Their screams for revenge were louder than any cries for help.
"We demand blood. We demand death. We demand retribution for the ones who plotted our demise taint the very air that you breathe."
Their whispered chants ring louder than any battlefield. Louder than any war cry. Louder than any indignant sound of the enemy that dare leave their lips. Deafening me with their volume so that all I can think of are the deaths of loved ones that I was forced to witness. That I am forced to relive every time I attempt to rest my weary soul.
It has driven me mad, but they are owed their revenge. After all I am merely an instrument of the dead and their wrath. I lost my autonomy when I outlived them all. May the Goddess and the Saints grant me my purpose and dispose of this world of its evils and of its devils. May they grant me my desire to destroy all who may oppose me and stand in my way. And may my soul be allowed to rest when I am done. For I will not rest, until the souls that beg for their redemption are able to slumber.
I am my father's son.
I am my country's king.
I am the weapon of the damned.
I am the Blue Lion of Fódlan.
I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.
And I will be the last thing you see before the lost drag you to the pits of hell.