The drum beat’s fatalistic cry

Calls all to arms, perhaps to die,

To quell dark forces, they must try,

Before the dawn o’ertakes the sky.

From basement deep to towers tall,

Defenders step into the thrall

Of war, where friends and brothers fall

To fiends who heed the darkness’ call.

For they have one last paladin:

A boy of sacrificial kin,

Blood of defiance in his skin.

His banner high, they fight to win.

The wicked herd, it does immerse

Its foe with pain and muttered curse,

But then the Dark Lord’s troupe perverse

Parades his prey, a noisome hearse.

The Chosen One lies limp and still,

No prophecy left to fulfil.

Decrepit flesh exalts the kill,

Demanding all bend to his will.

But none bow down unto his might;

Instead, they rise back up and fight

To ward off evil’s lurking blight

And chase away the dark of night.

Amidst the fray, who should be there —

The Boy Who Lives — to face the Heir,

Just like an answer to a prayer.

The fate of all lays on that pair.

And in a flash, it all is done.

The Dark Lord falls, there stands just one.

The war, a simple spell has won

As new beginnings greet the sun.