March Of The Frozen Dead

Their God was Dead On a dark night, surrounded by enemies on all sides, the God who took care of them like his own children did not come. The God who stood steadfast in front of them was not here. The God who was the pride and object of their fanaticism was not coming. He was dead, and nobody knew how. To save just one, tens were sacrificed. To save ten, hundreds were sacrificed. To save just a hundred, thousands were sacrificed. And after that dark and bleak night—filled with thunder and rain and blood and corpses—only a few hundred came out alive, climbing over the corpses of companions who were like their family. Now the only thing they could do was hide. They had to hide the clothes they had prided themselves upon. They had to hide the names given by their God. They had to hide the faces their God had praised. But after a century, they are back. Not for revenge but seeking a proper death. For extinguishing the burning rage that had burned them for all that time.