With ten thousand spear,
And ten thousand sword,
In the glint of the sun,
Reflecting the radiance.

Marching over lands far from home,
Through fields vast and over hills,
In the golden meadows,
Over rolling plains.

The clouds darken over head,
And thunder roars from the sky,
In the voices of angry gods,
Reigning down like fire.

Standing over the battle plain,
Tens of thousands in shining armour,
Stedfast in their defiant stand,
The Immortal host was never in doubt.

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