Zul

those who remain alive will envy the dead

if you are good, he barks, loud and harsh, if you are good, honorable men, you know that you must fight and die for your people. the weak should fear the strong. regret nothing but that you only have one life to lose for your people.

all power, all peace, all freedom, demands sacrifice and pain.

when at night, you are dying in your shallow self-dug graves, you will hope that it was all worth it. that you have helped further the movement to create a prospering land.

let me tell you now. it is, and it always will be.

the poster boy for their cause stands rigidly before them, arms with gloved hands clasped behind his back, snapping out the propaganda he always did. his beak-like nose is slightly red at the tip, and has to have been broken several times. he has not fought in half a decade, and yet still, the air is so thick with tension from the stare of his cold, hawk-like eyes, that nobody doubts he could kill half of the room in an instant.

almost like a coil, tightly wound; slightly paranoid, the way his eyes discreetly flash around -- though it is easily perceived as an intimidation effort. he has a sharp slash down hs spine, well hidden by his uniform, from when he was a prisoner.

the man's hair is slicked back, shaved at the sides; cheeks sharp, pale, and riddled in small speck-like scars from when he was hit with metal shrapnel during the third bishop war.

it is now the fifth multi-nation war; this one called the cardinal war.

there is no doubt this rough, icy man has seen many die. but he has surely sent more to die himself.

the man has witnessed hundreds fall like marionettes with their strings cut, lifeless, to the ground, when they do not manage to dodge the swarm of bullets hurled their way. no one will ever know just how affected he is by what he has seen.

in his crisp black uniform, boots shining with the souls of all the young men he has sent to die, the man stands like he is about to have his picture taken. eyes slightly lidded, eyes cold and daunting, standing ramrod straight -- perhaps looking down on them, in a way. scrutinizing.

one soldier wonders to himself, in that small, cramped room full of boys who believe they are bloodthirsty, if zul believes his own words.

zul kanov. 35. rank unlisted.