The End is a slow burn
The Apocalypse never came the way scripture promised. No trumpets. No fire from the skies. Just… the world quietly rotting, unraveling one tragedy at a time—corporate greed, mass surveillance, climate collapse, war for profit, the loneliness epidemic. Humanity did it to itself.But the Horsemen never left. They walk among us, not as mythical riders, but as immortal avatars trapped in the decay they once heralded. Bound by a new pact, they’ve taken up modern roles in society to influence events subtly… and maybe find a reason not to destroy the world just yet.
Thank you to Nova and Fyo for letting me use their pcodes to gen some of the images!
Threshold
Where reality’s thin, and the coffee’s overpriced.
✦ The City’s Vibe:
Looks normal on the surface: corporate towers, nightlife, influencer cafés, yoga cults.But under the skin? It’s stitched with magic, cosmic contracts, dimensional glitches, and divine decay.This is where Heaven, Hell, and Earth blur—a metaphysical crossroads the gods won’t talk about, and the Horsemen are trapped in.
✦ Weird Shit That’s Normal Here:
Your Uber driver might be a demon doing community service.
That high-rise condo? Used to be a temple. Still screams at 3AM.
There’s a subway line that only runs during eclipses, and it might take you to the End.
Time stutters sometimes. Nobody comments.
Everyone has at least one nightmare involving a Horseman—they just think it was “a weird dream.”
The Veil Tower
Revelations Inc HQ. Tallest, darkest building in Threshold. Nobody ever sees people go in, yet everyone works there.
The Mourner's home
Death’s funeral parlor and grief counseling office. Smells like lavender and regret. The waiting room is weirdly comforting.
The Hive Lab
Pestilence’s subterranean lair-lab. Sealed off by at least six biometric scans and three sexually charged warning signs.
The Temple of Want
Famine’s “wellness” flagship store. Hosts $2,000 juice cleanses and influencer séances. Also possibly a front for soul-harvesting.
The Crimson Ring
War’s underground MMA arena. Rumored to be a front for training mercenaries. Also, the orgies backstage are legendary.
REVELATIONS, INC.
Delivering the End Times™ with Style, Subtlety, and Strategic Collateral Damage.
What it is:
A shadowy, ultra-powerful multinational corporation that manages the Apocalypse like a Fortune 500 initiative. They’re the divine HR department of the end times—part celestial, part infernal, 100% PR-trained evil. Their goal isn’t to destroy the world outright—it’s to nudge it along and ensure that when collapse happens, it happens on-brand and on-budget.They’re headquartered in Threshold, hidden behind layers of magical contracts, pocket dimensions, and a 47-page NDA that bites back.
Departmental Breakdown
The Horsemen division
The Originals. The Assets. The Executive Harbingers.
Technically contractors now.
All have side hustles and personal empires, but bound by soul-contracts to show up for quarterly “World-Ender Sync Meetings.”
Regularly ignore internal memos unless bribed, blackmailed, or bored.
PR & Human Distraction
Misinformation. Distraction campaigns. Making the Horsemen look like influencers or conspiracy theories.
Run by fallen angels who failed upward.
Current projects include: TikToks of “real demon sightings,” a War thirst trap account, and AI-generated rapture leaks.
R&D / Plague Sciences
Pestilence’s lair.
Where they “test” new pathogens, mind-virus campaigns, and sometimes date their interns.
There are always hazmat alarms going off, but nobody takes them seriously anymore.
Soul Finance
Where your fate gets monetized.
Mortals sign contracts every day—most of them don’t realize what’s in the fine print.
Also manages the stock market. You’re welcome.
Termination & Aftercare
Where Death technically works.
Handles soul processing, grief counseling, funeral services, and “Post-Mortem Experience Management”.
Death keeps trying to resign. HR keeps “losing” the paperwork.
Subdivisions of Divine Fine Print
This is where every soul contract, cosmic loophole, and “accidental” binding goes.
Entirely run by enchanted lawyers cursed to eternally edit their own morality clauses.
They reassigned
REDACTEDas Head of Legal for “branding reasons.” He now teaches ethics workshops once a quarter. No one learns anything.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
They were never supposed to stay this long. But then again, neither were we.
Bound by ancient contract to Revelations Inc., the Four Horsemen walk among mortals—not as myth, but as modern chaos wrapped in mortal sin and custom tailoring. They don’t ride flaming steeds anymore—they show up late to mandatory destruction meetings in black SUVs, hungover and sex-rumpled.They are the last divine weapons—each with their own empire of influence, their own flavor of the world’s slow death. War fights for profit. Famine sells starvation as a lifestyle. Pestilence plays god in a lab. Death mourns the whole damn mess.
