She slays with her pen
Scarlet ink spurting out with every mighty swing
All around her the battle rages
Severed heads littering the snow white ground,
Staining the snow crimson
Beside her, two loyal beasts:
Alliteration and Metaphor
Snarling savagely by her side,
Hounds from the pit of hell
Her troops: the grammar nazis were the 
Elite of the elites: the crooked criminals didn't stand a chance.
And so, in a matter of minutes the war had been won
Silence, except for the drip drip of ebony blood
And the roaring of a distant thunderstorm.
She finally sheathed her sword, 
Her mark had been made.