. . .Ichor, the blood of the gods, glistens in the morning light's heat; we've almost come to a defeat.
But a few perish into the depths of Tartarus to Hades ornate throne of black opal and rubies of his adorned seat.
I'm no god, no warrior, no royal blood in me.
But will I stand here watching the city decrease?
I have a mind, a heart and working hands.
I will endure anything to save this golden city where the gods stand.
Gilded thrones gleam and tapestries sway.
Light shines through the crevices of the ruin's decay.
The war rages on, yet we still have this day.
Our shield of protection fights the dark enemy’s blade.
It slashes my skin but not deep enough for me to lie down and pass away.
The grass has been trampled, blood has been shed, I have used my shield and blade.
The last enemy has fallen and now we march home on the winding, golden path towards Mount Olympus to Zeus' palace gate.
Greeted with many cheers and a medallion.
The ruins have been built up and all is filled with triumph and glorification.
. . .