"Blood; such a simple word that means so much to humans, it's the meaning of life, of family, of a soul from what I have heard them speak about it. Now all of them are gone, lost between the living and the dead, brainless but hungry for knowledge, heartless but looking for love. Their tainted thoughts of bodily pleasures and harm to others sicken me, the thought of them being such amazing creatures but so weak brings tears to my eyes, and now I must bring an end to such great means. My master created me for this, and now I get to destroy and pillage and plunder the slimy race so the world may start again." Azrael whispered to himself. The candle on his desk began to flicker, and the book that sat before him shook. His pale face portrayed agony at the thought of venturing to this wasteland. His black wings began to flutter, and his body shook. He reached down picking up the sickle that sat beside his chair. Dusting off the sharp weapon, he took off without awaiting the final decision of His maker.