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Setting: unnamed post-apocolyptic wasteland, sunset.
Panel 1- looking to the left of panel, an emaciated but horrorizing army, dressed in desert garb, bearing all manner of crudely assembled weapons made from scrap (no guns, all melee type weapons, but with that homemade scavenged look). The leader, wearing a bishop's mitre, desert robes, and flare goggles, stands in front and carrying their standard (symbol on standard is the hooked cross your see on Blue Oyster Cult albums, like this...)
CAPTION: The North Atlantic Wastes, in the Year of our Lord 62,017.
VICAR: THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE, DEVIL! YOUR DAUGHTERS OR YOUR DEATHS!
Panel 2 - Cresting the horizon, dead center, is GRENDEL-PRIME. He is barely operational, but still walking with a warrior's pride. He drags behind him a large saw-toothed sword. Blood and oil seep from wounds in his shoulder.
NO COPY
Panel 3 - Same as Panel 2, but GRENDEL-PRIME is joined by a legion of warrior-women, age 15 to 50, dressed in ragged red clothes, ornamented with pieces of armor. All of them, their faces are painted red, with white about the eyes in the fashion of Grendel's mask. They all carry similar homemade weapons, fists raised ready to fight to the death.
DEVIL WOMEN (as one): RUS!!!
I spent a good while trying to figure out what the next step in the Grendel-mythos might be, and I think you've got it right here. In three panels, you set the scene incredibly well, providing the start of what looks to be a rather intriguing story.
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