19 March 2013

Passing drops of blood, from his own previous human self along the road,
Nexen the demon steps forwards, as his pace suddenly slowed,
The air humid with fog of the morning entering his heat driven breath,
Stepping past the bodies, with the now stenches of death,
Walking to through the gates, of Wayranias towers built tall,
The sword glows in the distance, hanging on the armory wall,
Reaching for it with his burning blood veined hands,
Taking it in his grip, he feels the weight where he stands,
Touching the sides with embedded crystals in the blade,
They draw away his heat, so his powers start to fade,
“Perfect.” He smiles, ready to fight and win,
As now the time is right to kill the dreamon Nin.