They flexed their manifold arms, shadow boxed--grotesquely, dreadfully.
Down struck the flails, the sledges.

Beneath the blows the buildings burst like eggshells, their fragments burying the throngs fighting for escape in the thoroughfares that threaded them.

Over their ruins we moved.
Down and ever down crashed the awful sledges.

And ever under them the city crumbled.
There was a spider Shape that crawled up the wide stairway hammering into the stone those who tried to flee before it.
Stride by stride the Destroying Things ate up the city.
I felt neither wrath nor pity.

Through me beat a jubilant roaring pulse--as though I were a shouting corpuscle of the rushing hurricane, as though I were one of the hosts of smiting spirits of the bellowing typhoon.
Through this stole another thought--vague, unfamiliar, yet seemingly of truth's own essence.