"INHUMANE!"
"MONSTERS!"
"DEMONS!"
"LET THEM GO!"
"The cries of the weak, how very pathetic," snickered Starix, "-one rule dominates all of existence. The strong win and the weak cower. There is no arguing fate anymore. The weak have chosen their path in life, and for once I'm glad that the weak are so pathetic. Long as your ignorance remains a part of this world, there shan't be any improvement to the many lives thee rule." In a way, the words he said came off as unimportance, weirdly irrelevant, or such as a common thought seeing loved ones beheaded so cleanly – emotionlessly. A line of captured heirs queued. Heads shrouded by dark heavy sacks. The stench of blood, the rusty iron, came from both the death reaper's contraption and the fallen. It was no humane banquet.
