21 trains had been completed-
War. Pestilence. Famine. Death. Martyr. Comet. Judgement Day.
Firestorm. Tsunami. Wormwood. Night's Sky. Locust. Horsemen. Thunderstorm.
Beast. Dead Sea. Blood Runner. Heatwave. Encroaching Darkness. The Earthquake.
Twenty one trains had been given form- Twenty one trains had been given name.
The men who crewed them all swore by them- The controls were smoother than silk. The locomotives, despite the fact they did not live, seemed eager to leap into every job. They seemed eager for the slaughter. Each gun was more accurate than it's counterparts, off the train. It sped along with an ease that nothing that heavy should wield. Their armor was far more capable of taking hits than it had been calculated to be- Rumors had it not even the KE-20 had scratched 'War', during it's test runs. The 21 Horseman Super-Armored Trains seemed to be something far... More powerful. Greater.
They almost seemed to be greater than man itself- But that was impossible...
The first name to give Form to the Horseman had been Man. His ambition, and drive, had given ideal to a Form. Each of his ideals had wrought thought into raw Form. Each ambition had reformed raw Form into a refined Form. Each refined Form had Formed upon one another- And the Horseman had been given Form, but not an ideal.
The second name to give Ideal to the Horseman was Desperation. Desperation had breathed Ideals into the Form. The Ideals which came with it were Rage. Anger. Hatred. A cold fury. A calculated rage. Desperation had left it's imprint of Ideals upon the Form, and two merged to become one. It had become a Refined Form.
The third name to give Life to the Horseman had been Rage. A burning Rage inside the iron gut of the Refined Form. Rage had breathed through howling pipes, and growling engines. Explosions roared, to feed the Rage which spread Life to the Refined Form. And thus, Rage left it's imprint upon the Refined Form, and Life breathed into the the Horseman.
Life had breathed it's touch upon the Metal. Metal and Life danced within the confines- And then a fresh wind of scorching ash, and scoring earth, forged the two into a new concept.
War had left it's mark eternal on the Horseman, and the Horseman had left it's mark eternal on War. The two danced together- They breathed in sync, and each pump of an iron heart was the heart-pump of war.
And the Horseman had left it's mark on the world. Those who breathed within it's metal walls always emerged changed. Those who lived and thrived aboard it were not of Us. Those who did not thrive upon it were Us. The Horseman left it's mark the world, and upon those who used it.