Story and characters written and created by JustSomeNumbers
Defiled. The only word that Kalra Irene Impiris of the Rostovan Imperial Officer Corps would describe himself as. At some point the cruelty of the global war against his homeland had left his sense of self dissected and ejected from his body. It wasn’t even kind enough to happen piece by piece, slowly letting this defiled walking corpse move around with at least a shred of the dignity or pride he once held. Defiled. Defiled and broken. The only thing that Karla could envision himself ever being.
The war was supposed to be over half a decade ago. The imperial calendar marked the year Rostova invaded its filth of a neighbor Poliska. The year at that point was marked as nineteen-thirty nine. Yet when checking to see if anyone would end Karla’s disgusting masquerade of self, the only answer he would get was the shifting to the next year. Bombs from the allied raids always bounced off the tops of his comrades' shattered corpses, fire reigning from incendiary arms. Year after year, day after day- the warfare echoed not only on his compromised body, but in the back of his mind as well.
At this point the separation between his sense of self and his body was so complete, when his commanding officer, that shitbag of a waste of resources, pillaged his own dignity as a man it meant little to nothing. He was already tainted, the schweinhund with the rank above him that took him to the darkest depths of ravaged savagery even the gore of his comrades couldn’t dare approach. He defiled him, from the very beginning he never should have expected anything out of someone with such persistent disgust emanating from him.
Awaking from the bunker’s small chamber lit by the yellow fluorescence of the drowning lights, Karla’s nightmares began to fade as the realities of the hell surrounding him began to visualize. Removing the lace and makeup those fuckers made him wear prior, Karla tried his best to mimic what he observed. “Normality”. An eerie smile crept across his face, making sure to slightly squint as he forced his mouth to acquiesce and seem ‘happy’. It wasn’t as good as the genuine emotions he was so envious of the others around him having. But it was good enough to fool the rats that stood beside Him. The one that started this revolving hellscape. Once he has something, screaming won’t save anything. It didn’t work for Karla. And it wouldn’t work for any of his replacements.
Oberst der Feldgendarmerie Hans Loathar. The one who took everything from him, and his commanding officer. Lothar was cunning, conventionally attractive to some in Rostova- and outwardly charismatic. Karla knew better. The best descriptors Karla could scrounge together to communicate the evil this man was couldn't have the time to verbally be spoken to. Satanic and bedeviled. When karla was a younger boy, not even attending middle school when the war broke out he was approached by this imposter, like a wolf in search of a pet bunny to kill off when it got bored. A toy for amusement and manipulation. Karla being an orphan had nothing. Unlike most other boys his age- he was smart. Not only was he smart, he was disconnected from his peers. The wolf took notice immediately and began his repugnant feasts. Repeatedly defiling any semblance of connection to his body- Karla simply… broke at some point along the line. What was once a socially inept loner was turned into an unfeeling tool of warfare, personally constructed to be a mere toy to an evil no words could describe. Looking at the day's calendar, Rostovian Imperial year 1949- the 44th year of the longest unbroken war known to man.Karla questioned if it was worth pursuing actions of retaliation, to this end his observations led to two conclusions based on the times his master let him off his leash.
One, humans were fragile. Seeing his comrades sever the sinew and flesh from enemy combatants that would be old enough to be his younger siblings proved this fact. Countrymen fighting countrymen. Children and women being charred from either gas or flammenwerfer brigades indicated that fragility of the physical body was certain- but the observation most notable to Karla was the fragility of one's mind. For whatever perplexing reason, his comrades kept making irrational decisions in critical moments. They would cry when they should’ve shot back. They would try to jump in and save a child when a mortar shell ripped through their back legs. The officers retreated when a clear pathway to victory was presented. From this observation and experience only the most logical conclusion was made: humans are not rational. They were too emotional to be considered anything above a beast. He had once seen a small crack in his mental faculties too. Lothar was seemingly distraught at the fact he lost his brother in an air raid. Why? Was the life of some man really important enough to cause such a ripple in rationale? It was apparent Kala’s mask was much more potently convincing that Lothar’s. This small piece of pride was short lived however as the second main observation shattered any realistic inner reflections that would have been able to take place anyways.
