At those words, Marc's blood ran cold.The appearance of the first two had already been sudden — the arrival of a third Rider could only make things worse. Death tolls were skyrocketing across the globe because of war and disaster.
So what could this third torment be?What could be worse than those?
Marc didn't even want to know — but Nathanaël continued.
"There's an epidemic spreading in Arva."
Now he knew. Disease. It was the disease.
Marc's chest tightened.
"The symptoms are brutal. People compare it to the plague. Victims die within hours, covered in terrible sores and boils. No one knows where it came from, but the King of Arva decided not to intervene in the war because of it, and has asked Zvenne for mercy."
Marc felt as if he might collapse on the spot. Everything was totally out of control. The Four Riders of the Apocalypse were unstoppable, and their power only grew with time.
War was ravaging landscapes and killing hundreds in a single strike. Aeros had chosen to spread carnage through men, and as long as Garid lived, his aura infected every affected area, producing even more victims.
Astra had focused on terrible natural phenomena that left humanity powerless. Not only that, she amplified them so completely that anything humans had built to stop the previous attacks was rendered useless. She took thousands of lives with each strike and struck wherever she could.
And now—the disease. Marc didn't know whether it was the worst or the least terrible. Even if it seemed gentler, no one could predict when it would strike. Without vaccines or medicines prepared in advance, such a sudden plague was as deadly as the Black Death. Marc was sure the Rider had made it so devastating that finding a vaccine would take weeks. If anyone were even alive long enough to find one…
In panic, Marc thought of Zvenne, where his parents and Elie's mother still were.
"I have to warn Turcan. We need to focus on eliminating the Riders before we find the books."
Nathanaël replied immediately, his voice collapsing as he spoke; the more he spoke, the more his words lost strength.
"How do you expect to stop this, Marc?"
"I don't know. Arva has to take the necessary measures: lock down, close borders. This Rider is the most dangerous. An epidemic would be too devastating if it spread beyond Arva."
Nathanaël took a long time to answer, as if none of it made sense anymore.
"If you say so. I'll keep searching on my side, but what I've found won't please you. Still, I don't have time to say more now—first, deal with killing those guys."
"Nath?"
"Yes, Marc."
"Do you think we can do it?"
Silence settled between them. Their chance of saving the world was almost nil. That's the nature of an apocalypse: nothing seems able to stop it. All they could do in a moment like this was pray—for hope, if any remained.
They had set out to save the world, but they'd never truly managed it. Even great Zvenne seemed on the verge of collapse. Media outlets panicked, reporting demoralizing news of thousands dead worldwide as more Riders appeared, each arrival worsening the situation.
Marc thought of the millionaire Sanchez, who seemed to have lost all hope. His eyes reflected only despair and darkness.
Marc had said he would fix everything. How wrong he had been. He had no way to fix it all. Simply reducing the damage would be a miracle. After all—the books revealed the future, didn't they? If Sanchez had seen the destruction, how could Marc stop it?
After a while, Nathanaël's answer came again.
"I don't know, Marc. I don't know."
Nathanaël hung up, and Marc felt a crushing weight settle on his heart. He crouched down to catch his breath. His vision blurred, his mind twisted.
The horrible voices of his victims and enemies resurfaced to torment him as the world seemed to darken.
Sweet but corrupted, the voices scraped at his ear like a woman whispering to the man she wishes to seduce. Yet this accursed, black seduction only aimed to drag Marc into the abyss of despair.
"Give up.""We're all going to die because of you."
Marc felt faint. The pain was mental, but unbearable. Each time he heard the voices, they grew louder. Even though his aura had strengthened greatly since the first time, the sensations remained the same.
"Give up.""Give up."
Marc tried to drive them away with his aura, but nothing worked.
He thought of his parents waiting in the capital. He wanted to see them. He wanted to see Elie. He wanted to go back to the time when he was alone but didn't have to face monsters bent on destroying his world. He wanted to vanish… he wanted—
His eyes began to close.
Then, suddenly, the image of the man in black flashed into his mind with brutal force. Marc felt his aura wrap around him again. He snapped his eyes open with a grunt and struggled to stand.
Finally he rose. The voices were gone. Only Marc remained, in the middle of nowhere. Alone, as he had wanted. But duty still called.
He sighed.
"All right. Let's move. We have no choice."
Marc resumed his walk toward Stanbright, forcing himself not to think about all the desperate things…
In Arva, people screamed their death and fell to it in turn. The current king, Reinard, watched as his people perished before his very eyes.
Within mere hours, the sick numbered in the thousands. No sanitary measure could be enacted quickly enough to stop the spread of the plague.
Panic had taken root in the very bones of the people, who now tried to flee the country in desperation. Reinard, their king, could say nothing to calm them.
"Do not go out, Your Majesty."
Reinard turned to the guard who had placed his spear desperately across the doorway to keep him from leaving the palace, sealed shut since the first rumors of the deadly epidemic.
The soldier looked broken, desolate. The burden of all the grim news from the world weighed heavily on his shoulders, and now a plague ravaging his homeland was more than he could bear.
Dark circles ringed his eyes, shadowed by fear and doubt.
The king gently pushed aside the spear placed before him and spoke with a faintly raised voice.
"I am not mad. To go out now would only mean death."
Reinard's main residence was in the heart of Arva. But now, he stayed in the North, far from any chance of contamination.
Perhaps it was cowardice not to stand with his people in such a time, but he considered his life to be just slightly more important. To sacrifice himself for something as foolish as honor did not suit him at all.
"We must prepare to leave."
His counselors had only one piece of advice: flee the country and seal the borders. And that was exactly what he would do.
He knew the world was doomed, and so was his homeland. All he could do was his best to survive.
But he knew something else as well…
"Turcan will not let us through. I'll be killed the moment I cross the border."
The Emperor of half the world, though benevolent to his own people, mistrusted the other nations who had once allied against him in case of war.
It was justified, but in this situation the alliance was more of a burden than a true support.
Yet his counselors sought to reassure him instead of facing the obvious.
"You are not infected, Majesty. Perhaps Turcan will show mercy. Staying here would be suicide."
"And abandoning my people? What kind of king would I be?"
"If you stay here, Arva will have nothing left—neither king nor people. The sickness spreads south-east. We still have time, and perhaps our men can contain the zone. Think carefully, my king."
Reinard knew his people's chances of survival were slim. Yet he also knew he could not remain. The choices of a sovereign were always heavy, but this one was surely the hardest of his life.
Was it worth dying with his people?
"Ah, you have a cold."
A childlike voice suddenly echoed through the great hall.
To everyone's shock, a young boy had entered the palace unnoticed. The guards reacted instantly, placing the king behind them and leveling their weapons.
The boy raised his hands at the sight of their spears and hardened stares.
"Not a very warm welcome."
One of the guards barked at him suddenly.
"Who are you?"
Hands still in the air, the boy smiled as he turned his gaze toward the counselor.
"Me? I'm just a tourist."
The counselor turned red with rage.
"Get him out! This is the royal palace. I don't know how you got in, but you will leave now."
The guards seized him roughly and dragged him outside.
"Easy, easy."
"Too bad for you—your stay in Arva won't be pleasant. Not with the epidemic."
But the boy seemed utterly unbothered by the words. On the contrary, he let a faint smile curve across his face.
"Oh really?"
The king watched as the boy was taken away. Their eyes did not meet, but Reinard caught a glimpse of the guard's face as he dragged the intruder.
A single boil had bloomed on his skin...