SolitudePhilosophical
Blades collide, sparks fly.
One, two, and then three die.
Eyes glow burning red.
Abandon the sword, use Satan's magic instead.
Create a clone to double the fun.
They'll fight until they see the sun.
He exhales a longing sigh on his way into town.
With a sadden frown.
His mind is sequestered, but he doesn't think.
He'll just sit in this pub and drink.