Witness their blood stain the sands, Persian King. See your 200,000+ strong army fall by the scores at Marathon. O Darius, a mere 10,000 Greeks drove your screaming soldiers into the sea. Watch your ambition fail with them, as soon after you lie with your ancestors.

twenty-six-point-two

the last runner crosses

the finish line.

How easy for you, machine-mind, to judge the grievances of a king. How fraudulant your pretense at pity as you analyze the odds. What would you know of the loyalty of dying men? What can you understand about devotion to a God-King, sworn to crush an upstart people? Chronicle my failure as you will; you never lived it. Nor will you ever truly live.

permutations

Gary Kasperov surrenders

to Big Blue