The King of Awful Things

All nine legions underneath my command,
made of staunch men from a lion's glen,
with their eyes afire and hands abrand,
tiered the valley for their final stand.

In the cold expanse of December night,
which Luna kept and while others slept,
and behind their faces painted white,
they waged their last and final fight.

The blood spilt and flowed until dawn,
and I, the king, made of awful things,
praised the first and last feline pawn,
and told them the world had finally gone.