The most important and second, was that he was being lied to. Once Karla had eventually caught wind of this, it was only natural to pursue the reality of the matter. Emotions had no place in survival- only fitting the most optimal role. The most efficient path to victory was to predate on the weaknesses of the enemy that was provided by the truth. Interestingly, the Fascist ideal that was espoused by many of the likes of Lothar were seemingly at an impasse with reality. The “untouchable” fuhrer was declining mentally, and the economic output of our Rostovan military complex was barely as efficient as the enemy. It was unsustainable.
Filthy belligerents and their lying rats. A tumor to be excised with the utmost distinction, deserving of death.
Karla wanted to say this to Lothar's face, but the subsequent consequences would most likely find himself executed. Self termination is not viable, there would be no point if achieving a goal served no purpose to further his own life. Though the argument as to whether or not his life was his own anyway was a constant debate. None-the-less it wouldn’t matter. None of it would matter today. He had his own little ‘prey’ to hunt today.
As Karla fixed his messy hair and attempted his best impression of a human being that was still working properly- a mechanical routine began to play. His routine for getting ready to go to the field station on the frontlines, and greet him. However, Karla was actually looking forward to meeting that little shit particularly today. Karla was listening to the State radio service, and some small cracks began to show themselves in the information Karla was able to verify- and the abstractions from reality they were communicating. The frontlines were falling. Collapse was imminent- and so the best thing to do was live as he saw fit and defect to the allied forces. If they were as lecherous and evil as the state decree’s, then why is it the rats of the resistance fell in line so easily to help them push Rostova back?
As he donned his final fittings and uniform amendments, Karla went to the Rostovian motor pool. Passing by the sewer smelling enlisted men- He couldn't help but laugh when passing them by with his mask on. It was a strange condition to be sure, whenever he felt an accomplishment or successful task objective was done, he was simply rewarded. But when he was being pilfered and defiled, his only response was to smile and laugh it off. This habit seemed to stick around. Laughing and smiling when in the depth of hell- and staying still as a corpse when in paradise.
“Oberst der Feldgendarmerie, Oberleutnant Impiris Reporting."
Lothar, smiling with a slight drool that was quickly wiped away, began to shuffle out of his drunken stupor.
“Ahhyyy you little… hic… You little manwhore you- hic”
This is what perplexed Karla, the irrationality of being drunk on post within the frontlines was simply….Illogical. But this is exactly why today was… special. Affixing his facial muscles to look as sincere as possible- and bowing ever so slightly to excite this pig and his fantasies, Karla started his little celebrations.
“Sir, if you would be kind enough to accompany on a field inspection of the troops- it would make my-”
Karla was interrupted by the firm assertion of his hand groping his lower left thigh. An immediate shiver and slight slipping of his mask caused a small sense of paranoia to arise in him. Did he see through the mask? Will I be punished for yet another fail-
“OoOOOohh you slutty little- hic - attention seeker you. Trying to get some action early in the day huuuuuhhhh???”
Ah yes. He was intoxicated- he wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Reflexively trying to pull away from this… this disgusting flesh pile. Karla once again attempted to re-direct his prey towards the objective location.
“Of course sir, however we have a tight schedule to maintain. Please, follow me to my personal transport.”
Ignoring the conversation, the man tried to shift his hand closer to Karla’s more personal regions. At this point Karla was sweating as hallucinations of the night prior, like so many others- began to set back in memory. Pushing forward, chuckling softly in an uncomfortable nervousness, Karla simply forced him towards the car. The drunkard probably didn’t even realize where he was being taken, but it didn’t particularly matter to Karla, this was the time.
Strapping in the drunkard to the passengers seat, Lothar started to sip more alcohol from the stash he typically hid. Though whenever he was found he tended to be the one that blames Karla for having a stash in the first place whenever he gets caught. Karla simply started the engine and began driving westward. Various hums of distant gunfire, and a repetitive concussion of low basal booming from either artillery or mortar impacts came together in a rather strange harmony of connection. Pretty much everyone on the frontline, Rostovan or Allied forces, got used to this constant symphony of war- so much so that not waking up to the thundering roars of shell impacts became a source of anxiety for a simple reason: when they couldn't hear anything they asked the simple question of why there was a pause at all? Typically the following answer was because a much larger barrage or an infantry skirmish was inbound. After riding along the frontlines for a while, a sudden left turn into an abandoned village made the now recovering alcoholic excited. Quickly shifting a disgustingly crooked smile at Karla, started to undo his belt. Karla simply calmly got out of the car, shooting the widest smile he possibly could’ve made at the man. The chuckling he was struggling to contain now started to boil into a loudly contained laugh.
