Take that feeling of hopelessness
And wipe it from your face
That frown will get you nowhere,
And yet nowhere you will go.
Listen to the snow that breathes
On this glacial mountaintop.
The summit watches you, and it
Laughs at your marked cowardice.
It is telling you to turn away,
For the God that rests atop this crest
Holds a crown of blizzards,
The blood of dragons on his collar.
Slicing open the girths of faeries
That bleed harsh cold and despair.
A boy—a sapling—a man like you
Could never brave the victorious screams.
You trudge onwards, yet,
Like the fool that you are.
Can you hear that sound, above
This blistering hurricane of ice?
It is him, and he is roaring,
Cackling at your vain cries and struggles.
He taunts you with his voice, daring you
To reach the top and touch him.
The exit is a solace to the scorching,
But you are not alone.
Upon this mountaintop, you have
Not even one,
He is in the distance, and yet
You can hear him singing.
It is a requiem that funerals wilt,
Your celebration having lost spirits gained.
He is but a shadow before you,
A Delphic majesty, hewn
Like a marble canvas without fail
Standing to the tests of weather and rhythm.
He dares you to come forward
With his championship eyes.
Red from ire and the
Air around him frozen like death.
Masters have fallen to their knees
Before him; this God of all creation.
Men have turned to disheartened beasts,
Doomed to wander the world in his favor.
But you refuse to be one of them,
Fall into pawn at the hand of this avatar.
It is your time now—for this God too,
He rose from nothing, as have you.
He sees you and he smiles,
As if greeting your timid frame,
As if he wants to devastate your valor
And claim it for his own.
You know now that there is no turning back,
Because here he is before you,
Drifting in the darkening storm
That separates mortal from legend.
He reaches for one sphere.
It is red and it is white, and contains
A warrior of which you have never
Encountered before. Never once.
Your hands shaking, you reach for your own,
Your eyes blur with tears of menace
As his grin grows wider, the power
Around him crushes your sanity.
Your vision now disappears,
And you fall blind to your fright.
The only picture now that stands
Is the phantom of him, sphere in hand.
Ready to make his move,
He bores his eyes into your skull
As your eyes go black around you,
And your focus cries from the sight.
There are no words; and you
Know that there is no need for any.
Final is not correct; final is not for this.
Final means the end. Final means over.
This is just the beginning.
Of the end.