Newly clothed in raiment by the King, I descend into the mountainous ring. With shield in front and back exposed, sword in hand with readied pose. The wyvern of old destined to face, it lures man with tail's hypnotic trace.
Venom of desire its most deadly vice. All that embrace do so at heavy price. When lust fails to lure resolve away, to rage does allure give way. It shoots the darts of its fiery might, to which shield impedes deadly flight. Folly it is to stand and not fight, to engage with sword reveals King's might. The dragon lashes out to slash with claws, hate in eyes and gnashing of jaw. The fight is long as the battle wains on, destined to lose, still hate fuels Apollyon. Whenever knocked down by might crushing down, the King sends men and the beast is bound. When refreshed from above the battle resumes; with resolve I press and deliver a great wound. The fiend seeing my victory is nigh; to flee, away he does fly.
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