Two weeks after Dominic's death, the world was in chaos. So much had happened following his death and the revelation of crimes and criminals long hidden from the public eye.
During the first week, chaos simmered beneath the surface. Things appeared almost quiet. People were still processing the information. Governments attempted to suppress the revelations, while powerful criminals and wealthy elites scrambled to salvage what they could, pressuring leaders across the globe to erase the data.
But no matter how hard they tried, they failed.
The level of hacking required to expose that information was far beyond anything they could counter. It was not something they could simply wipe away.
When suppression proved impossible, small parades and peaceful protests began to rise. Citizens demanded the arrest of exposed criminals. They demanded that corrupt officials within their own governments be held accountable as well. They wanted change.
They remembered the worst of Dominic. And they understood something now: if they did not fight for themselves, no one would.
They no longer wished to be people commanded at every turn. They wanted to be the ones who brought about change.
As the protests continued, the crowds swelled. What began in one country spread to another, then another. It crossed borders. It consumed continents. Within that first week, demonstrations had erupted on every continent.
All of them were peaceful.
By the second week, everything changed.
People began to notice that their governments were not responding. Instead of arresting the exposed criminals, many officials were defending them — silencing discussions, dispersing gatherings, attempting to bury the truth once again.
The peaceful protests hardened into aggression.
And for the first time, the world realized something undeniable: there might be hundreds of thousands of soldiers — but there are billions of citizens.
Chaos erupted everywhere. Governments fell within days. Ministries shut down. Offices ceased functioning. Entire administrations collapsed under the weight of their own corruption.
As pressure mounted, governments finally began to bend.
Criminals were arrested. Drug lords were apprehended. Corrupt politicians were detained. Some attempted to disappear into hiding, but they were found with surprising ease.
For the first time, the world witnessed the true power of collective will.
And for those criminals the governments could not reach, the Horsemen stepped in.
Drug lords whose influence was too vast for law enforcement to challenge — the Horsemen dealt with them. Hidden figures operating in the shadows — the Horsemen uncovered them.
For the first time in history, the Horsemen and certain governments stood on the same side.
By the end of the second week after Dominic's death, the world had undeniably changed.
Discussions of re-elections began. The United Nations debated structural reforms. Governments across the globe reconsidered their foundations. Real consequences — not empty promises — were unfolding.
At the same time, the reputation of the Horsemen spread across the world.
Young people dreamed of joining them. Parents secretly hoped that one day someone related to them would stand among their ranks. The Horsemen no longer hid their operations — though their headquarters remained concealed. They operated openly on a global scale, no longer pretending anonymity.
Some governments grew uneasy. They argued that the Horsemen held too much power. That if such an organization ever turned corrupt, everything would collapse.
The fear was voiced.
But to the citizens, they were heroes.
Heroes who had acted when governments failed. Heroes who revealed the darkest corners of the world. Heroes who forced change when change seemed impossible.
And through it all, one name echoed louder than the rest.
Dominic Cross.
His name rang through crowds and across nations.
Some called him a villain.
Some called him a traitor.
Some called him a hero.
Some named him a knight of light.
Others, a knight of darkness.
Some said he was despicable.
Others claimed he was righteousness in its purest form.
Everyone had a different name for him.
But no one could deny this:
He was a legend.
His legacy would not fade. His name would be written into history books. Children would recite poems about him. Governments would remember him with unease. His name would resurface whenever the world needed a reminder.
Because Dominic Cross — the founder and leader of the Horsemen — had become something greater than a man.
He had become a shadow.
And even in death, his name rang louder than the loudest bell.