A rush of blood to the head. Even The god king bleeds.
As the least of Thracian Salvage Out Best The Champions of the Household and Ludus of Good Solonius. What can fill the Ambrosia of Capua to the height of the Arena if not the rush of blood in the veins, heart and pounds of flesh of the Gladiator baked into legends, myth and untold sinister if coins is wagered in gold to Kiss Jupiter's Scepter, all for this man without a name
Just as the Sun shorns down on the breast plate of the choice of the god chiefly adorned by the gods at the Primus, so does every wheelding hands in stealth of steel avails at dusk and sunset in the gladitorium. Every man's fate is sealed in the Helios of Time at the Promethean hills. As providence is birth and bought in bolus rye, with disembodied chaps fastened and enfeasted at the acyclic vulcanalia voyage of Gorgon Medusa at euclidean mast. Legend has it that the Sirens enchantments are potent in the blood and ears of those who are reckless at Sea. To love we demonstrate as hatreds is born and sizzle in too many hydra explication. As brothers in arms and marines voyaging the across the Atlantic in the name of God in the same boat, let's hold fast to this mast. Harm your wit with prudence as a handful of cards with momentary triumph and pyrrhic victory awaits thirsty gusto. As we cut through the thick iceberg with lead and steel, clairvoyancy and innocuous encounters, in our plagriancy and in our fabulousness of decapitulations and precipitated disaster, our answers are always near in the sightings of an oblivious height and plane. With your palms sweating, hormonal receptors and enzymes activated, Adrenaline pumping and aprehensiveness heightened overboard, If your entire life were a movie, what would be the title

Built to survive

Limitless