Another battle awaits as I slay the last trial and wipe off my blade. So much wasted and lost as the ground burns and we fight off another raid. How many have to fall in the war we call life? Death hounds us from birth, following as a menacing shadow just waiting to strike. I've never been a stranger to these drawn out conflicts. Yet this fight for our sake will take more than cunning and wits. More oft than not its underhandedness that wins the day. Not virtue or valor, no prototypical heroes under a sky so grey. For the soldier such as I, trying to keep his honor clean and his blade true. These cold hard facts cast bitterness and leave us jaded, a fate so cruel. In the face of such odds, most would back away and bow. Yet with this heart of passion I stand my ground. The fight can't be won alone, give me your hand and throw me your arms now. For all the fires I'm willing to run through and every opponent I slay to show you. The fight will only be won if you scratch, tear and claw such as I do...