Nathrangking

I give you number #41

Blight of Shadow

Mars with gladius drawn races now across sands aflame beneath the might of Amun Ra shaking the whole of the cosmos beneath his steps. Above in the skies, Isis and Minerva are locked in combat most deadly rending the heaven and turning the flesh of the lord and mistress of the earth into nothing more than ash that wafts blindingly across the field of battle. Mortal legions glut the decimated ground and are swallowed whole while the bane of Osiris stands beside the jackal-headed lord sweating and bleeding before the tempests that shear flesh from the bone without mercy. Vultures descend upon them as the twins riddle Horus with shot after shot until he plummets down as a comet to never again rise from the dead as his father. The Nile is now gold and filled with so many slaughtered. Temples are torn down to their roots and are nothing more than shattered husks. Treasures buy no mercy from Jupiter and Minerva when they smite the barge of the sun and the master of Chaos. Screams how they fly and only grow when even the blasted wilderness is no more. Two heads see the beginning and end with apathy responding not to those who are led away beneath the watchful eyes of Bacchus. Those that remain Isis in her rags, her husband whose crown is lost in the depths, and the sky itself are bound and led to the river that brought low the favored one of the new city. Raised is the laurel and son of the tamer of Gaul. Somewhere in the deserts, two lovers broken sleep eternally and are hidden from those who would take them to be the prizes of gluttons. A curse stalks the victors seeping into them and subtly leeching at them in ways that none can heal. Laughter as Sybil blinded, eternally weeps. A throne taken is inhabited by phantoms who replaced the flesh and blood when the upper and lower lands fell to silence without end.