“Ahhh heh. So you uhhhh… hic… when are you gonna get that pretty little face of yours dow-”
CRACK.
Smoke from the pistol Karla drew started to rise from the barrel. The treeline covered the entrance to the village, and the buildings surrounded the car so as to not allow any unwanted audience to form.
“HAAAAK. WHAT- WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR YOU LITTLE WH-.”
CRACK.
…
CRACK. CRACK CRACK.
To Karla, who was now laughing in an uncontrollable manner- a beautiful crimson was now sprouting its divinely captivating flowers from the filth that was hoarding it. Blood poured from the shots around his torso and neck. Karla made sure to not hit any vital organs that would make him die too quickly, but rather the fatal injuries he witnessed much of his comrades be subjected to. Poetic irony at its finest!
This would be incredibly illogical for Karla to normally do. In his explicitly rational analysis of the pros and cons to choosing to murder this burden of resources- there were more cons to consider than there were benefits. First and foremost he would no longer have a shield to shift any political consequences for his battlefield decisions. While its true the effects of the aforementioned decisions did technically save the lives of his comrades- it was moreso an act of self survival, and the bloated bureaucracy filled with piggish politicians who hid behind their title to avoid service were not…keen… on the idea of the unconventional notion of going against orders. Second, while it is true if the murder of this rapist would come to cease further degradation of his body- the murder of a high ranking officer within the Rostovan heer was in essence a suicidal action, as the conviction rate for treason was improbably high as the war is still ongoing. Third, and most important- Karla did not see any alternative pathways to survival, the partitioning of his sovereignty as a human being was minimal in comparison to the cessation of his life. To be removed from the Rostovian heer was tantamount to abandoning his country- which while not the worst possibility- was not a viable option as he was considered a Rostovan soldier, an officer no less, first and foremost. If he as an officer was in possession of a defector or deserter- the policy for treatment (at least to his knowledge) was… Less than pleasant and would not be considered a benefit. However:
This instance of retaliation was unique. Through his dissolution and separation from the idea his body was his own presented a unique opportunity. Solicitation of information. Through the seduction of many intelligence agents scattered throughout his own unit, Karla was made aware of active resistance movements within the area- and after some… Unpleasant negotiations, resulting in the further disconnection between mind and body- Karla arranged a specific meeting. As arranged by his planning, the higher ranking officer is dead and he came with information on Rostovan prisoners of war, weapons caches, and the troop movements and codes for decryption. Together with all of this information and the murder of an otherwise untouchable commanding officer, Karla assumed this would be enough to at least bargain for his life and safe passage out of Rostovan occupied spheres of influence.
After lighting a cigarette and checking his pocket-watch every thirty two point five seconds, a sense of eerie serenity was starting to dislodge the comforting dread of the mortar impacts and gunfighting. As he looked up at the grey sky filled with smoke- smelling gunpowder in the air soothed his already calm mind. Rostovan interceptors raced to new targets, flak cannon towers showering the heavens with the brass retaliation of man sparkled as replacements for the night stars. Karla was sitting down at the left indent of a building's stairs, hidden inside the corner of the intersection between the concrete stairs himself and the building's wall. Without knowing the reason it would look like he was awkwardly scrunching his body to a small bubble while smoking a cigarette and holding a briefcase to his side. But to Karla, this was the most comforting position, it hid him from any snipers and shielded from shell impacts. He didn’t like being in the open- it was too… vulnerable. Windows and doorways were a source of anxiety, he saw too many men lost to sudden gunfire or bayonet charges from close quarters skirmishes. The enemy shotgun “Tri-Trench shotgun” was the biggest fear. He couldn’t even sleep peacefully if a window was in view, rather he opted to sleep on the floor, right beside the doorway so he wouldn’t be surprised by an enemy clearing the room.
