All around, death. It was not a quiet presence during the long day — not a pale-faced maiden bringing surcease from pain, not a skillful reaper with a scalpel-sharp blade… Death on the Trojan plain was a crazed beast that roared and clawed and smashed, which was everywhere at once, and which in its unending fury showed that even armored men were terribly frail things.
Otherland: Mountain of Black Glass

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