They split me wide, my tender guts splashed on their steel. It'll take more than cheap pinpricks to seal my fate. I grab a clutch of men, a cowering horde of creeps striking from behind. I crush dozens of them, a burst of radial heat and froth making cinders of the brave, crispy little matchsticks that crumble.

What tattered legion from the west, a baker's dozen, fools for ungodly scripture. I will introduce them to pain. They will never own my flesh, for this serpent is older than dirt. I have known the warlock and his kin. Their dirty bones are now in my belly, a black magic of theology reduced to a low quivering fart. How pathetic...

I stomp a few more legions, a gaggle of wicked orcs, how delicious, their juicy little brains. At last, I awaken, the mother of all fires set before this mortal wasteland, infernal tomb for infants and crying mothers. I am Jupiter, last of the gas giants, dragon with an ice cold heart.

Soon this world will be my tinder, a blackened moon for devils and the like. My final shriek will rip the fabric of history, angels will fall from clouds of ash, and I shall implode into a singular infinite speck, triumphant in my perfection. Jupiter...