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This small reprieve from the bloodshed of war was short lived, a small group of insurgents wearing poorly constructed camouflage had seen the scene he made at the car. They were late as Karla expected- but then again he assumed poorly supplied insurgents wouldn’t have the luxury of choice of time for discreet meetings like this. Noting the weapons they were carrying Karla drew his dual barrel machine-pistole for his safety and peered over the stair-case to confirm his… captors. Raising his scratched and scarred fingers to his chapped lips, he blew a whistle, followed by two shorter higher pitched notes- the agreed upon signal. In response to the sudden noise all three insurgents immediately dropped to the ground and surveyed the landscape. One of them, notably the one with the radio communications device scavenged from the battlefield, upon hitting the ground and waiting moments for the sake of ensuring the whistle wasn’t a fake- returned the challenge with a short whistle and and a low visceral chirp.
…they’re late. Psh.
Karla then slowly rose from his position, with the barrel of his weapon now holstered and his hands raised. In a firm tone and clear voice Karla began the process of negotiation.
“You're late. It took you longer than expected. I had time to smoke.”
The radio-man and his comrades began to sigh and let out exasperation of annoyance and relief at the same time. Still holding their weapon systems, but no longer in a combative stance.
“Karlast?”
The young man's accent made the butchering of his name unfortunate- but what made this difficult was the language barrier.
“Yes, Karla of the Rostovan officer corps.”
Karla motioned with as little sudden movement as he could to the kar holding the corpse of the filthy pig.
“...As you can see, I have handed you Hans Lothar. I also have information on Rostovan troop movements, operational decryption keys, the marked locations of Rostovan weapon caches and names of prominent prisoners of war and their locations.”
Karla then slowly moved his hand to point in behind him, where the briefcase lay next to the stairs. The radioman kept his eyes on Karla, while one of the other two- an older gentleman with a scar on his nose, went to inspect its contents. The radio-man and Karla continued the conversation, with the man in the radio introducing himself after easing the concerns of Karla being counter-intelligence.
“Karla, you….understand…. This briefcase full of classified information is a big betrayal to Rostova?”
“Yes. I’m aware, I am also aware you’ll need to take me into captivity for a brief period while your insurgency confi-”
“Resistance.”
…
“Your resistance. You need to confirm my information. My weapon is holstered in my right upper thigh and my combat knife is in my abdominal hold beneath my uniform.”
…
The radio-man nodded and then gave a glance to the remaining soldier, who came and gave a quick physical inspection and confiscated his weapons. Karla felt… Anxious. He was vulnerable when he was unarmed. After returning to the radio-man’s side the other soldier met and discussed with the other two about Karla’s brief-case. They had a brief discussion and the trio came up and gave karla a pat on the shoulder, which highly alarmed Karla. The older soldier gave a begrudging smirk and opened his mouth:
“Welcome to the resistance, Rostovan.”
The radio man then made a series of hand gestures and a duo of transport cars came from the same direction the trio appeared. Apparently they were the forward scouts for the main escort duty. Interesting. After their colleagues stopped before the scene, the radio man looked at Karla with a less stern expression.
“We’re going to blindfold you in transit… You uh… understand that?”
“Yes. I’m aware of the need for security.”
Karla was then blindfolded with a scatter black scarf, presumably from some scavenged fallen soldier. Guided by stern pushes in the right direction, he moved into the car without any reservations. The seating was about as expected from a captured military transport, it was an old pre-mid war design with a hand-cranked engine. Reliable, but out-dated. Karla was at this point accepting of whatever would be coming next- the funny thing about separating the ideal of him “owning” his own body and “owning” his mind was the fact it allowed him much more opportunity. This means in the event of death it wouldn’t really be too intimidating, more so just an unfortunate turn of events. However this led to the development of specific...Fears. To be as precise as possible, the fear of losing his own mind's control. The concept and very existence of shell shock is what motivated Karla to push forward, if he lost the singular last point of control he had managed to stash away under strict safeguard- there would be nothing worth continuing. It’d be irreparable to any objective and the loss of complete control would render him no more useful than the corpses he’d been speaking too.
It was funny to Karla, a small smile crept across the face which caused a shift in the person next to him. Karla assumed it just discomforted them, but it didn’t really matter. From karla’s perspective he was talking to a walking corpse- everyone he ever came into contact with died. It’s well known that the human condition causes death regardless of any attempt to stop it- and the specific depictions of visceral gore brought about by the visions of hell, the battlefield, warped his view of people. He understood it was probably some sort of hallucination or sleep deprivation- but for whatever reason people looked no different to him than a mutilated corpse he was so accustomed to seeing. Rostovan comrades of his always asked how he saw them as a form of “breaking the ice” when he shifted to command another unit. He’d give the canned response of course-
“A proud, genetically pure Rostovan. A proud soldier to serve beside me!”
