I ride through the darkness with a sallow moon over my left shoulder, faintly aware of the jingling and clanking of my accoutrements of battle and the creaking harness of my black battle horse. I am aware of the heady and pervading aroma of blood and sweat, and I rejoice in victory!
My ebon stallion's hoof beats disturb the sands of time echoing across the centuries, but I never falter for I am always there, willing and ready. The grinning, severed head of mine latest enemy, tied by his hair to my plated belt, thumps against my thigh, bouncing to the rhythm of my stallion's gate.
I keep it to remind me of the day's battle, but mine enemy speaks not unto me for his soul is in flight. He fought strong and well, but he was no match for me. Now, he is but my trophy. I shall keep him for a time until I find a suitable replacement.
Then musing, I lick the blade of my battle ax and taste the salty spoils of my victory under the sun while the ravens circled overhead, waiting to swoop down and tear pieces of rich, red meat from the freshly slain on that unholy, war-torn battlefield where the infidel fell and my shadow had rent the hearts of the vanquished.
As moons changed into suns, and oceans into deserts, I have sought revenge on a million injustices. I have lifted my sword in both conquest and retribution for that is what pleases me. Untiring, I travel from war to war, for that is my purpose and desire.
My war cry has echoed off a thousand mountains as the tears of widows have wet the sand in lamentation for their lost, but that never stopped me. I have a cause, a mission, and I fulfill it well and true. Many souls have been freed from the fetters of confusion by my flashing blade as it slashed in its silver arc through their slumping bodies, their blood spewing and splattering upon the sands of countless battlefields. Finish one, and then on to the next, I never tire of listening to their death rattles.
Battle ax in one hand and broadsword in the other, nothing can abate my anger or halt my purpose as I plow through mine enemies, cleaving them in twain like stocks of waiving wheat waiting for harvest. Mine eyes glowing red at the thought, I shall not disappoint them as my will is strong as my arm and my thirst for victory unflinching.
The infidel would shun and renounce my Lord Lucifer, but I shall fail Him not! I am His strong right arm, and His enemies, foolish sheep in shrouds full of dead men's bones shall know His wrath! My grip upon my weapons is like iron, and they shall know the fearsome bite of my ax and blade as I rend their flittering souls from their wasted corpses.
Yea! I rode all night, but now the fiery sun rises in
the East. Another battlefield appears in the misty
distance, and I rejoice. Never fear, I shall be there
soon, as my battle horse is fleet of foot, and my thirst
grows strong in anticipation. Soon, I shall drink in
the wine of war and know satisfaction. My stallion
never tires, and neither do I. Raising my hands, I
welcome the new day full of trial and the reward of
victory. I can taste the rewards of battle on the wind
as I lean forward in my saddle and dig my spurs into
my beast's flanks.
I hear my powerful voice shatter the steely dawn, as I send forth before me a hearty "Hail Lucifer!" "I feel thy sturdy presence within my breast, and thine will is my will! Thine arm shall be as my arm, and we shall slay the infidel in their multitudes. Father! I stand next to you at the edge of eternity and survey the All before us, our enemies vanquished unto the deepest pits of Hell, for they have offended both thee and me and they are grist for our mill! Come, let us make haste!"
The miles flash by as in a dream, and lo, the infidel amass before me! There they stand arrayed in white shrouds, raising their standard of the red cross on a white banner before me. They think it will save them, but they are mistaken. I come, a son of the Black Pyramid with the heart of fire, and nothing stands long before me. Mine time has come, and I am ready! Let it be known that vengeance is mine, and their puny god shall not save them!
I shall liberate them from the constraints of their miserable lives, and their remains shall be as dung under my feet. Ah! We are on the field of truth, and they come to meet me. Hah! It does my heart good to see them sweat the sweat of fear. I can smell it! My hood slips back from the force of the wind and they see the ivory of my alabaster skull and the red glow of mine eyes. I sense terror in their meek hearts and see their lips parted in unanswered prayer.
I aim for their standard bearer and cut him down with one stroke of my battle sword, spilling his innards onto the hungry grass of the field. My back swing unseats their commander, some sort of a prissy priest, and he falls broken on an outcropping of basalt rock, a fitting alter unto my Lord Lucifer!
Their ranks split as I charge through their columns, but none-the-less, the tip of my sword slits many throats, punctuated by the squashing sound of my battle ax as it crushes skull after skull, splattering their brains upon their breasts. Slash, whack, whack, I write the music of the waltz of death as I pass through them.
And so goes the day, me streaming through their rank
and file like a fiery wind of retribution that knows no
mercy or bounds. The sands of the hours slip through
the glass of time as the battle rages on, but I never
falter, for my Dark Lord is with me and is unrelenting
and sure of purpose.
Infidel corpses litter the field, piled like cord wood as their blood feeds the soil, and as the sun sinks in the West, their numbers wain few. Terror and confusion reign as they mill about, knowing not what to do, but that matters not, as I know. I am not finished, but soon I will take the last soul for my Master's pleasure, and hang that infidel's head from my belt as a symbol of my victory, a spoil of war! His trophy shall be mine before day is done.
At last, I face off before the last infidel, tall in his sweat-soaked saddle. He pales before me, calling upon the name of his worthless god who hears him not. Ah! He is a fine specimen, tall and strong. He gathers his courage and charges me full tilt, and I ride out to meet him swinging my battle ax above my head and spanking my steed upon his stout rump with my broad sword. My eyes glow red as burning brimstone as the distance between us closes, and at last we clash.
He rears back to swing his great sword, but my battle ax is attached to my wrist by a cord, and as I let go of the grip, it flings out and severs his head from his body. It flips into the air, and as I ride past I catch it for mine own. Ah! it is a fine trophy, it's eyes bright and wide with horror. The lips still move, mumbling something, probably a curse against his worthless god for failing him. Hah! This won't last long! Already, his eyes glaze over as the last of his essence bleeds forth and his cringing soul wings it way to the pits of Hell. Die infidel!
I circle around to make sure there is no infidel left standing, and find the only living things are the feasting, black ravens that seem to follow me from place to place. I hear myself laugh loudly and say, "Feed well, my children!" Then, I ride back and pick up their fallen white banner with the red cross. It is stained with their blood now, but still, it is a fine trophy, and I shall use it to wrap the head of my last enemy.
Again, I ride through the darkness with a sallow moon over my left shoulder, faintly aware of the jingling and clanking of my accoutrements of battle and the creaking harness of my black battle horse. I am aware of the heady and pervading aroma of blood and sweat, and I rejoice in victory! A severed head hangs from my belt, and I lick the blade of my battle ax musing over the day's battle and my victory.