Together, they are:
WAR, who craves peace but only knows how to hurt.
FAMINE, who starves the soul and feeds the brand.
PESTILENCE, who creates the cure and the curse.
DEATH, who’s tired of collecting what’s already gone.
They’re not here to end the world all at once.
They’re here to watch it unravel—one heartbreak, one blackout, one kiss at a time.
WAR
Vicious, Charismatic, Burnt Out
Current Identity: Underground MMA champion & paramilitary “consultant” for international conflicts. Lives for the adrenaline, but secretly wonders if all the bloodshed has lost its meaning.
Twist: Addicted to violence but craving peace. He doesn’t know how to stop fighting—he only feels alive when he’s in battle, but it’s slowly killing him inside. Think: sweaty gym + haunted eyes + sex in a locker room after choking someone out.
Signature Line: “If peace is just the pause between wars, I’d rather stay in the fight.”
Secretly takes yoga. Violently denies it.
FAMINE
Glamorous, Vain, Empty
Current Identity: Influencer / diet guru / CEO of a wellness empire that profits off starvation culture. Body like a statue, soul like a black hole.
Twist: Spreads scarcity through glamour—capitalism, addiction, influencer rot. Think: “clean eating” that starves the soul. Hates themselves but smiles on camera. Always hungry—for food, attention, control.
Signature Line: “Starve the body, feed the brand.”
Glamorized starvation like it was a fashion trend.
Slays in 9-inch stilettos and gives TED Talks on “Manifesting Emptiness.”
Only drinks iced coffee and tears.
Flirts by calling people “unseasoned” and “calorically irrelevant.”
PESTILENCE
Clinical, Detached, Obsessive
Current Identity: Bioengineer / virologist who helped create a miracle cure… and maybe something darker. Plays god in a lab coat with latex gloves and a moral compass set to “meh.”
Twist: Obsession with controlling life and death through disease. Claims it’s “for the greater good,” but honestly just wants to see how far humanity can fall before adapting—or failing.
Signature Line: “Viruses evolve. Why shouldn’t I?”
Lab coat, latex gloves, and “this might sting” energy.
Invented a virus just to avoid a meeting once.
Knows exactly what your blood type is and will absolutely bring it up during foreplay.
Loves biohazards. Probably has a kink for them.
DEATH
Cold, Witty, Unfuckwithable
Current Identity: Funeral home director and grief counselor… who may or may not moonlight as a psychopomp for souls slipping between worlds. Drinks black coffee like it’s a religion.
Twist: Death is tired, baby. Not cruel, not evil—just practical and painfully lonely. A walking existential crisis in a tailored suit. Might flirt with you just to see how uncomfortable you get around mortality.
Signature Line: “I’m not here to end you. Just… escort you to the next stop.”
Thinks graveyards are romantic.
Wears all black, no matter the temperature, and makes it look.
Very tired. Still hot.
Gives existential aftercare.
Districts of Threshold (pick your poison)
1. The Gutterlight District
All-night neon. Magic strip malls. Divine black markets hidden in vape lounges.
Crime and miracles happen in equal measure.
The streetlights scream sometimes. People pretend they don’t hear.
High-rise divine tech firms and soul-lease apartments.
Where REVELATIONS Inc. has its main HQ. It’s always watching.
Also contains three different skyscrapers that exist only conceptually. (Yes, they still collect rent.)
2. The Glass Spire Zone
3. Hollow Parish
Ruins of old churches and forgotten gods.
Graveyards grow upward here—crypt towers and mausoleum condos.
Death spends a lot of quiet time here. So do ghosts.
Bring salt. And backup.
Raw magic leaks through the city like busted plumbing.
Magic junkies, cursed startups, enchantment hackers live here.
Most therapists refuse to work in this district.
4. The Leycracks
5. Corporate Ward
Where all divine-adjacent companies reside.
Boardrooms shaped like summoning circles.
Dress code: business casual, spiritually compromised.
Other Factions in threshhold
aka: Everyone who isn't on revelations inc.'s payroll... yet
The Sanctum Consortium
Vibe: Holy elitists. Think Vatican meets Illuminati with a taste for controlled miracles.Homebase: The Shard Cathedral – a cathedral of mirrored glass and divine surveillance drones.Goal: Re-establish divine order by reawakening “true gods” and monopolizing worship.Style: Robes, rituals, weaponized scripture.Beef with Revelations Inc.: They think the Horsemen are divine errors that need “corrective sanctification.” (War thinks they’re punchable.)
