders of the apocalypse were uncowed. “You have no right to the Rod. You wear it illegitimately, like a usurper. Its power does not belong to you,” said one of them, who would later be known as the Hero of the Pendant.
Ardore Renova looked at them with smoldering self-righteous hatred. “There is a large graveyard filled with my enemies,” they declared. “I do not wish to add to it, but will if given no choice. Those who pick fights with me do so at their own peril, but maybe this is their lucky day…”.
“You hate me cuz you hate yourself,” said the first horseman, who was a woman.
“You been a bad kitty I’ma spank that,” said the second horseman.
“Baby just get on your knees,” said the third horseman.
“I wish ya gone,” said the fourth horsewoman.
And with this, the Overseer of the South fell down on their knees, defeated. All the guards and retainer-playthings gasped in a mix of fear, relief, and excitement, wondering what would happen next. Then the first horsewoman walked up to Ardore Renova to lift the chain of the Pendant from their head and place it on herself, and thus she became the Hero of the Pendant. After this, the riders of the apocalypse, realizing that the guards and the retainer-playthings had been brainwashed and placed in a situation where they had no good options, healed them of their diseases, blessed them, and sent them back to their families, while bringing Ardore Renova with them as a prisoner.
“Excuse me please,” said one of the retainer-playthings.
“Yes?” said the second horseman.
“There is nothing for me back home. My father and my brothers used to beat and rape me and will do so again if I go back to them. Life with the Overseer was hard, but life back home was harder. I’m not going back. I am young and life is strong in me, yet what awaits me? Anguish, anguish, anguish.”
“I see. I’m sorry. What do you wish, then?”
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“Let me come with you,” said the retainer-plaything, whose name was Tatiana.
“Very well,” said the second horseman after a brief pause. “Come, then.”
And so it happened that Tatiana joined the four riders of the apocalypse and became an eyewitness to everything that happened, and this is why we have this story today. The heroes rode east towards the stronghold of Overseer Nubes Fugavi, who wielded the stolen Sword of Intellect. Nubes’ stronghold was a white tower built on a hill, where the Overseer of the East lectured their retainer-playthings in academese and had them write endless journal articles and opinion pieces about certain subjects of interest. The four horsepeople rode up the tower’s massive door, dismounted, and proclaimed in a loud voice that they had come to reclaim the Sword of Intellect from Nubes Fugavi, its usurper. For a few moments one could hear nothing except the birds chirping, then the door opened and Nubes strode out, contempt on their face, retainer-playthings wearing robes and oddly square hats filling up the space behind them like a wind dancing through an open field. With eyes like crystals, speaking in a stern but clear voice, they said, “I understand that you have come to debate my thesis defending the legitimacy of the Diankoran power hierarchy. Is that correct?”
The riders of the apocalypse were unimpressed. “You have no right to the Sword. You wield it illegitimately, like a usurper. Its power does not belong to you,” said one of them, who would later be known as the Hero of the Sword.
Nubes Fugavi watched them with a cold and calculating look, then unsheathed the Sword of Intellect and held it up in the air. “Very well. I shall present my defense. The truth is that Diankoran rule is both necessary and just. It is necessary because it is just, and just because it is necessary. In a dangerous world, a ruler must be strong to protect the people. You four come here wearing the mantle of peasant heroes, but in truth you are foreign invaders who have come to colonize our world and make it part of your empire. Only when the Diankoran realm is united in support of its ruler can it be strong enough to defend itself against those who would subjugate it.”
Nubes flourished the Sword of Intellect. “The peasants themselves do not challenge the Ruling Council. They are not asking for a revolution or an apocalypse, only for a reduction in taxes. We understand their plight and are continually working to improve their situation, but it takes time to produce lasting changes. Our system of economics channels wealth up the hierarchy, but this serves to stimulate growth in a manner that will benefit everyone in our society. The Diankoran power hierarchy fosters investment and thereby innovation and ultimately job creation.”
Nubes flourished the Sword of Intellect. “The truth is that the peasants are not capable of ruling themselves. I see you have brought with you one of our peasant daughters, but why is she with you instead of her family? The young woman was horribly abused by her family members until Diankoran forces rescued her, and now she has no choice but to ally with foreign invaders. There are many people like her among the peasant population, which often remains primitive, ignorant, and violent and would be much worse if deprived of Diankoran guidance. The ultimate reason that the peasants do not wish to overthrow the Ruling Council is that, deep down, they know they are not capable of ruling themselves.”
