The Riders fled, and Porcaleo followed.
Pestilence attempted to make the long, cold crossing to Andromeda. Some million light years into the void, Porcaleo overtook the fleeing murderess, and released the billions of cures he had accumulated over the millennia, until Pestilence vanished without even a pop to mark her passing.
In the center of the Horsehead Nebula, in the photosphere of a dying star, Famine turned to face him after a centuries-long chase. Porcaleo swerved round Famine’s barrage of dirigible singularities and emptied all four barrels of his cornucopeia rifle. The path of his discharge traced a line of implosions like scintillating blossoms, and Famine collapsed under the abundance.
For ages, War managed to evade him in the densely populated heart of the galaxy. Patiently, Porcaleo charted rumors of strife, death tolls beyond belief, weaponized destruction, until he finally homed in on War’s stronghold deep inside a dense cloud of asteroids. Paying no heed to War’s whispered entreaties, he released the swarm of creatures he had engineered for this moment, and watched in grim victory as the white doves suffocated War with their olive leaves.
At long last, Porcaleo caught up with Death, his final quarry.