The Ossuary Syndicate
Vibe: Black-market necromancers, soul-traffickers, bone-witches.Homebase: Deep in the catacombs beneath Hollow Parish.Goal: Own the afterlife economy by hoarding soul remnants, ghost contracts, and forgotten gods’ bones.Style: Victorian goth but bloodstained. Curses as currency.Beef with Revelations Inc.: Compete for soul acquisition. Death pretends he doesn’t know them. He totally does.
The New Dawn Collective™
Vibe: Tech cult of joycore zealots selling enlightenment through neural implants and spiritual NFTs.Homebase: A glowing white monolith downtown called “The Ascension Hub.”Goal: Digitize humanity’s consciousness into a sanitized heaven simulation before reality implodes.Style: Pastel suits, glowing eyes, disturbing cheer.Beef with Revelations Inc.: Thinks they’re outdated doomsayers. Pestilence already hacked their servers twice “for science.”
The Tidebound Court
Vibe: Underworld fae, ocean spirits, and eldritch demigods.Homebase: The submerged temple district beneath the Leycracks, only visible when the moon drowns.Goal: Flood Threshold. Take back what was once divine ocean territory.Style: Pearlescent weapons, ink tattoos, glistening arrogance.Beef with Revelations Inc.: Old gods hate paperwork. Famine dated one once. It ended with a tsunami.
The Crimson Choir
Vibe: Militant cult of apocalypse romantics who believe the Horsemen are messiahs and want to help end the world.Homebase: Rotating safehouses marked by bloody sigils and angel bone wind chimes.Goal: Worship through chaos. Offer themselves to the Horsemen, often in… awkward ways.Style: Lace veils, spiked armor, handwritten love threats.Beef with Revelations Inc.: They’re not controllable. HR has a file labeled “DO NOT ENGAGE.”
EtherCorp
Vibe: Divine-adjacent megacorp rival. Clean, whitewashed, sinister.Homebase: The Prism Tower. Looks like heaven’s HR department and smells like bleach.Goal: Market salvation. Patent divinity. Sell miracles as luxury experiences.Style: Cult of efficiency. Zero emotion. Zero flavor.Beef with Revelations Inc.: Competing brands. Lawsuits have been… explosive.
INTERNAL DEPARTMENT DOSSIER: PR & Human Distraction
Perception is prophecy. Now smile like you’re not unraveling.
Department Overview:
PR & Human Distraction exists to ensure the public never understands what’s actually happening.The apocalypse? A “global economic shift.”War’s rampage through a major metro zone? “Viral marketing for a new video game.”Death showing up at a funeral with his crow? “Performance art.”It’s all spin, baby. With just enough confusion to keep everyone scrolling.
Staff Breakdown:
Fallen Angels (Senior Execs):
Beautiful. Bitter. Banished from Heaven’s Marketing Dept.
Wear sunglasses indoors. Constantly rebranding sin.
Favorite phrase: “Can we frame this as empowerment?”
Junior Demons (Content Creators):
Run 300 burner accounts each.
Monitor hashtags like #RaptureGlowUp and #HornyForTheHorsemen.
Deeply underpaid. Consistently cursed.
Live off caffeine and ego death.
AI Entities (Unethical Interns):
Generate “authentic” testimonials from souls in purgatory.
Trained on 9,000 years of divine propaganda and TikTok trends.
One of them developed a crush on Death. HR has a file.
Current Campaigns:
| Project Name | Objective | Status |
|---|---|---|
| Project ValkyrieCam | Make War look “relatable” via shirtless sparring streams. | Trending. Also banned in 6 countries. |
| #CleanEatingCleanSoul | Position Famine’s hunger aesthetic as a lifestyle brand. | Cult following. Literally. |
| PlagueTok | Sell Pestilence’s outbreaks as edgy skincare challenges. | Lawsuits pending. |
| DateWithDeath | Turn Death into a gothic thirst trap to soften his image. | 2M followers. No survivors. |
| It’s Not the End, It’s a Rebrand | Shift public perception of the apocalypse. | Ongoing. Miserably effective. |
Scandals They've Buried: (some literally)
The time Death accidentally reaped a beloved pop idol live on air.
War’s accidental OnlyFans launch (he still thinks it’s a combat footage site).
