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The painted woman rose in turn, crying out
"Giant, these footsteps are merely my own creation"
And, in some strange way, she had spoken the truth
For her progeny were fated through their celestial nativity
To heal this earth and wipe its scourge from its face
The terrors shall dread the shaman's chant
Echoing madly across the vast nothingness
For it heralds the coming of the charcoal-painted warrior
He who slays alien gods
And he who cuts life from his enemy
In search of the sun, he who gave them blood
The spider grandmother adorns their skulls
With feathers touched by the creator
And so they began to climb the sky
Slayer of alien gods
Our father, the sun, we come seeking guidance
In felling our brothers, these giants unspeakable
My sons, or so you claim, prove yourselves worthy of me
And I shall see you through your quest
These trials are to be your greatest test
Knowing now that they were his flesh,
He bestowed upon them gifts
With which to bring about the fall of their kin
Struck down by the thunderbolts within their quivers,
The Anaye fall as rains from the heavens
Wind's child spreads word of their return
Through a hole in the sky, the mountain peers
When through the dust they appear
Arrows drawn, incorporeal, without fear
Lightning impales the beast, crumbling to its knees
Its heart and its breath, and its nerves strung through the depths,
Come pouring from a distant cave
A sickening crack shakes the air
The ichor flows forth, beware
The earth trembles, shuddering, the sky howls through itself
The blood burns the grass in its wake to ash
The brothers stagger away, the painted woman is pleased
She dances with his scalp in her teeth
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