Every man heals himself.

For the gift of life, the only true thanks was in living fully, and facing death with honor.

"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.

There is no mercy in trading life for life. And certainly no righteousness. Mercy, once given, cannot be taken back.

If, as Niko asks, you show them mercy, then the gods will be well pleased.

Wisdom, Niko thought as he leaned his cheek against his long-handled rake, cannot be had without price. And that price is blood. The sound of it in your veins. The pound of it in your head. The volume of it in a human body; the sickness when you've spilled it.

Shed your mortal skin and let me take you beneath the waves.