The Great Ziggurat eclipses the black sun. Atop it the raptor priests call out for the hearts of our greatest athletes and warriors. The great kings and chairmen are no longer sovereign.
Gordo is here.
The Altar to the brilliant Moon-god lies toppled, the great aqueducts shattered, and the Battlepit converted to a place of dark ritual. In the alleyways the homeless wait ambushing soldiers to inject them with their poisons. Those that survive cannot be considered amongst the living.
Gordo is here.
The Shogunate of the West retreats to its mountain keeps. The Lord Magician puts a pause to his unceasing show. The blood chrysanthemum begins to blossom.
Gordo is here.