The warriors advanced. Two continents and they had not slowed. Empires crumbled in their wake, cities rippling on the waves' crests. Geography trembled before them.

They were unstoppable. Nothing could withstand their might. They assailed the brain and spine, paralyzing the body. They moved with speed, not stopping to rest. They were and continued.

The storms blazed their path, announcing their presence with a herald of thunder. Clouds roiled through the sky in explosive tangles of wind. Cleansing rain disinfected the target area before they struck, needle-like into their enemies' skin.

The trees bowed to them, dipping their branches in homage. The rocks were made soft before them, splitting open with a willingness. The oceans, red now, parted, allowing them their next continent.

This, the last continent, fell before them, too. The last civilization had been subjugated, the Earth's people now under a new jurisdiction. These warriors stood atop their new empire, faces expressionless. They surveyed the new geography they had created and told the cartographers to make new maps in their likeness. The old maps, which had once given direction, were destroyed.

And nothing changed.

Painting by .chourmo. (source image)

Same Ol' Same Ol' by shoofle

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