With a thunderous clap you light your Vorpal blade, brands shining like the sun. This was what they were made for. The lives of billions have been spilled at its metal feet and you will not deny the gods of war their glory. For your father, and your fathers, father, you will rage holy fire from your soul on to this thing.
As you rush forward the ground splits and dust and darkness rush you. Dirt fills your throat but green glowing rage lights your way. Running down the avalanche you can see your enemy before you. A hundred meters of steel armor, and weapons, falling into the abyss. It was bound in the earth a thousand years ago, and did not stir till now. It’s movements break the grave it was held in, and rainbow flares and lighting explode as a rift is forced open beneath it.
The two of you hurdle across space and time as you land on its metal chest and sink the Vorpal sword of Colombia into to its chest. Fire explodes out and burns you as its massive steel hand smashes down on you. Severed from your legs and ground into its open wound you rage as your foe and you die somewhere beyond space, time, and known reality.