The Hunters and the Hunted

A trio of clansmen approached a den,

Acting all brave, were hunting but then,

The sound of a snarl, the sound of a roar,

And then, the small trio, weren't as brave as before.

…

But their leader pushed on, the clan had to eat,

They couldn't just run, to flee in defeat.

So with trepidation, the other ones followed,

Late was the day, and near was the morrow.

…

Roars and the snarls, they echoed their dread.

They wished for the surface, to be there instead.

Yet still down they went, deep into the dark,

Until one of them fell, and was torn apart.

…

Myrkidia pounced, with sharp fang and claw.

Those who hunted Man, in slaughter, not war.

The clansmen they fought, they struggled and screamed,

But the myrkidia fed, in orgy obscene.

…

And so the hunt ended, the prey had been caught.

Over in moments, weakly they'd fought.

And thus the night came, for myrkidia feast.

The last days of Man, in claws of the beasts.