(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

And he reached the crest, looking down at the scene below him.
War. War that had gone on so long that it had lost all meaning. The
battlefield stretched from one horizon to the other, spanning into the infinite
distance, and the din of battle sounded from all sides until it seemed to
merge into one, continuous scream of terror and pain. In each blink of an eye
a hundred thousand died, and in each glance a hundred thousand more
swam into the fray: goaded by terror or fueled by blind rage.
The stranger gazed down calmly, the fires of destruction and death reflecting
in his eyes. He turned to his side, and his hand reached out to grip one of
those weapons that had fallen to the side.
He pulled it out with some difficulty, and gazed into the four-bladed axe,
dust falling free from its edges. The words of someone long ago echoed in his
head:
"What can change the nature of a man?"
He nodded in satisfaction then, knowing the answer. The bones and dried
blood crunched beneath his boots, as he descended down the hillside quietly,
beneath the pale light of a distant star.
Into the battle.
Into the madness.
Into damnation.
Into his destiny.
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