Evening Stroll

As the forest ashes cool, I recall the events that led to this. These smoldering cinders and spindly, smoking trees are a new history, a dark history, without human warmth, without substance, and I watch with no emotion. How I have changed, that even this does not stir me. Even though I smell the stench of countless burnt souls, I feel only a hollow regret.

Listen then, as I walk in its wake, sift through the remains, and recount a tale that has been told before. It is only the names that have changed. The inclination to destroy and to kill, that seems to be my only constant, and I have worn that ancient mantle for far too long.

Ah, You are surprised that the God of War is real?

But I don’t need to tell these tales to you. You watched the smoke rise from the ashes of the Trade Towers. You saw the twin flame-legged beasts march across the Muslim worlds, named Justice and Retaliation.

What? I’m sorry – you seem confused. I am not the God of War. It is you. I am the God of Death. Now please, lead the way. I can’t wait to see where you go next.


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