The war is coming;
Salvation to be a myth
That fateful storm has been brewing for eternity -
Humanity is sat in the eye.
The cacophony is an elegy of darkness, obscured beauty of the elements.
The crimson fire that ensnares desire, the slowest most painful torture.
The torrent of the ocean, rejecting calmness, drowning each spirit by force.
The air of deceit can wrap around us, choke us with our own lies.
The earth we stand upon gives way to the sky, we will not live.
Rise, King of the Damned, take your place.
Fulfil your lust, let destruction be your queen.
The Nephilim interrogate the souls of men, beating them beyond any torture in the human world,
But what can the dead yield?
Demons are foaming at the mouth, snarling, growling, never cowering
Ready for a taste of flesh, craving a virgin’s spirit.
Each drop of blood that is spilled represents a shred of resent for humanity,
A moment of fear for the living.
The King sits on his hollow throne, scrutinising the trepidation.
He will wait for the moment, he will wait.

A sickly pleasure trickles down their undead spines,
An army of rotting soldiers prepare for that vital second,
The universal invasion of which hell will split open;
The carnage will release decimation onto the hopeless world.
It will happen soon, the battle of infinity
Between heaven and hell.

Look down at those peasants,
The muscular man, the woman with the long brown hair,
Do they know their own fate? Do they care?
They walk down a cobbled street, in a blissful state of ignorance.
They will not be spared. They are nobody;
Their dreams amount to nothing.
All they can do now is pray.

What will become of our voluptuous world?
Fragments of a once fertile beauty,
Nature refuses to become a strumpet to darkness.
The rolling hills bridge the earth to the eternal sky,
A plethora of possibilities fly on past, cradled within those soft clouds.
Carried on that soothing song of the hills.
And west of these hills an oddity resides,
Nonetheless, emitting a pure essence;
Sprites mingle in the forest, mischievous but clear of soul.
The forest conceals a solitary lake,
Morganna’s lake, the queen of late.
The sprites ward evil from this lake,
But they are powerless against the King of the Damned.
The Sages are cowards.
They do not deserve power.
Each one mounts a dragon, a weeping creature,
And soars to the ridgeline of reality.
They can sense the epitome of the Devil,
They refuse to warn any person,
Instead, they flee the realm.