His view was in fact contradictory to this. He’d grown too accustomed to the viscera of warfare, so much so he played a game with himself to guess how his comrades and “friends” would die. A bullet wound to the chest, infection from a nicked wound, disfigurement from shrapnel. Whenever he saw another human being, young, old, male, female- he saw disfigured corpses. Gore was the prime descriptor he saw others in, even in pictures. The only time he was able to break this viewing of the future (as he’d convinced himself), was when he came across an actual corpse. The difference wasn’t just the smell, it was the position. It was the blood, the discoloration, the lack of moving parts. Once he’d come across something with these qualities it was easier to tell if they were actually dead. Lothar was an interesting one, he appeared to karla like one of his old….Accomplaces. An interesting mix between the enlisted man he was trying to guard from that pig and Lothar’s imagined corpse- but it was warped. He looked as if his arm was blown off and re-attached with splints- he could see the bone sticking out and pulling the skin taut at the miss-placed connection points. The way Lothar moved was haunting. That same lower-enlisted man- no. The only person Karla truly felt was his Brother in arms. Was the only person not to appear like an animated corpse. He was at first- but as Karla made the mistake to get attached to using him as a tool, seeing and interacting with him more and more an incredibly strange sensation took over. As this sensation developed his body appeared to blur, until suddenly he was able to see his eyes. It was dulled, like his- but it was dazzling against the backdrop of smoke and gunfire. The day before he died Karla noticed it was dim. That dazzle he noticed vanished. His loss had the confusing effect of creating a negative effect on Karla’s efficiency.
Recalling those moments felt strange, it was as if he knew his time was coming too- but again that strange sense of serenity was overtaking any doubts. Was it his conscience, thanking him for ridding the world of the abuser? Was it the calm embrace of accepting complete surrender? Whatever the feeling was, pondering it took long enough to get to the location the…insurgents were taking him. As he was led out of the car still blindfolded, and led somewhere underground the air shifted from smokey gunpowder to a moldy humidity he only felt was similar to being inside a trench pillbox. After he sat down at a chair across a metal table, his mask was removed.
“OOoookayyyy. So, we have some questions about the intel you gave us. Mind if we go through it real quick Ms. Karla?”
The person before him was a much younger individual than the person he met with the radio- but he could tell from the air around her- as one veteran recognized another by the stature and respectful gait, this individual has been through the shitstorm going on above about as long as he has. One thing bothered him though, and it was in need of immediate correction.
“It’s Mr. Karla. But yes, that is an acceptable idea. What was it you found un-satisfactory?”
Karla’s bad habit kicked in again, he immediately analyzed the room and surroundings for any vulnerable points of entry. In his quick sweeping of the room he saw his weapon system and sidearm… rather close to him? Wasn’t he in an interrogational phase?
“Hah? Oh- I’m- I’m so sorry Mr. Karla, It’s just you looked- ah nevermind. We sent some scouts over to confirm the caches first- but we already knew about some of the troop movements from other operatives in the unit you were with.”
The corpse before him was speaking with a soft tone- but all Karla could focus on was the dripping flesh whenever she moved her mouth. She was as broken as him in his vision of her as a “human”. Her jaw was blown in half, and half of the remaining tongue was flailing about while blood from the artery was dripping all over the table- he knew it wasn’t real because corpses don’t move or talk- but it was quite convincing.
So there were agents in my unit. Filthy rats- figures that schweinhund wouldn’t catch them without my help. I’m gald I didn’t- apparently not executing them immediately help benefit me in the end.
“... What… did you need to discuss?”
The girls demeanor shifted to a more serious tone and she plopped a manilla file in front of Karla.
“...What is this?”
As Karla shifted through the paperwork, he realized this was just an altered shorter list of prisoners of war from his briefing. As Karla was almost done shifting through- pretty much immediately ready to dismiss it- a name too familiar popped up on the last page. It was the true comrade he had seen the eyes of before. Intrigued, he turned to the last document.
