Wut?

Incessant yelling herds of white pygmy antelope
Beasts resembling the dik-dik species stampede
Through quadrants, meant to quarantine,
Within nasty shocking bio dome shields
Reflecting blue filtered lights onto
Lustrous rainbow inclusions inside
Crystallized antlered horns
With tiny serrations pointing up.

Foolhardy piranha teethed armed women
Rush lush vegetation, unabashed,
Bemused at naive greenlings, employing
Deprecated just randomly learnt tactical stratagems
With recklessly abandoned basic rubrics.

They test, in brief combat,
Before pwning, retreating
Further into thickening thickets,
Shuffling in wait, silently avoiding,
To bide time to have allies
Flank and surround them,
Cutting off their escape routes
To make them retreat towards
Turrets with revolving lapis cores.

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They

They hide in groups, flitting,
In a muster of leaved canopies.
Withering, charts maroon forests;
Droves of these feathered things,
Unapologetically taking sharts
On scores of unimpressed victims,
Spent airily.

Streams run dry as scales
Scintillate by dawn.

Reflected retorts; appealed,
Marked by depraved gas.