On this plane or rather these plains of Hell on Earth. there is a world called "THE field of battle".
The Armageddon of this place is relative and universal.
The distant seas boil with torpedoes and depth-charges.
Leviathan battle ships and Krakenine Under-boats surf on the tides and currents.
the seas are red with the dead of sunken vessels.
The skies are blackened with Harpies.
These Wailing War-worn half-bird wenches birth hell-bombs for their patron nations.
They wheel about fusillade pantomime of a sky slowly turning green with explosive residues.
On the ground, men so brave and cowardly they charge like the Bulls of Heaven and yowl like Hounds of Hell.
These are Men so vicious and numerous they are great beasts individually and a pestilence enmasse.
The foot-soldiers are roaring Lion-Headed Locusts.
They swarm when they storm and sting like scorpions with their bayonets.
"THE field of battle" is made barren as the Locust-soldiers devour the crops of Nihilism seeded and sown there.
As they feed they are made aware that they are insects clinging to blades of Forged-Iron Grass.
The Grass that wraiths in unison under the Winds of Time as much it flails against itself in the River of Power.
When the crops of Nihilism are depleted the Locust-soldiers drop away and die.
"THE field of battle" is decomposed to dust by a fungal wave of Mushroom Clouds.
As this observer retrieves his vision and returns it to his distant vantage:
"THE field of battle" gives way to the flames.
The flames fail to prevail against a Mountain.
The Mountain is tumbled unto its tip and tucked away by Gaia's Tectonics.
Then even she is held under the sway of the Universe.
After all, the Universe is simply the Endless Ocean of Power of the Infinite Sky of Time which the Rivers and Winds are only tributaries to.
This observer sees this and thinks on the Crops of Nihilism.
The coarse bread that grain would produce comes to his mind.
He doubts its worth as sustenance.
However, a curiosity of the taste haunts him.