Nubes flourished the Sword of Intellect. “Diankoran has a right to pursue its manifest destiny. We Diankorans want a strong, solid State, want order and healthy family, positive values, the reinforcing of the importance of religion in society. You foreigners have no right to interfere with our civilization. You seek to destroy our traditional values and force on us your false values that would erode us, attitudes that are directly leading to degradation and degeneration. Our destiny is not to be ruled by you, but to give space for you and all others to prosper under the guidance of our State. The heart of Diankoran, perhaps more than that of all other nations, is predestined for this universal, pan-human union. The city of Dat is Diankoran’s capital, but where is its limit? Where are its frontiers to the north, the east, the south and the setting sun? Fate will reveal this to future generations. This is the truth. The great mission of the Diankorans is to unite and consolidate civilization.” With this, Nubes Fugavi lowered the Sword, awaiting a response from the four riders of the apocalypse.
The second horseman spoke first. “Your accusation of invasion and colonialism is little other than psychological projection. Diankoran has grown through conquest from its very inception, and now you are afraid that others will want to conquer you. You present yourself as a victim but act the victimizer every opportunity you get. There is no threat at work here other than that you serve to others, as well as the possibility that one day the people you attack may decide to defend themselves against your illegitimate imperialism.”
Next spoke the third horseman. “Your trickle-down economics are a sham that reinforces the structural inequalities of your exploitative class system, appropriating the labor of your peasants not to reinvest the wealth with benefit to society broadly but to expand your own power and privilege. The reason the peasantry does not challenge Diankoran rule in a more pointed fashion is that you have kept them ignorant and destitute, denying them not only the education that would allow them to develop a critical consciousness and see your society for what it is, but also the minimum of material security that might afford them the time to think about something other than everyday survival.”
Next spoke the fourth horsewoman. “Your insults to the peasantry reflect back on yourselves. When people are forced to live in situations that deny them the opportunity to develop their abilities and potentials, they become the kind of people who are mired in frustration and act out these frustrations on others in the form of violence and other degrading behaviors. Your system has created the primitiveness that you point to, and it is deeply ironic that you now use this as an excuse to maintain the very system that will perpetuate such primitiveness indefinitely. The behaviors you excoriate are produced by the system you defend.”
Last spoke the first horsewoman, Hero of the Pendant. “While your self-mythologization is interesting on many levels, not least in the way it reveals certain psychological truths about you, there is a profound lack of logical consistency in your statement. You accuse others of imperialism at the same time as you dream of self-validation through empire building, and the unity you extol is only a fantasy of seeing the world united in subservience to yourself. At heart, you worry that you are unworthy, and you seek to compensate for this deep feeling of unworthiness by imposing yourself on others. As always, the root of your authoritarianism is simply the fear that if you allow others to choose for themselves, they will choose someone other than you, because you are unworthy of them. No one is here to deprive you of religion and family values, although the truths you cling to as yet another compensation for your unworthiness will, in the end, fail to nourish you. You seek refuge in strict adherence to old rules, but while it is true that you have not yet reached a level of development that might allow you a degree of sovereignty, and thus may still need strict moral laws to guide you on your way, the traditional system of morality that you praise will, in the final analysis, only chain you to your past. As the people of your world start to understand more about themselves and their society, they will realize that the attempt to turn the dogma of the past into a permanent foundation for their existence today is nothing other than an illusion.
Outraged, Nubes again attempted to flourish the Sword of Intellect, but the Sword slipped from their hand and landed before the second horseman, who picked it up and held it high, and thus he became the Hero of the Sword. The retainer-playthings gasped, but the riders of the apocalypse healed them of their diseases, blessed them, and sent them back to their families, while bringing Nubes Fugavi with them as a prisoner. Tatiana later insisted that all of this was reported as accurately as she was able to, but there were many difficult words in this airy exchange and she was not sure she had understood everything correctly. In future eras, the storytellers who recounted the Legend of the Four Riders of the Apocalypse would often struggle with these verses, and listeners would commonly find their attention drifting to other things.
The heroes now rode north towards the stronghold of Overseer Solum Constans, who held the stolen Shield of Protection. Solum’s stronghold was a fortress bunker buried deep inside a mountain, where the Overseer of the North hoarded supplies and watched obsessively for enemies. The four horsepeople rode up the bunker’s massively fortified entrance, dismounted, and proclaimed in a loud voice that they had come to reclaim the Shield of Protection from Solum Constans, its usurper. There was no response except a faint rumbling of the earth, then the rumbling grew stronger and the ground started to shake. A deep chasm opened beneath the heroes’ feet and large rocks came tumbling down towards them from the cliffsides, but they jumped up to the entrance and forced it open.
