These like-faced savages, these earth-worn mules, a vast and violent ocean at our command. Yet they wither.
Mired in massed steel and flesh, casting these hordes from gene-moulds and flock-minds, we inspire nothing.
Our demons of Void-womb must be different. Unusual. Singular. Crafted without cast, wrought of the finest ore, slender and queer.
Sight without eye. Wrath without sound. Not a soldier, but a myth. Not a warrior… a spirit.