It has no name and those that seek never find

and those that find never tell the truth

of what entity tore their companions asunder

and left them terrified of night and day.

 

In the first forest something grows, wild

evades the wolf as a wraith unknown.

Its existence defined in the contest of ages.

It awaits the calling to unleash its hell.

Untamed,

uncultivated,

it prepares to engage.

 

The eternals knew.

It was legend before the light of the first dawn broke.

Birthed on a mythic field of silhouettes

dancing in perdition’s molten chaos.

 

When the armor clad rose up

to pit themselves against the thing, living

unknown in the darkness of the spirit,

it drove tears and madness with a look.

It spat acid reeking of toxic sulfur

and at twenty yards, eyes would bleed

before the body combusted to flame.

 

Through dark ages of separation and savagery

it sleeps as man fights for purchase of life and land,

but one say the unclean will awake to begin again.

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