The Encircled Punishment

When God is the Head of State, the mountains rise at my side to Ram (Mark) the battle-front. Every wind moves with me, and the breath of the Dragon lives within my chest. Within me also dwell the feathered Dragons—those who burn like the fires of judgment upon the heads of the conquered and the lost, wandering through the Dragon’s mist where the Lord hovers over the grapes of wrath, long soured for the hour that returns again and again.

The Angel Mars *(Rowdy Piper) stands at the gates of Hades, cold‑shouldered yet open‑handed toward the warriors who gave their lives that day—the thousand and the hundred thousand who died for their families, and whose families stood for one another so the day itself could not outnumber them. Encircled like a wagon wheel, the cycle of life turned from one side to the other, and the world wondered at the day that held the tears of those who walked with God yet never saw the children taken from them.

Wrath fell upon the wives and children of the soldiers. The Lord moved swiftly, dividing the lines in two to fortify the last war of wars. The enemy struck again and again at the defenseless, until the camp of women and children was destroyed. Heaven bore witness to the slaughter.

Then the Lord (Mars and Hades) lifted the Hands of Hammer, the Slip, and the Mace of Destruction, and struck across the eighty-eight worlds once occupied by the enemy—now clinging to a single breath of life that could be taken by a whisper of the Lord’s cloud. Fallen, they were cast beneath the waters of Heaven, unable to raise a camp for four thousand years.

For on that day they had slain their own families and severed the heads of their children. When they saw what they had done, the Lord took the blood of their kin and poured out the remaining bowls upon the earth, so that no prophet of God—who healed the world before it was formed—would be harmed again.

Many times the enemy sought to wound this world for the same blessings God had given its people, blessings meant to reunite them with the First and Last. But the worlds that once were are now lost; not even in Heaven was one found who had not stolen time from the returns of ages, from marriages and rulers meant to stand beside them.

The enemy ruled by slavery, without dreams, without tomorrow. They carried weapons stolen from other worlds that might have been saved. A prophet taught them how to destroy their own before others could take what they claimed. And the woman who cried a thousand times a thousand thousand times for being outnumbered was delivered by the forerunner who held the day without a brother, who gave them water to drink and meat to survive, though the bones of the fallen rose in piles like a boneyard gathered over weeks.

Their tears fell upon Pluto, where the dead cannot be counted and the enemy cannot reclaim the bones of ancestors lost during their long descent. What they took from their own was taken from their hands and placed into ours—those who carry the Almighty within the children of tomorrow.

For the innocent blood they spilled soaked the ground, binding it with the curse of water and spirit. Any world they find to rest upon will bring destruction upon them, granting no peace. They challenged an army to hold them back, but now they are gone, and the children cry for justice.

The sword of the Lord is the swiftness of words, and the blood poured out stains the earth forever. As the waters gather into rivers, they carry the Spirit of Water and Fire above the face of the deep, above the heads of our enemy.