"An unrepentant downpour of maniacal laughter rushes down the halls of the Iron Banner. Hungering Blades shimmer and separate reanimated flesh from ancient bone. She is the wave and the undertow. Carving all she sees, the glue which binds all folds on the envelope of life and death is fluid, flowing. Hers alone. Forever." -Superman Corps 2/18/15
We stood up on two legs
And raised are heads above golden grass
He was there
We sharpened stone and steel
Used tools to harvest grass, beast, and brother
He was there
We clustered together
In brick and mud, swarming with rats and plague
He was there
We built nations and mistrust
Our fingers hovered over the red button
He smiled
Still we build, to rise above the golden grass
Away from the reach of his scythe
For a day when he will no longer harvest.
"Reign of Terror!". Lord Shaxx cried out from the diaphragm, and the dust beneath a doorway twenty feet away dovetailed upward. It was her. Saladin's Fist. She stood in solitude. Beneath her fingernails their blood sang a symphony. The witness off all that was lost. Crimson in color and sound. And feel. The footsteps on the ground betray the number of the armada that shattered against the cliffs when SHE came. SHE is the wave and the undertow. SHE is Saladin's fist, and all suffer in her wake.