Vengeance's Wrath

The old songs told nothing of this.

First came the red-armed Butchers. They came from the sky, stormed our village, burned it to the ground. No one had time to fight back, to rally against their might. We could only run, run for our lives, not even stopping to help those who had stumbled. Our innocence was lost forever that day.

We managed to hide in a forest, far away. They did not trouble themselves to hunt us. They had nothing to fear from us. The elders told us to prepare for a time when we could fight back, and we waited for many long years while the Butchers killed any who strayed from the forest.

Then came the Merchants. They also came from the sky, but they did not want to kill us. In exchange for weapons that we could use against the Butchers, we sold our old and young into slavery. We knew that there is a price to be paid for vengeance. The sleek-eyed Merchants thanked us for our patronage, but we could see their greed, reflected out of their souls. They cared nothing more about us than the Butchers did. All they wanted was to get gain from those who had fallen.

The battle with the Butchers was ferocious, but it was soon ended when a light came from the sky once more, and the white-haired Saviors came. They destroyed the Butchers as easily as the Butchers had destroyed us years ago. When the final Butcher had fallen, we praised the Saviors and asked them to be our rulers.

That was our final mistake.

Now we are locked into their machines, our minds sucked dry of thought. The Saviors feast on our souls, and torture us with their cruel games. Games they are, for they are nothing more than children, brought up in ways more evil than any Butcher, ways more conniving than any Merchant.

Our people once cried for vengeance. Now we cry for mercy.