misbegotten demons pour into pastures

the knights of Camelot are their only rapture
in the wake of Excalibur all charge head on 
eager to see evil magic undone
moments feel like saeculum
tide of battle as a writhing worm
there can be no historical addendum
only utter annihilation through hell returns
horn signals retreat into the Labyrinth
lances are raised like flags 
to the dismay of the hoard
now skewered like kebabs
the battle quiets to a hush
knights of Sussex and Camelot give thanks 
until they notice Percival sprawled out 
surrounded by the ghoulish Cerdic that cut him down