…
An audible gasp and immediate straightening of his poster announced his genuine shock at what he was seeing. It was so illogically cruel- so wholeheartedly and undeniably evil, he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. Even in the aspects and undertaking of warfare there was always at least some reasoning. Resources, political failure, distraction- this…. This had no rational explanation. It was at this moment the person interviewing Karla spoke, the words broke a bit of his conception of why Rostova was even still at war- and shot through the mist obfuscating the reasons as to why practically the west of the globe was his enemy.
“Karla, I know you’ve provided us with more than enough information to prove you're not part of this- and the fact you were kept as a lower ranking officer further supplies evidence, as well as our agents verifying this fact- but the list you gave us was already seen before.”
She pointed at the photograph of bodies. The difference between this and the hellscape Karla was used to, was the fact they were clean. They weren’t disfigured or shot. They were civilians. Not only were they civilians, the photograph was showing piles of bodies. They were in train cars like some sort of ammunition stock- not even given the decency to be clothed or put into individual containers. Just a mass of flesh melting together to form one pool of dread. The blood drained from Karla’s face as he connected the dots from various pieces of information he gathered through the years. “Impure” genetics, “Concentration camps”, a “final solution”, the directives to allow specific special battalions to take command regardless of military police investigations. The worst part about this was the notion that his only real comrade was inside of the list of names. He was bursting with some new emotion- this went against the very notion of Karla’s identity.
“..what.-”
Karla took a moment to clear his throat from the choking feeling of suppression. His entire identity was replaced with that of a Rostovan officer. Molded into a perfect machination of Rostovan military personnel. To see that his last latching on of identity was nothing but lies. It made his mind sick. It meant- this living proof was meaning-
“...what is… this?”
…
The girl- in a soft tone spoke to Karla as an un-easy desperate smile broke across un-even sectors of his face.
“I- know it's a lot to take in. They lied to all of us. This is why Rostova is at war with the world. Understand?”
I was never in control- I was… heh! What a funny joke this is.
Karla snapped. He was directly responsible for the murder of his friend through in-action- fellow countrymen slaughtered by industrial scale because he couldn’t think for himself. He wasn’t in control of his own mind.
He started to laugh. Which startled the interviewer and stirred up commotion in the room observing him- anger crept across every face but his- a long, stretching smile turned into a large forced grin. He couldn’t control his laughing- he started looking around for clues to escape this failed experiment he called “living”. Shambling up out of his seat and unsteadily grunting for air- his eyes then fixated on his machine-pistole. The interviewer noticed this- then looked at the same piece of equipment and the two shared a short glance before she tried to quickly stop what was about to happen.
“w-WAIT. HOLD ON-”
Rushing for the weapon the two struggled for control of the sidearm. Karla, using all of his might to fight for it, forced it out of her hands without much notice- he managed to get there just a fraction sooner than her. Rushing back to secure the weapon with such force, Karla knocked himself on his butt with his back against the wall opposite to the door. A couple of guards bursted through the door with weapons raised and pointed.
Karla laughed a final time before closing his mouth and making the biggest smile he could make. He was finally truly, and wholly broken. He raised the weapon to his head as quick as he could and pulled the trigger, a sudden release of pressure and the loss of thought signaled the end to the long struggle and breaking down of his body. The abuse was put to an end, ensuring his rest. Karla Irene Impiris, Oberleutnant of the Rostovan heer- had shot himself and was now deceased.
A black portal breaching the inter-universality of worlds, violating each space manifested- Divinae Interventus had appeared before the skies above a still world of intense death. Even with the perspective of the divine, a shiver overtook Interventus as he felt the sheer magnitude of the mortals' dread.
“What madness is this? Have the mortal realms of this universality not monitored by the divine?”
As a small moment of shock was being processed and subsequently washed away- an even larger sense of pure foreboding terror shook his very core if only for a few moments. A soul of great hardships has just been created. Quickly moving to see where this pristinely supreme specimen had been created- he came across the grizzly scene of which Karla had met his end. Formulating a hot pink thorny wisp, it couldn't decide what shape to take- shifting hues between hot pink and royal purple. This was a positively priceless soul- an exquisite and penultimate addition to his vessel.
“A perfect origin of protection- such tenacity could rival even Divinae Bellica…”
As Interventus collected his final soul, he was poised to finally start the process of animating his vessel, and sending unto the world of Euros their doom- punishment for those murderous gods.
