You count up your dead, every one. Always. Recall them, each and all - every face, every heart.

Reasons never matter, once Death comes cold and bold and takes the living by the hand. You count up your dead, every one.

For Harmony. A chance at life. To fight on other days.

You must become like yourself.

"Mercy is not in favor in my heavens today," says Vashanka, unforgiving and combative, folding vast arms and spearing Harmony with lightning that crackles from his gaze.

Be polite to all, friendly to none. Be professional. Be ready to kill everyone and everything.

I'm going to kill that god of yours, next. Then we'll see what you can do, and what you can't.