Beware His Power

The Sword of Impunity is so easy to see
yet it's call cannot be avoided.

His last child, a victim,
a man of great strength and honor, truthfully,
lays bare of skin or sinew, perhaps face down in the dirt for what the bones tell,
his maw asunder while the blade's remnants of organic life shiver beside his strong arm.
The maggots are rare, seeking their lifeforce as the Exalted One did,
He arrived first and left naught behind.

Overlapping, never seen, but heard before.
They were one
if briefly.

Cursed One calls another
they come to him from a call they consider heavenly,
they are mistaken.

His eyes never look on in glee,
he simply watches over his children
as they swing him 'round,
never do they scream when ensnared
but they retch,
they wince
their flesh oft warps to his hold,
a strange sensation of pulling down in their palm, the sting of bare skin bleeding
and revealing tender meat.
Its flavor is nothing compared to the mortal fear
it is to be used.

He feeds on the supposed kings and warriors
leaves them to be forgotten.