I say this not through some ridiculous sense of braggadocio, or to prove how far-out I am in your 'alternative' world of faux-blood stained stockings and designer-ripped tshirts.
I say this because it is the only choice.
Life, no life.
Breath, no breath.
There are no stock options. No afterlife. No higher power.
There is only this blood, and this minute.
The path to oblivion is thick with men, walking in the shadow of falling leaves. To dawdle by stepping around them is foolish, and a waste. Cut them down like new rice.
The age of the retainer has long since rotted from the bone. This is the Wandering Age.
Bring your steel.