Bismarck's (attempts at) Dailies

The Shadowborn had already moved on from the burnt-out remains of the town, the remaining structures engulfed in flames. Ifrit's roar of glory split the skies as he turned north, his minions following in his wake. The church steeple succumbed to the flames and collapsed inwards, and the rest of the building followed shortly after. Gerent stood alone in the center of the town, hands folded behind his back as he watched the church collapse. He snorted.

Fitting.

He turned away and began to slowly walk. Flames licked over market stalls and houses, the roar punctuated by the occasional collapse of something internally. The roof of one house fell inwards with a splintering sound. The windows of an adjacent structure shattered due to the heat. A number of bodies littered the dirt road as he walked, and he paused next to one woman sprawled on her stomach with a ragged hole punched through her chest. He shook his head and stepped over her silently.

A faint groan broke Gerent's reverie and he stopped. Slumped in an alleyway was an older man with grievous injuries, but he wasn't dead yet. Gerent entered the alleyway and the man glanced at him. Recognition flickered through his watery brown eyes and he winced.

"Go on, get it over with." he rasped, his voice drier than sand, and his gaze fell. His mortal wound was a slash across his stomach which he cradled with one hand. Gerent moved to stand over the man, still silent, and he lowered to one knee next to him. The man looked at Gerent again.

"Just going to sit there and watch?"
That was my intent, yes. said Gerent. The man licked his lips.
"You wouldn't happen to have any water, would you?"
I'm afraid I don't touch the stuff myself. said Gerent. The dying man squinted at him.
"You... what's under that armour? Anything at all?" Gerent chuckled.
It's a mystery.
"You must think... you're awfully funny."
I'm a very serious man. A moment of silence. These two buildings hadn't caught fire quiet yet, but it was fast approaching. The man looked down at his wound again, tried to move slightly, and let out another groan. The pain will be over soon.
"Will it?"
I would assume so. I've no experience with the matter.
"Gloat... all you want. The Goddess... is waiting for me."
Yes, that's the intent. Gerent tilted his head. You have a knife on you. 
"Yes, I suppose I do." said the man, looking at the knife lying next to him.
Why not skip all of this... misery, and get to the point.
"I was never the quitting type."
None of you wretches are.
"Why... why do this? Why...?" The man looked around.
We are liberating you. said Gerent. The man gave him an incredulous look. Liberating you from your... wild curiosity. From your propensity for pain, dealing or receiving. The man didn't buy it.
"You're... you're lying."
It seems outlandish, isn't it? Here we are, in the dead remains of the miserable little hovel you called a home, telling you I am your liberator. Gerent chuckled. What madness indeed. Surely it would have been better for this little down to slowly die out as its people moved on to bigger and better places, as the old and infirm slowly died out, so you could have died in your bed in a decade or so and let someone else lock the door behind your existence. Gerent tugged at the cuffs of his coat. This is a far less ignoble end, isn't it? Dying in battle. Dying on our blades. With a roar and rage, rather than a pathetic whimper. When the door slams shut, it shall shake the firmament of this reality and echo in the abyss for eons. Isn't that far more poetic? The man coughed.
"I was never much interested in poetry."
No, your kind never are. Wasted words on a wasted existence. Gerent stood. I think I'll let you suffer a while, so you can have your peaceful little death you wanted. Gerent returned to the mouth of the alley and paused next to a dead boy lying on his side on the road. Did you know this one?
"He was my nephew."
At least he had the decency to die in a timely fashion. Gerent moved on from the alleyway and started to whistle a tune as he walked. In the alleyway, the man closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the warming bricks.