The sky groaned first. A low, grinding howl that rolled across the battlements and made every banner shiver. Then the earth split. Brass limbs rose from the dust, each joint older than empires, older than language, older than mercy. Chorus: Brass God waking, World unmaking— Step by step the mountains shake. Time bends, Stone breaks, Under the shadow Numidium wakes. Its heart beat like a forge, each pulse a shockwave that sent soldiers to their knees and stripped courage from bone. Not rage, not hunger— just function. A god built to obey, and in obeying, to erase. Chorus: Brass God rising, Sun disguising— The light itself turns cold and strange. Empires fall, Ages change, Under the rhythm of gears unchained. When it walked, the horizon lurched. Cities folded like parchment left in the rain. Legends dissolved into dust and echoes. And still the drums of brass kept beating, beating, beating— the sound of a world rewritten. Final Chorus: Brass God marching, Fate’s new carving— No sword nor prayer can turn it back. History churns, Nations crack, Under the shadow of Numidium’s track.
