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The shredded and unwanted truth
The sound of blades clashing, grinding, gnawing at each other. Sparks fly from intense conflict and force. The tearing and ripping of flesh and the shower of endless and infinate red. They crave power and force and skill. The self-consuming destruction shreds them from the inside to their outter most borders. Their goals and dreams and imaginations all collide with each and every strike. Even the briefest of collision between swords and weapons is its own war. Their craven ways turns them into monsters of their own desire. Their blades crave the blood of everyone: foes, family, and friends. None are safe from these beasts. Yet the most Ironic, to say the least, is the one who fights for peace and tranquillity. They are the most futile of these creatures. They strive for something, and by doing so, travel further and further away from achieveing it. Why others do it is only a guess at the few choices there are. They do it for gold, glory, fame, vengence, defense, love, lust, pride, for a way of life, or just for blood which pours from the pure and defiled alike. It won't end, and the only positive thing that could possibly come out of it is that it gives us the one thing we need, purpose. evil
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