Ancient anguish rips across the giant's mind
He's torn in five directions of hate
One for lack of love
two for power lost
three for the splinter piercing his heart
four for his soul eternally damned
five for his wretched existence as a slave
Of course, there is Kryzon
King and lord of the beast.
The giant must serve at the feet of this despot
And by virtue of the five hates fueling his psychosis
He screams every waking moment
The deep reverberation of his howls sends echoes of pain
across vast landscapes of darkness.
Destitution reigns supreme
and he, the haggard witness to the injustices of the land
endures no end to the misery
He is haunted by a specter
a phantasmal and primordial being
pulling at the giant's spinal cord.
He realizes that he is one of the forsaken fallen.
The hell-bound hero, disproportionately lacerated
by the mayhem of his chaotic cerebrum,
is then ceremoniously cremated by the incensed king
for transgressions done unto him.
Didactically delirious, the king lights the flame.
The Giant moans, huge eyes smoldering with his five hates
Irate flames lick his toes but the monstrous beast
only feels his fury coarse through his raw-hide veins
The description too horrid to account for.
Yet recognized by all the heathens 'neath crimson skies
as soul torture.
Heart-wrenching anxiety carries in waves through the crowd
The spectators are shackled in stocks before the bonfire.
The ultimate power unchecked booms beneath the ground
A deathquake.
Magnitude 12.8 rattles the heavens
The Goddess of Ire, shaken, gazes from her throne and feels pity
The giant doesn't deserve this treatment
Thus she violently reacts.
A vortex of wind catapults from her gapping orifice for a mouth
lightning laced
and down it goes.
The mound of fire beneath the giant is extinguished by the blast.
He raises his massive fists into the air and screams
in ecstatic relief.
His x-ray vision homes in on the wicked king
and in three cataclysmic strides, he flanks Kryzon
and crushes him between the calloused balls of his thumbs
bones break like brittle twigs.
He is king now. Tyrant of everything.
The ghastly ghosts of Gylrahide howl in joy
He grins, a cool and vicious cowl covers his weathered face
Suffering had came his way
and now redemption
within his fingertips
He would guide it with exacting precision
never before manipulated by any laser.
This was his rebirth.
The giant savors his rapture
and his final scream transmutates into a melodious
hum, only quantifiable by the leviathan bumblebees of
Typhorium.
This is his legacy
accounted to you by I,
his humble muse, Albereez
housed on the apex ofMt. Dreary
patiently awaiting my turn
at totalitarian
tainted
tortured
tyranny.
The next giant awaits his story to be told.
I unroll my massive, dusty parchment
and begin to inscribe his future with my blood.
He's torn in five directions of hate
One for lack of love
two for power lost
three for the splinter piercing his heart
four for his soul eternally damned
five for his wretched existence as a slave
Of course, there is Kryzon
King and lord of the beast.
The giant must serve at the feet of this despot
And by virtue of the five hates fueling his psychosis
He screams every waking moment
The deep reverberation of his howls sends echoes of pain
across vast landscapes of darkness.
Destitution reigns supreme
and he, the haggard witness to the injustices of the land
endures no end to the misery
He is haunted by a specter
a phantasmal and primordial being
pulling at the giant's spinal cord.
He realizes that he is one of the forsaken fallen.
The hell-bound hero, disproportionately lacerated
by the mayhem of his chaotic cerebrum,
is then ceremoniously cremated by the incensed king
for transgressions done unto him.
Didactically delirious, the king lights the flame.
The Giant moans, huge eyes smoldering with his five hates
Irate flames lick his toes but the monstrous beast
only feels his fury coarse through his raw-hide veins
The description too horrid to account for.
Yet recognized by all the heathens 'neath crimson skies
as soul torture.
Heart-wrenching anxiety carries in waves through the crowd
The spectators are shackled in stocks before the bonfire.
The ultimate power unchecked booms beneath the ground
A deathquake.
Magnitude 12.8 rattles the heavens
The Goddess of Ire, shaken, gazes from her throne and feels pity
The giant doesn't deserve this treatment
Thus she violently reacts.
A vortex of wind catapults from her gapping orifice for a mouth
lightning laced
and down it goes.
The mound of fire beneath the giant is extinguished by the blast.
He raises his massive fists into the air and screams
in ecstatic relief.
His x-ray vision homes in on the wicked king
and in three cataclysmic strides, he flanks Kryzon
and crushes him between the calloused balls of his thumbs
bones break like brittle twigs.
He is king now. Tyrant of everything.
The ghastly ghosts of Gylrahide howl in joy
He grins, a cool and vicious cowl covers his weathered face
Suffering had came his way
and now redemption
within his fingertips
He would guide it with exacting precision
never before manipulated by any laser.
This was his rebirth.
The giant savors his rapture
and his final scream transmutates into a melodious
hum, only quantifiable by the leviathan bumblebees of
Typhorium.
This is his legacy
accounted to you by I,
his humble muse, Albereez
housed on the apex of
patiently awaiting my turn
at totalitarian
tainted
tortured
tyranny.
The next giant awaits his story to be told.
I unroll my massive, dusty parchment
and begin to inscribe his future with my blood.
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