As long as life's fire has been burning - entangled in the elements of whatever shape, sentient or non-sentient,
inhabiting whatever dimension - its shady counterpart death has lured the living into despair, bringing them disease,
disaster... war! And as long as life can be found, battles will be fought.
If not on earth, then perhaps in the sky above the clouds, beyond the stars, beyond our universe,
in heaven or in hell. And whoever take part in the slaughter:
ancient gods, alien races, human beings, or even the smallest of creatures, they will fight guided by the past:
a past painted red with bloodshed. Some things will never go away, as if being burned into the frail skin of remembrance.
And they will haunt your mind as often as they can.
All of those sacred memories have distinct tastes and pains and they remind you of the times of a past now in slumber: times of victory.
And these thoughts and collectively inherited visions form the remembrance of war.
In the back of my aching raw throat I taste the dried blood that had slowly seeped out of the gaping
wounds of all those pagan children that bravely
died in war fighting for their empire... and mine. Although they died in great pain, their skills
and honour still live on. In the far corners of my head I can find the penetrating screams that were
violently cast into the weeping icecold winterwinds that randomly ran through these fields of Death
and Armageddon and froze the faces of our dying warriors, and bathed the piles of skulls in beds
of blinding snow. But neither cold nor heat could stop us from our mission of domination. In my chest
there is the excruciating pain inflicted by the spears and swords of the weakened and defeated
enemy forces. Oh how they had cast themselves into the open arms of Death, into a battle destined
to be lost. But those fools need not to be pitied for their deaths, but for their lives.
And now, at this day and age, I still hold the flag of our regained empire firmly in my hands.
And it will wave for all eternity.