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For the Lord Pink

The sun rises. We form a line that is thousands of feet long. We grip our weapons-knives, guns, swords, axes- and wait. As sure as the sun’s rise and fall, they peek the crest of the hill across the bombed out crater that was once a bountiful field. They form a line that is thousands of feet long. They grip their weapons- knives, guns, swords, axes- and wait. We stare at them, the enemy, the threat to the security and dominance of the Blaxican Empire, the Canadians. They stare back at us. There is a deadly silence, the only sound that of the chilly wind whipping our exposed faces, seeping through the cracks of our tattered armor.

For the Lord Pink

I can feel it inside of me, growing, festering. The bloodlust is upon me. The edge of my vision is tinted crimson, I feel anger and excitement. Soon I will kill. Hopefully, I will die. Regardless of my fate, blood will be spilled in the name of the Lord Pink, and for that we are glad. There is a shout, praise for the Lord Pink, and then we charge. They yell, curse us, charge. As I run I can feel the blood lust beginning to seize my being. The dim blood red obscuring my peripheral vision deepens and expands slightly. I see my prey: a tall, muscular man. He is wielding a mighty axe. I am excited; such a large man will surely spill much blood.

For the Lord Pink

The shouts and rustle and clinking of moving armor collaborate into a dull roar in my ears. I raise my Desert Eagle and fire indiscriminately into the quickly approaching mass of enemies. They do the same. A warcry is abruptly cut short, and I feel a twinge of jealousy. One of my brothers has fulfilled his duty to the Lord Pink. How I long to be in his place. I scream and increase my tempo from a steady jog to a full blown sprint, anxious to close the gap and engage in the real fight. The Canadian whom I have chosen to kill is still standing. He looks at me and I look back, and he nods understandingly. Like me and my brothers he is a soldier. He knows that like I eventually, he will die.

For the Lord Pink

The distance has closed and both sides have already left a long trail of dead. Now, we are right on top of each other. The Canadian shouts something and I draw my sword. We raise our weapons high. I do not have to look to know that my brothers are doing the same. There is a collective gasp and scream as my brothers who have outrun me come into contact with the enemy. Now in range, my Canadian enemy fiercely brings his great axe down, attempting to cleave me in two. Unfortunately for him, I have been in far too many battles to be felled by such a primitive technique, and with an ease and finesse ascertained from the experience of countless wars, I side-step and bury the nuzzle of my Desert Eagle into his ear and pull the trigger, blowing his brains and the devastating round out through the opposite end of his skull. Before his corpse can touch the ground I have already moved on, swinging my sword in a wide arch, delivering death to any enemy of the Blaxican Empire. The end of my sword catches a neck and easily slices through the armor, cutting deeply into flesh. Another soldier falls to the ground, gasping for the much needed oxygen and blood that has no way of reaching their destinations now that his jugular and wind pipe have been severed. All around me, chaos ensues. As I engage in combat with challenger after challenger I am faintly aware of the fact that the Canadian forces are not the only ones sustaining losses. It has been only a matter of minutes, yet many of my brothers have fulfilled their oaths.

For the Lord Pink

This one is a rookie. He wields his sword like it was a club, and he is not familiar with its heavy weight and point of balance. With a howl he brings his sword down in an attempt to slice me in two, and again I side-step. Intending to execute this fool like the last I again raise my desert eagle to the side of his head and pull the trigger. But alas! In my lust-crazed excitement I have forgotten to change the magazine, as evidenced by the telltale click-click of a weapon attempting to discharge air. I jump back but not fast enough. The rookie swings his sword with such force that the momentum causes him to spin on his axis. I scream as his sword cuts through my armor and three inches into the side of my waist. I can feel my life force ebbing away, and yet, I am excited. I feel a new strength rising within me. With a roar, I drop my pistol and grab his blade, preventing him from pulling it out of my side, then raise my sword and bury it in the top of his skull. With a grunt I yank my sword out of his head and allow him to fall to the ground, taking his bloodied weapon with him. It is getting hard to see, my vision has been completely obscured, and now I see everything with a blood red tint. I ignore my wound and continue to fight.

For the Lord Pink

I continue to fight, slaying another, when suddenly a sharp pain racks through my body. I glance down at the bloody stump that was once my arm, and turn to face my enemy. He is tall, far taller than the rest. He is the leader. As I dive for my sword he raises his quadruple-bladed scythe and bears it down upon me just as I grab hold of my weapon and fling it in front of my face, barely in time to prevent him from embedding one of the cruel blades in my eyes. I have saved myself, but now I am at a disadvantage. He stands above me, smirking, using his weight to drive both the scythe and my own sword down into me. With but one hand I cannot hope to hold him off for long, though I try. Abruptly, he pulls back slightly. Not too spare me, but for a reason that I cannot ascertain. Regardless, he pulls back, and then violently twists his scythe. Ah, I see now. Upon twisting, my sword, which was caught in between the scythes blade, is yanked out of my hands. Without my weapon there truly is no hope. With a sigh I lay my lone hand on my chest and stare at the charcoal gray sky, waiting for my end. I have fought long, and hard. I have given my blood, taken others, all in the name of the Lord Pink. I have represented his power well on countless battlefields. There is no dishonor to be had, for I have fulfilled my oath and my duties. As I stare and wait for death's stroke I can faintly see a trace of a quickly dissipating light behind the ashy gray sky. The sun sets.

For the lord Pink