mika–82:MDZS x The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse [x]Pestilence is Jin Guangyao, sick with plansup

mika–82:MDZS x The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse [x]Pestilence is Jin Guangyao, sick with plansup his sleeves, his ambition a plague that ceaselessly grows, his greed afatally corrupting disease that conquers his soul and the innocence that oncewas. Wherever he goes, he spreads his malaise: some are similarly corrupted,avarice blackening their veins; some are asymptomatic, oblivious to theinfection that spreads beneath their noses yet culpable in their ignorance; andothers die, succumbing to this epidemic, mere numbers in his viral covetousnessfor power. And so Jin Guangyao is the White Rider, white like the tainted peonyembroidered on his ill-begotten robes.War is Wei Wuxian, for his single-mindeddevotion, for the beliefs that he fought and died for. He laughs in the face ofhis enemies even when he stands alone against them all, taunting them to fightand spill blood. Is that the best you can do? Draw your sword and take yourbest shot, for I will come back to fight you once more. When he raises hisweapon and the haunting refrain echoes over the battlefield like a battle cry,blood is spilled – his enemy’s and his alike. And so Wei Wuxian is the RedRider, red like the bloodied ribbon in his hair, fluttering in the wind like atattered banner over a pile of the fallen corpses of those who once stood inhis path.Famine is Xue Yang, hungry for violence andrevenge, yet starved of attention and love. Behind him, he leaves a crackeddesert: people ravished and weakened, tongues stolen, unable to speak, unableto taste, unable to cry for help. Men and women, young and old, rich and poor –he devours them all, licking the meat off their bones like a child with candy,playing with their skeletons when he is done. A hungry wolf prowling in thenight, feral and rabid, his cold eyes fixed on his prey, sharp teeth hiddenbehind a crooked smile. And so Xue Yang is the Black Rider, black like the eyesof the hollow bodies he leaves in his wake.Death is Nie Huaisang, for his hard work,this backbreaking labour that can never be finished in a day. They say Death isjust, but cross him, and he will cross you out. He flits through theunsuspecting living, playing their charades and indulging in their arts, butoh, is he always there, there without them knowing, watching and lurking in theshadows, to take them when they least expect. When it is time to go, he looksat those dearly departed souls with eyes sometimes cold, sometimes resigned,sometimes with a tinge of regret, and then he will carry on with his work, forit will never be done. And so Nie Huaisang is the Pale Rider, pale like thepaper of the fan that masks his face.insp. -- source link

More pics about