Once inside the stronghold, the heroes and their retinue walked down the dark cave, heading deep into the earth. At long last they reached a second fortified gate, which they pried open to penetrate into Solum’s personal bunker. Solum turned to face them, determination on their face, retainer-playthings filling up the space behind them like plants sprouting from a fertile field. Armored from head to toe, yet clutching the Shield of Protection as if it were the sole source of stability in their world, they spoke with a voice that sounded like the mountain groaning. “This area is protected. Leave at once.”
The riders of the apocalypse were unswayed. “You have no right to the Shield. You hold it illegitimately, like a usurper. Its power does not belong to you,” said one of them, who would later be known as the Hero of the Shield.
Solum Constans watched them with unwavering eyes. “Your intrusion here is unacceptable. I will never quit, I will never bend, I will never break, I will never yield - not even in the face of death itself."
The third horseman, saying nothing, walked forward and bent down to touch the ground. Before their eyes, Solum’s helmet detached from their head and fell to the ground.
The fourth horsewoman, saying nothing, walked forward and bent down to touch the ground. Before their eyes, Solum’s gauntlets detached from their arms and fell to the ground.
The first horsewoman, Hero of the Pendant, saying nothing, walked forward and bent down to touch the ground. Before their eyes, Solum’s sabatons detached from their feet and fell to the ground.
The second horseman, Hero of the Sword, saying nothing, walked forward and bent down to touch the ground. Before their eyes, Solum’s body armor detached and fell to the ground.
Alarmed, Solum Constans raised the Shield in a defensive posture, but he lost his grip and the Shield fell to the ground with a loud clang, bouncing up to the feet of the third horseman, who picked it up and held it high, and thus he became the Hero of the Shield. The retainer-playthings gasped, but the riders of the apocalypse healed them of their diseases, blessed them, and sent them back to their families, while bringing Solum Constans with them as a prisoner.
The heroes now rode west towards the stronghold of Overseer Fluctus Serenat, who wore the stolen Ring of Inspiration. Fluctus’ stronghold was a glimmering pool of water with a fountain in its center, where the Overseer of the West relaxed, swam, and nurtured their creativity in the company of retainer-playthings dressed like mermaids, celebrities, and pool boys. The four horsepeople rode up the side of the pool, dismounted, and proclaimed in a loud voice that they had come to reclaim the Ring of Inspiration from Fluctus Serenat, its usurper. For a few moments one could hear nothing except the soft murmurs of the water gushing forth from the fountain, then Fluctus emerged from the pool, wounded ego on their face, retainer-playthings filling up the space behind them like waves crashing up on a beach. “You pitiful little things come here to challenge me? I am the number one most impactful artist of our generation. I am Shakespeare in the flesh. But who are you? You may be talented, but you’re not Fluctus Serenat.”
The riders of the apocalypse were unmoved. “You have no right to the Ring. You wear it illegitimately, like a usurper. Its power does not belong to you,” said one of them, who would later be known as the Hero of the Ring.
Fluctus Serenat watched them with tearful eyes. “You critics have no eye for true beauty. When you're the absolute best, you get hated on the most. I am so credible and so influential and so relevant that I will change things. My greatest pain in life is that I will never be able to see myself perform live. How could you be me and want to be someone else? If I got any cooler I would freeze to death. For me to say I wasn’t a genius, I would just be lying to you and to myself. I need a room full of mirrors so I can be surrounded by winners.”
“Please someone teach this bitch to dance,” said the fourth horsewoman.
“You gotta listen to the bass subliminal,” said the first horsewoman, Hero of the Pendant.
“I can teach you, but I have to charge,” said the second horseman, Hero of the Sword.
“You just some overcooked bird that had no chance,” said the third horseman, Hero of the Shield
Touching the Ring on their left index finger, Fluctus pleaded. “You don’t understand. I'm a pop enigma. I’m like a vessel, and God has chosen me to be the voice and –“
“Better on mute,” said the fourth horsewoman. And with this, the Overseer of the West covered their face in their hands, crying loudly. Then the fourth horsewoman walked up to Fluctus Serenat to lift the Ring from their finger and place it on her own, and thus she became the Hero of the Ring. The retainer-playthings watched with mixed feelings, for while they were tired of kissing Fluctus’ behind, they otherwise enjoyed their lifestyle in this stronghold of the West, but the riders of the apocalypse healed them of their diseases, blessed them, and sent them back to their families, while bringing Fluctus Serenat with them as a prisoner.
Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of Abstract Expressionism, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of Dadaism, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of Egon Schiele, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of Férnand Khnoppf, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of Futurism, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of German Expressionism, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of Mikalojus Konstantinas ?iurlionis, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
Riders of the Apocalypse in the style of Mikhail Vrubel, as interpreted by DALL-E in February 2025.
