<em>Some things in this cosmos are finite, temporary. They had a beginning, they will have an end. In the great scheme of things, they mean very little, being mere ripples across the pond of history. However, not all things are so fleeting and transient. The Blood War has raged on since the dawn of time, and will likely continue to do so until the dusk. It is an eternal conflict, a war that exists to prove nothing other than the hatred demonkind and devilkind have for one another. A hatred so deep-seated that they will spend countless of their numbers in a meaningless war that will likely never have any conclusion.<br/><br/>There is never true victory, nor true defeat. For an individual, certainly, there is death, promotion, demotion, success, failure, individual goals, pride, honour and many other things. Even on the small scale, where territories are captured, raided or destroyed, and lives are crushed in the process, certainly. But on the large scale, to the fiends who run the war and never even set foot upon it, they are probably aware that there will never be an end. All one can ever do is sustain status quo.</em><br/><br/>Such philosophies fall on deaf ears, for some. Indeed, to demons like Sergeant Scar, it is best not to think of such things, and instead to convince yourself the war can be one. After all, if you're in the thick of it, when you are the one with bearded devils charging at you, wielding fearsome glaives, you want to believe that there's a reason you're doing this other than the fact that you hate them and they hate you.<br/><br/>Still, it could be worse. At least there is the understanding that you hate each other. Not like the Celestials. Those he hates for the reason that they are incapable of good, proper hatred. At least you know where you stand with devils: you stand with your boot on their chest as you try to take their head as a trophy.<br/><br/>Sergeant Scar isn't really as intimidating as many. He's only six feet tall - many fiends tower above him. He doesn't even have that much of an aura of power. No, he just knows how to get things done. Looking over the group of demons in his unit, he rubs his chin, the hard, leathery skin a deep blue.<br/><br/>"Right, you lot. It's simple. We need to take the larval farm. Yes, I know, they only captured it from us last week. But the thing is, that's a valuable resource. Every single one that gets taken back home is one more on our side and one less on theirs. You know what happened when they took it from the Atrocity Unit. They were good kids, they had a real future ahead of them. Well, not any more, clearly. So we need to get it back. Not only to get it back, but to get back at them. We need to teach those Baatezu what happens when you mess with Tanar'ri. Get my message?"<br/><br/>A searing ball of flame drops from the sky, erupting in an explosion a mere thirty feet away on the battlefield. The clouds are a mixture of blood and ash, fireballs drop with frequency. The only plantlife that has the strength and voracity to grow here is the razorvine, so named for reasons that become obvious if you ever try picking it from the ground, or fall into a patch of it. The camp is fairly small - the demons gathered are merely set up in a field of jagged rocks, a good mile behind the current frontline. Tents are set up - for those few beings that actually do need to sleep, but mostly to hold documents and reserve equipment. The fiends don't kid themselves, there is no medical bay. If you can't get healed on the field, you probably aren't making it back to camp.<br/><br/>"I know this is going to be tough, but you<strong>are</strong>tough. You do an old demon proud. So before I tell you the plan and send you off to prove how many testicles you all have, I need to know if there are questions so far."<br/><br/>His gaze falls over each and every one.