This is how it will begin. We are a creature of sin.
This girl before us has no twin. This battle before us is one we certainly will win.

This monster leaves us in the dust. Were we metal, we would rust.
As she walks, she doesn't once glance back. She even stole our mid day snack.


Tears drip. Control does slip.


So this is her? She seems to speak only in grr.
Ahh well, playing may be fine. That will leave enough time to dine.

Such a potent power. Like under a falling tower.
Strongest generation yet. You will enjoy her later, match set.


Power spiking. Not to their liking.


A beauty among a world most cruel. Where demon goddesses rule.
You flit about easily, a bat without care. And now you cross her path, like you took a dare.

She beat you to a pulp most bloody. You wanna take a bath and get suddy.
Face ground into the dirt, you are muddy. Again and again, you made a sound most wuddy.


A scream does tear. You rip hair.


An angel fallen from grace. Your god set quite the pace.
A fall through a shrine did you weather. A fall quite literal; not a single spared feather.

If you had it, she would've yanked fur. To this girl, you're but a cur.
You've been struck down once. As you die, you know yourself the true dunce.


The girl of red. Your children are dead.


This is how it did begin. We were a creature of sin.
The girl before us had no twin. This battle before us was one we couldn't win.

This monster left us in the dust. Were we metal, we would've been left to rust.
As she walks off, she didn't once glance back. And thus we fade to black.


The woman of power. She holds a flower.


A ghost who made ancestors cry. A ghost wishing to stab till they die.
This girl before you has great power. As if striking with swings of a tower.

Smashed flat into earth. The girl leaves you to your mirth.
She struck true, ball to the face. Impact not unlike a swung mace.


Ghost of knife. She brought great strife.


Smallest moon of all; unto her do you fall.
Moon of brass you are; impact of a car.

You missed your mark; now it grows dark.
Your orb grows dim; you're on your last limb.


Girl of grin. Sure she will win.


A cackle and a grin does she meet. Swing after swing, she will bow at your feet.
Your grin will never falter. Her face will you alter.

Your grin dies with a twist. A heavy orb to the wrist.
The sword drops from your hand. The spike drops to the sand.


The tremble of the world. Around and around are they whirled.