...lies at your feet in a pool of his own blood. His wrinkled, crimson-splattered visage still strains, a jagged-toothed rictus trying to cry out. Insane even in death. Your lips pinched in bitter victory, you kick his head off his remains and spit on his corpse.

Seig heil...huh. Seig hell.



--I am not driven by hatred nor fear. I am not driven by desire, duty or any other rationale. For I can no longer feel any of these. All, that remains is retribution, cold, hard, and final!--