"His monstrous steed snatched me up in its jaws, its teeth, each as long and sharp as my sword, squeezed about my middle so hard I was afraid I'd be squeezed in two. Gallons of its saliva, hot like boiling water, splashed against my skin, and I thought I'd drown in the scent of its foul breath. That's when I saw him astride its back...a giant, man-like monster made of stitched together corpses. In his left hand he held a sword, with which he had just lopped the head off of my own steed, drawing an arc of viscous red gore that hit the ground with a wet slap.
"Well, good night kids. Sweet dreams."
(Images from Final Crisis #7 written by Grant Morrison, penciled by Doug Mahnke and inked by every artists in the 10019 zip code)