Sacrifice of the Symbol of the Sign

<p>They gather on the ridge eyes blazing like molten steel. Their fists clench at their sides-knuckles whitening under the weight of betrayal. Every breath they draw hisses with scorn; every heartbeat pounds a war drum calling for the ruin of mercy.<br>They stand as living storms: thunder rolling across bruised skies lightning crackling with indignation. Their voices when they rise are guttural roars that shake mountains-an anthem of fury scorning any glimmer of compassion.<br>Yet beneath the rage lies a tremor of awe: a grudging respect for that stubborn light they hate. It drives them mad-the idea that goodness can stand firm against their fury unmoved by spite or slaughter.<br>And so their anger burns all the hotter a crucible of wrath and wonder forging them into avatars of defiance against a peace they cannot comprehend.</p>