Dancing leopards line the gargantuan exoskeleton of the cockroach god. He is a stylish god. He straddles the space time-continuum like a fleshy turnip, full of dirt and spice. He brings forth destruction wherever he scuddles. The cockroach god has a thorax of pure fire, an abdomen of steel, and a head of hatred. His tarsus is double-edged and tipped with mythic poison. ('Twas Poison brought from DARWIN'S GALAPAGOS, they say, squeezed from the poisonous maw of a wild MUTATED BOOBY.)
The pilgrim senses a shift in the space-time-place-moment-continuum. She nudges the whale king pensively and stares leftward.
The whale king looks whale-fully around. He reaches his SMALL FLIPPER up to his sparkling left brow in order to get a better glance left.
Next to him, the pilgrim has long since spotted the cockroach god, its burning thorax is a dead giveaway. His body soon covers the setting sun.
The pilgrim stares grimly forward. She spits her gum out like a boxer with a loose tooth. In a city that chews bubblegum and/or kicks ass, it's time to choose or.
As the pilgrim assumes a Ninja-like stance, the cattle of the floating sunset city feel the darkness of the shadow cross over them. The sun... had it set? Was it gone? These thoughts fleet away as they stare upward. The burning thorax of the cockroach god is blinding. This is no sunset, it's a sun attack!
The panicked herd stands shocked and still. Then. suddenly. All turns purple.
"Stampede, god damn it! Stampede!"
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