• A bird slowly lands,
    atop a shabby dwelling,
    an alarm call sounds.

    A messenger leaves,
    carrying a vital slip,
    crimson dyed paper.

    Gallops through the fields,
    silently, ever cautious,
    for his enemies.

    He reaches his post,
    and delivers his message,
    then tethers his horse.

    The general stands,
    he crumples the slip in rage,
    and informs his troops

    "Tomorrow we march!
    No longer will we stand this!
    Prepare for battle!"

    Yin's spies are sent out,
    prayers are made to the gods,
    and his armies, armed.

    The army will march,
    to the city of Tian Long,
    where they will then stand.

    Battle ensues, rage!
    Anger at the slaughter of
    spouse, friend, sons and daughters...

    Blades fall, swords ring,
    crimson flowers bloom atop,
    lifeless red corpses.

    Amid it all, he
    takes pleasure in taking life,
    a raving monster.

    Cutting down hundreds,
    gouging out eyes, slicing flesh,
    bathed in red, he laughs.

    An arrow is shot,
    It pierces through his black heart,
    and he dies, laughing...

    A long, hard, battle,
    yet a great deed has been done,
    a beast destroyed,

    and a battle won.