“Live to dieâ€, that is our code. For untold glory says us, to lie upon our shield as heroes. In this order we harvest warriors, feeding on the fear of our enemies. Consumed by lust we drink their blood, gathering their strength unto ourselves.
The phalanx moves, lured by the horn of war. Steady, we ride the current of adrenaline beside the sea. A wind gropes us, cooling our sweat and bringing us the scent of our rivals. Hungry, the stomp of thousands creeps.
Forward, the dust rises and stirs mixing with our hot breath. Eager, we are quickened as every sense was born for this day. A swelling spreads in our chest, and we welcome it…
And then, everything is still…
One motion, one voice is heard amongst the calm. Our King shouts bearing his arms, “Tread upon our lands once suggesting war and we kill one man. Return and we kill them all!â€
A stampede of beasts and men condones our din. A headless Spartan grins, embattled though he’s fallen now renowned. The king bends in dance against a thousand kept beside his men, amongst the clang of metal and armor’s ring.
The world was deaf and so within us, claimed by an ominous fever. Bloodless, lest his eyes burned with murder, our King leapt; whereupon he landed the throne a thirsty spear.
Leaning, his middle braided with an arrow, the King concluded, “Remember us as Spartans. And though we’re dead recall your losses. Greece will not have you. Prepare yourselves for its hosts.
And while the last of the great king’s blood let from his mouth, his men died. A rain of arrows removed.
The sky wept for the loveless left behind. And although no shields were raised that day Greece did come, and a host of thousands met the damned. But the earth still trembled for the first; for the King and his 300.
