The scent of blood hangs heavy in the air, soon drowned out by heavy smoke and the smell of human flesh being cooked. Bodies that are covered in all matter of bodily fluids, because death is rarely ever something that is dignified. Because at the end of the day, a creature no matter how pretty dies the same as any other.
Humans are the same as the cattle they hunt. They just like to cling to the idea that they are anymore important than the creatures that they put on their tables to gorge themselves with.
"Still it is our duty to pray, may their souls find peace as they are shepherded off this earth," a woman dressed in a silver hooded garb speaks. The hands out in front of her tighten in prayer.
She's unmoving, a holy statue of sorts as more corpses of barely out of their youth men and women are intermingled with that of the old in an indiscernible pile of bodies. They were a small resistance force put together in a vain attempt to stop the holy forces from being down their doors and bleeding out their lives for the greater good. It was all so sad and futile.
"They could never understand the brilliance of the higher one, there will be nothing for them after death," A smaller figure states, wearing a similar garb to the older woman. Her hands are covered in blood, the weapon of choice of hers, a wheel-like mace.
The small girl is without expression. The reason being that this excursion was hardly anything of note to write home about. It was typical to purge heretics, set fire to their possessions, their homes, their bodies. It wasn't her edict, but she didn't want to show the higher-ups any slack in her own work. So maybe she did get a bit overzealous with driving her mace through the head of a young boy trying to show how courageous he was to a childhood sweetheart. Maybe after that she didn't have to feel the tinge of glee she got from killing someone's grandma, bashing her head in until the blood was spraying on whatever object they decided to be an heirloom.
It was all so meaningless once the brain stopped operating, and the heart, beating.
Whatever they found valuable would be turned to smoke and char, along with themselves.
"......" A figure even smaller than the small girl only stood in silence.
He was so used to this sight by now. It's only been a blur of time that he's been with the young lady who called herself his benefactor. She tells him that it has only been as little as two and half years since she spared his life. His little sister, his older brother, father, mother, they weren't as lucky.