'I've never seen so much blood...'
There was a scream, then another, and his ears grew tired of the droning of the locusts' wings as they flew, hopping about and latching on to their victims. The scene was dark, the torment of the people on the blood covered streets only visible by the red light of the blood moon and the orangey glow of the crackling fires all around him.
He breathed in. His nostrils filled with the scent of blood and fire and smoke. He breathed out.
'Why? Why am I here? What is it... hatred? But I don't hate these people. I have no reason to. No, not hatred. Perhaps... indifference. Perhaps.'
He pondered the question.
'But then... perhaps I shouldn't think on this now. The time for self-introspection may be long behind me.'
He twirled his sword and skewered another of the fleeing citizens of the war-torn town, listening to the terror stricken man as he gasped painfully to draw his last breath.