What walks the fields of death when men lay quiet and still? In the aftermath of their violent ends and futile thrashings? When smoke and flame lay claim to what is left what beasts and beings troll the ground?
I have seen those beasts and the things that think their wings make them chaste. Like vultures they are and nothing more they feed on the souls of men and the stench of death draws them like a moth to flame. Unseen by man but witnessed none the less.
It is I who bear witness to their sin. And it is I who will exact their penance.
It’s what I do.
