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The Vengeful dark red of skies like dying embers,

Lie strewn above me – A cyclopean gate

Now before me looms,

Arched in ways that put Geometry to shame…

I can harken the distant beat of leathern, membranous wings…

A stench of death prevails in the fetid air

And something moves in the mist;

What shrouded horror doth emerge?

An unholy form thrust into the fore

That threatens now to

Claim my only shard of sanity left:

A scarabean teratoma,

With cleaver-claws a’ hacking

And apron of human faces sewn,

Fixed its gaze on me…

Gods above, give me your strength to fight! A dastard

I shall not prove myself today – I’ll stand and slay…

Ye Gods below, is this all you got to throw at me?

My scissor slices through its gut, piercing shell to eviscerate…

In mortal throes my blows fall

Until, at last, I’m steeped in victory

The blood of my foe under those weeping blood-skies!

Die, foul thing!

Now your wings are mine!!

Thus, I soar through heavens sunless…

Another gate awaits,

A new nightmare to face!