War comes for Wrath and Envy. All they long for, all they canât have, all they hate is at the other end of the gun they run towards, and they go down.
Starvation comes for Greed and Gluttony. When you hoard and hoard and hoard, and eat until you can eat no more, one day there is no more, and that brings them down.
Pestilence comes for Lust and Sloth. Disease carries off he who forever pines for other people, passed through the bodies he longs for, but disease also carries off he who will not lift a finger to escape him, and they both go down.
Pride is left alone on the battlefield, and faces his own opponent.
âHa! I knew I would get the best one! None of the others could beat me!â Pride gloats loudly to Death, standing across the field. Death waits quietly.
Pride cannot bear the silence. âWhat? Arenât you going to attack me? Arenât you going to say anything? Does it take that little to cower you into submission?â
Pride looks incredulously across the field, but it takes him a few seconds to realise that the pale figure before him is quietly laughing. He steps back, but becomes aware of the three figures at his back as Death starts to speak.
âPride, I donât even need to deign to attack you. You did that yourself. Any of the four of us could bring you down, true, but you played the biggest part in letting us do that.â
âBut⊠how?!â Pride says as the other three force him to his knees. âTell me!â
Death gets down from his horse, walks over with quiet steps, and draws a simple iron knife. He kneels in front of Pride, draws the dagger across his throat, and then gets up and returns to his steed, muttering the answer to himself.
âYou brought yourself down by not helping your friends. You brought yourself down by thinking you could take us on alone.â
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