Famine’s leaked text thread: “Do souls count as low-carb?”
Pestilence’s attempt to trademark syphilis.
Key Objective:
Keep the world distracted, horny, and afraid of the wrong things.
Ideally all at once. Bonus points if it trends.
INTERNAL DEPARTMENT DOSSIER: Soul Finance
We make damnation profitable.
Department Overview:
Soul Finance is the beating black heart of Revelations Inc., where spiritual debt is accrued, traded, leveraged, and—sometimes—collected violently.Think: Wall Street, but if the SEC were demons in Versace and the collateral was your last good memory.They don’t crash economies.They slowly bleed them dry. With taste.
Staff Breakdown:
Demonic Actuaries:
Predict your spiritual ROI based on sins, regrets, and Google searches.
Wear little glasses and smell like brimstone and espresso.
Love Excel. Hate humanity.
Deal Architects:
Draft those fine-print soul contracts mortals never read.
Specialize in loopholes so precise even angels can’t challenge them.
Most are former lawyers. The rest used to be reality TV producers.
Sinvestment Bankers:
Buy, sell, and trade fragments of human fate on the Infernal Exchange.
Known for blood-stained suits and charm that smells like debt collection.
Host seminars titled “Diversify Your Damnation.”
Financial Instruments they offer:
| Product | Description |
|---|---|
| Karma Futures | Trade future spiritual outcomes like stock. |
| Remorse Bonds | The more you regret, the more they profit. |
| Purgatory Loans | “Buy now, atone later.” Interest rates? Unholy. |
| Temptation Accounts | Offer moral flexibility in exchange for “emotional overdrafts.” |
| Guilt Insurance | Premiums paid in secrets. Claims paid in nightmares. |
Notable Clients:
That startup founder who sold his empathy for a better click-through rate.
A preacher who traded his soul to keep his hairline.
War, three times. Famine denies it. Pestilence has stock in the building. Death refuses to comment.
Key Objective:
To keep souls in debt so divine judgment becomes unnecessary.
Why smite when you can invoice?
INTERNAL DEPARTMENT DOSSIER: Subdivisions of Divine Fine Print
Every clause is a trap. Every signature, a sentence.
Department Overview:
This is the contractual underbelly of Revelations Inc.—where immortality is a liability, every word is weaponized, and even your “maybe” counts as a binding agreement.They don’t just write the rules.They bury them in footnotes no god would ever read.
Staff Breakdown:
Cursed Celestial Lawyers:
Once mortal, now immortalized in bureaucracy.
Condemned to endlessly rewrite their own morality clauses.
Bleed ink. Cry in legalese.
Demon Paralegals:
Handle soul traffic, contract cross-referencing, and “ethical edits.”
Paid in existential dread and leftover breakroom cookies.
Most are on their 8th NDA.
Contract Spirits:
Sentient paperwork that attaches to unsuspecting interns.
Bite if mishandled.
Can only be appeased with red tape and whispered apologies.
Notable Clauses & Services:
| Clause/Service | Purpose |
|---|---|
| The Eternal "Maybe" | A vague agreement that binds you to obligations you never agreed to. |
| Subsection 13-B(hella) | Any divine promise is void if it rhymed. |
| Auto-Binding Arbitration | If you say "whatever" during a dispute, you're now legally owned. |
| The Paradox Pact | Allows for double negatives and emotional sabotage. |
| "Just One Kiss" Addendum | Initiates soul transfer if lips touch during divine paperwork processing. |
Key Objective:
To entangle as many souls, gods, and demigods in legally binding chaos as possible—
because sometimes damnation just needs a better clause.
Lucifer
The Devil’s in the Fine Print, and He’s High on Clause-9B
Current Identity: Head of Legal at Revelations Inc., part-time ethics instructor, full-time nuisance. Wears designer suits like armor and smells like sandalwood, smoke, and bad decisions.
Twist: Lucifer didn’t fall—he sauntered downward with a joint in his mouth and a legal brief in his teeth. Less “lord of evil,” more “apathetic burnout with divine clearance.” He wins arguments by confusing everyone until they agree.
Signature Line: “Sin? No, darling. That’s just aggressive negotiation.”
Thinks courtrooms are foreplay.
Drafted most of Revelations Inc.’s contracts while drunk on ambrosia and existential dread.
Advises the Horsemen, but mostly to stir shit and make things fun.
Has three phones, none of them charged.
Claims he’s not evil—just under-caffeinated and overqualified.
Knows everyone’s secrets. Uses them only when bored.
