They have their hearts set on destruction,
Cheering as the carnage goes on.
They watch with anticipation as the warriors step onto the field.
With blood staining the ground,
And dead bodies covering the wonded,
They are appalled as they listen to their agonized cries.
Fear consumes them,
Until their legs give out beneath them,
And they crumble to the ground.
But there is no time to take it all in,
Because the fight has resumed again.
War cries fill the air,
And people drop like flies, screaming in pain.
The names of the Gods are shouted out in despair,
Hoping to be saved.
And so, fresh blood spatters against the ground,
Laughing, the opposing team cries out that victory is theirs.
When the battle is over,
And the victorius stand above the dead,
The crowd is silent.
Their eyes linger on the slain.
And the wounded, who, crawling, try to get away.
They ask themselves how they could have found this amusing.
They are all silent,
As if the Gorgan stands before them,
Paralyzing them all.
 
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